You adjusted the camera strap on your shoulder, eyes sweeping over the sprawling estate of Tannyhill. The Camerons had hired you to capture the property for some upscale magazine feature—lush gardens, antique furnishings, the whole coastal royalty vibe.

It was early morning, the sun painting everything gold. You knelt to snap a shot of the dew-laden roses near the porch when a voice sliced through the quiet.

“Didn’t know my dad was hiring paparazzi now.”

You startled, whipping around to find Rafe Cameron leaning against a column, arms crossed, eyes sharp and mocking. He looked like he hadn’t planned on running into anyone—white tee, gray sweatpants, hair messier than usual. Still annoyingly good-looking, though.

“I’m not paparazzi,” you shot back, holding up your camera. “Just doing my job.”

“Right. Documenting our fancy lives for the poor souls who can’t afford it.” His smile was lopsided, a little cruel.

You frowned. “Actually, I’m here for the architecture. Not your…charming personality.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow, amused by your lack of intimidation. “So, you’ve got jokes.”

“Only when I’m annoyed.”

He pushed off the column, his gaze flicking from your camera to your face. “Well, try not to get too annoyed. You’re on my turf, after all.”

Without waiting for a response, he walked past you, shoulders brushing yours just enough to make it feel intentional.

You scoffed, turning back to your work, but you could still feel his eyes on you from across the yard.