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I sensed Graciela approach, felt her invasive presence when she stopped next to me. The very fact
that my every sense clamoured to look into those hazel eyes once more made me avoid her gaze.
‘Are they... We’re not disturbing them too much, are we?’
The question was soft enough to have fooled me had I not witnessed the circus I’d convinced her to
dispatch. ‘Do you care?’
Stephanie would’ve inhaled sharply at such a blunt question, then, depending on whether she was
in her false role or not, would’ve delivered icy condemnation or tears on command.
Graciela met my question with another imperious lift of her brow and a steady regard when I
flicked a glance her way. ‘You really don’t like me, do you?’
There was another hint of a smile in the question, a suggestion that she didn’t care either way. It should’ve confirmed every impression I’d had of her. Instead, it disconcerted me. Did my opinion of her count so very little?
‘You don’t care whether I do or not so why bother asking?’ I countered.
Her sigh was long and exaggerated, another indication that she found me...vastly amusing. That she
could grind me underneath those expensive snow boots she was wearing without a second thought.
Just as Stephanie had believed she could.
Another spoilt little rich girl, this one with a few billion to play with, who believed she could buy anything and anyone in sight.
More than a little vexed that I couldn’t detach as easily as I’d hoped from the events of the past few months, I headed for the sled, pulled back the tarp and lifted out my treasured camera and slotted a fifty-millimetre lens to it to capture the close-ups I wanted to start off with. ‘You want shots for the print magazine and videos for the digital version, correct?’
‘If it’s not too much to ask, yes.’ Again she sounded amused.
And I couldn’t help it. I paused in the process of unscrewing the lens cap and looked her way to
find her glasses sitting on top of her head and her stunning eyes fixed on me.
Not a single picture I’d seen of the heiress had done her justice. She had a face that just begged to be photographed. As for her body, despite being under wraps from neck to toe, I’d seen enough
pictures of her in the glossy rags Steph used to devour to know just what was beneath the outfit.
Graciela was taller than average for a woman but even though she only reached my shoulder she
seemed...taller.
Larger than life.
But while I wanted to believe it was mostly entitlement—because, let’s face it, that shone from her eyes and bristled from every pore—there was more. Which again made sense, since she was the very
definition of a wild child and went out of her way to prove it with her various antics.
Skydiving in nothing but a string bikini over Rio.
A three-day sex party with a premier league soccer team in a hotel in Mali.
The rumours that she kept a string of lovers across the globe...
The icy wilderness landscape of Alaska was the last place I’d expected her to turn up, thinking she, like Steph, was the kind to leave all the hard work she’d later take credit for to her minions.