“Yes. Totally.” I give a light laugh. It helps release some of the weirdness I’m feeling. “You know what?” I say as I hop up onto my feet. “I’m going to start two piles. A ‘yes’ pile and a ‘no’ pile. I’m going to add this to the ‘yes’ pile.” I place the framed photograph on top of the original image on the coffee table.
“Sounds like a good idea to me. Whatever you choose, you can take with you now to show Larissa, and I’ll send you the electronic files.”
“Sure.” I reach into the box and pull out another photograph. It has another big sky, this time with a man walking away from the camera through a field of knee-high grass. “This one is gorgeous.”
Even though I turn it around so he can see, he comes over to stand beside me. Seriously? He’s like a tracking beacon, homing in on me wherever I go. Doesn’t he know behaving like this only makes people feel awkward?
“That’s Three Tooth Guy again. He took me to that field. Said the light was really good there. I think he was right.”
“Another ‘yes.’” I lean down and place the framed photo on top of the other two. I reach into the box and pull out the next one, and the next, and the next. Alex tells me about each one, still standing uncomfortably close, still smelling ridiculously good, his low voice rumbling through me with each explanation, each compelling anecdote. By the time I’ve finished the box, every image is in the ‘yes’ pile, and the ‘no’ pile has yet to receive its first entry.
I do a quick count. “That’s ten images. With the six from Cozy Cottage, I only need another twenty, thirty tops, and we’ve got ourselves an exhibition.”
He leans back on his heels and laughs. “As I said, I’m not sure I have enough of what Larissa’s looking for, but let’s check.” He wanders back around the sofa.
As he begins to rummage through things, I give my butt a discrete rub—it’s not worked that hard since my last Hot Yoga session—and sit back down on the plump sofa.
He lifts another box out and places it on the table. He removes the lid and pulls out the first framed photograph. “I took this in a place called Manali, in the province of Himachal Pradesh. Manali is a really special place. It’s the mountainous region in the north of India, so all the mountains you see are the Himalayan foothills. This whole box is from there, so expect a lot of mountains.”
“Makes sense.”
Much to my annoyance, he sits back next to me, and I’ve got to work hard at being relaxed, which of course means I’m once again about as relaxed as a cat in a room full of plump mice. We work our way through the box, and by the end, I’ve not added a single photograph to the “no” pile.
“You know, Alex, you’re a really good photographer.”
“Coming from you, that’s a real compliment.”
I shoot him a look. “You may not be my favorite person, as we discussed earlier—”
“Ah, yes. The bosom buddies conversation. That was fun.”
I roll my eyes. “As I was saying, you’re not my favorite person, but I know talent when I see it.”
“Well, thank you.” He hands me the folder from the coffee table. “Have a look through this to see if there’s anything else you like the look of.” He stands up, and I swear my butt lets out a groan of relief as I relax a notch or ten. “Want another coffee? Personally, I could do with some more caffeine.”
“Because of your late night?” I lead.
He raises his eyebrows at me. “Sure.”
“Another coffee would be great.”
As he wanders over to the kitchen, I begin to look through the images. I select eight of them, including one of a little girl, sitting in a field of daisies, a majestic mountain behind her. “There are so many great photos in here, Alex. Larissa is going to be deliriously happy,” I call out.
He walks back over to the sofa. “Keeping Larissa happy seems to be the biggest part of your job.”
I look up at him and shrug. “I guess.”
“Is she the reason you wear head-to-toe blue at work?”
I raise my chin, feeling weirdly protective of Larissa. “I like blue.”
“Sure, but you’ve got to wear it every day, right?”
I think of my closet, full to the brim with blue clothes. There’s this one small section, reserved for the weekends, that’s filled with every other color in the rainbow. Including my preferred shade of pink.
I open my mouth to respond when I hear a phone chime. Alex walks over to the kitchen counter and picks his phone up. “I’ve gotta take this,” he says as he walks past me toward a door at the end of the room. “I’ll be back in five.” He says “hello” as he closes the door behind him.
Once I finish looking through the images in the folder, I stand up and stretch. I arch my back and give my butt another rub to ease the now persistent ache. It’s Alex’s fault for sitting so darn close to me. It’s like he enjoys bugging me. Like he knew sitting that close would make me super uncomfortable.
See? Cocky.
I wander around the room. I know I should be waiting quietly for him to return, but I can’t resist a quick snoop. Don’t judge me. I’m only human. And anyway, isn’t it good to get to know the person you’re working with? Larissa is taking a huge punt on him, and I need to make sure there’s nothing lurking in any closet that might leap out and bite us. Well, that’s my excuse, anyway.
I walk over to the large bookshelf and peruse the shelves. There’s some fiction—typical boy books like thrillers—and a bunch of coffee table books, some on photography, some on different countries, including India. I pull one out and flick through it. I’ve not been to India, but from what I’ve seen today, it looks like a spectacular country. I slot the book back in its spot.
I can hear Alex’s muffled voice echoing through the closed door. I let out a puff of air, my hands on my hips as I wait. I know Larissa is going to be thrilled with these photos. I also know I need about ten more to have enough for her to choose from for the exhibition. Are there more boxes behind that sofa?
Curiosity gets the better of me, and I step around to the back of the sofa. There I see another five boxes, all labeled in the same handwriting. Only ten or fifteen photographs my ass. There must be fifty here, at least!
Feeling a little like a naughty child opening the presents under the tree before Christmas Day, I pull the nearest box out and remove the top. I’m met with another row of black frames, stacked neatly, just as in the other boxes.
