Close Enough to Touch by Victoria Dahl Read Free Book Online

going
to be his experiment in edginess. His walk on the wild side. He could just sit
over there and wonder.
    Wanting to get the coffee taste out of her mouth, Grace headed
toward the bathroom, where she’d already unloaded her few supplies and one giant
box of cosmetics. But when she flipped on the light and got a look at herself,
she froze. She’d forgotten to take off her makeup last night, and it had smeared
into a crooked mask around her eyes. She suddenly had to consider that Cole’s
laughter hadn’t been flirtation at all. Maybe it had just been pure
amusement.
    Damn.

CHAPTER FOUR
    G RACE WAS NERVOUS . She didn’t like being nervous. It made her
grumpy and defensive, which wasn’t the best attitude for a job interview.
    Not that this was exactly a job interview. She’d caught the bus
to the other side of town and was now sitting in Eve Hill’s photography studio,
waiting for her to finish reviewing proofs with someone. Or she assumed that was
what was going on behind the closed door at the far side of the room. That’s
what the sign on the front door had said. The low murmur of voices was a
soothing sound, at least.
    So far, so good. There were the obligatory bride portraits on a
side wall, but for the most part, the pictures were a mix of landscape shots,
publicity stills for businesses and some truly amazing fashion shoots that had
been done with the mountains in the background and frost covering everything
except the models.
    This woman was good. Really good.
    Grace smoothed down her tight black pants, wishing she’d had an
iron. She’d hung her nicest clothes up in the bathroom and turned the shower to
hot, but now she felt self-conscious about the slate-blue sweater. Maybe it was
the wrong choice. It had been knitted to look ancient and torn apart and shot
through with muted grays as if it had faded in the sun. Slightly risky for a job
interview, but Grace was counting on the complex beauty of the wool to catch the
photographer’s eye. The sweaters normally sold for three hundred dollars a pop
at the upscale farmer’s market in La Jolla, but the knitter was a friend who’d
given Grace one as a present. It was her favorite piece of clothing. Ever. But
maybe it had been a mistake. Maybe in Wyoming a raggedy sweater was just a
raggedy sweater that no one would pay two dollars for. Maybe it looked like
something she’d pulled from the trash can behind an L.A. soup kitchen.
    God. She should go home and change.
    Grace stood up, but then froze without moving toward the
door.
    Change into what, exactly? The signed Dead Kennedys T-shirt
she’d bought at a garage sale last year? The silk tunic with the hand-screened
Vargas pinup girl that curved up the hip in vivid colors?
    Actually, maybe. Maybe a photographer would appreciate Vargas.
Or maybe she’d consider it no better than soft porn.
    “Damn it,” Grace muttered softly. She didn’t like this. Trying
to please people. Worrying how to make a good first
impression. She’d put up with this sort of thing for the past year, thanks to
Scott, but what the hell did it have to do with how great she was with makeup?
And she was great. Anyone in L.A. would be lucky to have her as a makeup artist,
much less someone in Jackson, Wyoming. So why was her confidence shaking like a
leaf?
    Maybe because this felt like a last chance.
    It wasn’t, though. She could work at a restaurant. A gas
station. She could clean hotel rooms. Anything. But those jobs would all pay
minimum wage. How long would it take her to pay back an eight-thousand-dollar
debt at that kind of wage?
    The white door opened and a pair of female voices swelled
through the room. Grace decided to bolt. This whole thing was a ridiculous idea.
But when she started to move, her boot hit the portfolio she’d set on the
ground. She caught herself, but wobbled on the four-inch heel of her nicest
boots. In that moment, she had to make a decision, and instead of falling
face-first in her attempt to escape, she