The studio was quieter than I expected.

I had found the listing online—professional portraits, reasonable rate, discreet location. The photographer’s name was Julian Voss. His portfolio was clean and expensive-looking: sharp black-and-white work, mostly women, mostly intimate without being explicit. I needed new headshots for work. That was the only reason I booked the Sunday evening slot.

The building was an old warehouse converted into lofts. His studio occupied the top floor. When I stepped out of the elevator he was already waiting, tall and dark-haired, sleeves rolled up, a camera hanging from one hand. He looked at me the way he probably looked at every subject—assessing light, angles, possibilities....