a camera. I’m there to film Charlie, and the paparazzi are filming me while I film him.
But Charlie gave me permission to prod into his life. And I’d say I’m nowhere near as aggressive or caustic as most paparazzi. They make me look like a butterfly gingerly capturing footage and not actually weighed down with fifty-pound equipment.
I have a high threshold for uncomfortable situations. I make the best, do my best. But I almost reached my limit while on a WAC shoot filming Jane, Sullivan, and Luna at a pub together. Not only did another cameraman ram an elbow in my back, but he ruined all my footage by screaming questions at me.
I had to scrap everything.
Charlie is even over the outrage. He actually gave me and Oscar a whole day’s notice before booking a flight to Greenland. A private plane and shuttle ride later, we arrived.
He literally flew to the Arctic to escape it all.
I position my lens towards panoramic views of Disko Bay’s endless teal water and picturesque icebergs. It’s peaceful and calm outside. A stark contrast to what we left.
But I find myself eyeing a prettier view. Oscar rests his forearms on the deck’s railing, leaning in a nonchalant lunge, with a paperback in hand. His winter gear is worn well, a total pro at harsh climates, and as my smile rises, I shift my camera. Until he’s completely in frame.
I zoom in on his face. His curly hair warms his ears, and his eyes drift over towards the yellow cabin to the right of ours.
Charlie lounges on a porch chaise and reads a book, bundled in an outdoor blanket.
If I didn’t understand Oscar’s job, maybe it’d aggravate me that he keeps glancing over there. I’ve been no better with my focus on taking footage of the scenery.
Anyway, his concentration on Charlie is letting me capture Oscar in all his glory. I watch him through the camera, my smile widening. He runs a couple fingers back and forth across his unshaven jaw before flipping a page in his book.
We’re dating. My pulse skips in anticipation of where that’ll lead us, practically giddy. The more I’m around Oscar, the more enchanted I feel—and with my work becoming a giant stressor, I hold stronger onto these feelings.
I zoom more.
Oscar turns his head back to me. A grin edges across his mouth, his eyes on me, then right into the camera. “Are you filming me, Long Beach?”
“You’re in my frame,” I smile more and tilt up the camera to capture the light in his brown eyes. “Prettiest part of the setting so far. What do you have to say, Oscar Oliveira?”
He rotates fully towards me, elbows resting back on the railing. Paperback loose in his hand. “That it’s not possible to be the prettiest part of the setting when I’m looking at the prettiest thing here.”
His eyes never abandon mine.
Something luminous brims inside my body. “How’s flirting with the cameraman going for you?”
He mimes checking a watch that he’s not wearing. “Too early to tell, but so far, so good. I’ll let you know more when I have him naked and in my arms.”
Breath staggers in my throat. Jesus fuck. Do I want to fool around with Oscar? Is that even a fucking question, dude. The more we’re drowned in work, the less time we’ve been able to explore further, and there is no other exploration that sounds as enticing as letting him discover my turn-ons and me discovering his.
“Keep me updated,” I banter with a smile. A cool gust blowing through, I shiver and zip up my outer-layer of the winter jacket and fix the baseball cap on my head.
Oscar kicks off from the railing, fitting his paperback in a back pocket. “Still can’t believe you packed that hat and not a beanie.”
“I wasn’t thinking.” I shake my head, remembering. “Something distracted me when I was packing.” I see his confusion as he approaches, so I come clean. “The other execs heard that I had no footage of the girls at the pub, and they asked me what happened.”
“You tell them paparazzi encroached your space?” He tugs down the zipper of his jacket and unspools a scarf around his neck.
“No.” I tense. “I lied.” I run a hand through my hair four or five times.
“You lied?” Oscar looks shocked. “Have you ever lied to them before?”
“Never,” I say strongly. “But I knew if I told them the truth, they might limit my involvement in shoots, and it’s important to