I pull the first picture out and turn it over in my hands. It’s a profile shot of a beautiful woman, her head thrown back as she laughs. Her long dark hair pools on the mat behind her as she sits in a field of daisies. She looks happy, free. I examine the image closer. That field looks familiar. I lean the photograph against the back cushion of the sofa and rifle through the images in my ‘yes’ pile until I find the one of Three Tooth Guy. I place the images side by side and look from one to the other. Yup, that’s the same field for sure.
I return my attention to the box and pull out another photo. I hold it in my hands and study it. It’s of the same woman, only this time, it’s a close-up of her face, her eyes wide and beautiful. She’s looking directly out at me, her lips curved into a Mona Lisa smile. It’s an arresting image, and it gets me wondering who she is to Alex that he’d take a photo like this. And then keep it in a box.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
With a jolt of surprise, I look from the image up to Alex. Gone is his habitual smirk, now replaced by a look of pure thunder, his features tense, his hands balled into fists at his sides.
“I found some more boxes. I wanted more images for Larissa, and I didn’t think you’d mind.”
“Well, I do mind.” His voice is cold, uncompromising.
“Okay.” I shove the image back into the box and pat the neat row of pictures. I have no clue why. Nerves, probably. I’ve never seen Alex like this before.
He reaches across me and collects the photo of the woman’s profile from where I’d placed
it on the sofa, slots it back into the box, and replaces the lid. Without looking back at me, he picks the box up and stalks out of the room with it.
I’m left alone, wondering what I’ve inadvertently stumbled across. Who is that girl? It’s obvious it’s someone who means something to Alex. I feel a twinge. Of what, though, I’m not quite sure. Embarrassment? Guilt? Envy? I capture a lock of my hair in my finger and twist it.
Envious of what? Her?
No. It’s got to be guilt. I snooped and got busted.
I hear his footsteps returning to the room. I turn to face him as he walks through the doorway. His shoulders are taut, his lips drawn into a thin line. The look on his face makes my heart thud hard.
I’ve really upset him. I need to fix this. We’ve got to work together, and this is not a great start.
“Alex, I’m really sorry. I assumed they were just more scenic images. I didn’t think they’d be anything . . . personal.”
“I didn’t tell you to look in any other boxes,” he says evenly, his voice low. If I’m to be completely honest, it sounds a little threatening.
“I know, and I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d mind, and you were making coffee, and then you were on the phone and I—” I pause in my rambling as I notice his expression hasn’t changed. “Look, all I can say is I’m sorry. Again.”
“Put the ones you want back in the boxes ,and I’ll help take them to your car. As I said, once you’ve chosen what you want, I’ll send you the files.”
Is he completely ignoring my apology? It was an honest mistake!
“Sure,” I reply uncertainly. I chew on my lip. How do I fix this? How do I undo what I’ve done?
In my defense, it really was an accident. I didn’t mean to stumble across those pictures. But even so, I don’t like the feeling that I’ve somehow hurt him, even if I don’t like him. Which is weird, isn’t it?
We pack the “yes” pile into the boxes, the silence anything but comfortable. Once we’re done, he tucks one box under each arm, and I pick the final box up myself. He leads me toward his front door.
“I’ll, ah, get the door for you,” I say.
“That would be helpful.”
I follow him down the three flights of stairs. Out on the street, he carefully places all three boxes into my car.
I close the door and turn to him. “Really, Alex. I am so sorry.”
His steely gaze is averted. “Yeah, you said that. Quite a few times.” He looks back at me, his features still taut. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Right. Well,” I say with forced brightness, “thanks for these. Can I arrange a time to swing by and collect the others from Cozy Cottage?”
“Give Sophie a call.”
Taken aback, I reply, “Sophie. Yes, of course.”
“See you later,” he mutters as he turns away from me and begins to walk back toward his building.
“Okay, Alex. Thanks again!” I trill and then instantly cringe at the over-the-top sing-song-y tone of my voice.
I climb into my car and close the door behind myself. Wow, I’ve really rattled his cage. As I start the car, I wonder about that woman in the photos? Who is she? And more importantly, what the heck did she do to Alex?
Chapter 10
I’m sitting in the only room at the office that isn’t blue. In fact, it’s red. Bright red. The room is—somewhat unimaginatively—called the Red Room, so you get what you read on the label. Apparently, red isn’t just the color of sexy dresses and the shade my skin goes if I stay in the sun too long. Oh, no. The color red is, apparently, so much more than that. According to Larissa, research shows that red stimulates vitality and helps one’s creative juices flow. Even though, sitting in this room right now, I imagine this is exactly what it’s like to be stuck inside a giant tomato.
I let out a sigh. I wish I were reclining on a sun lounger on a beach in Fiji (wearing sun lotion, so I don’t end up looking like the room I’m currently in), a piña colada in one hand and a good book in the other as a cute guy massages my feet. Instead, I’m listening to some guy who smells of incense and mud—and looks like he last washed sometime in the twentieth century—espouse the power of the Ethiopian “charms” he’s brought for Larissa to “have a life-changing experience” with. Apparently, when it comes to what look suspiciously like twigs wrapped in twine, you can’t just look at them or pick them up to examine them. According to Aleron, a.k.a. Mr. Smelly, you’ve got to “experience” them.
My cynical eyebrow is on perma-salute in this room, and today is no exception.
Larissa’s? Not so much.
“Can you feel the way everything inside of you is more alert, more in tune, more incredible than it was before you placed your hand here?” the guy, Aleron, says to a riveted Larissa.
“That could be this room, you know. It’s optimized for creativity,” Larissa replies.
“Of course. Red is the color of vitality, of excitement,” he pauses, his eyes intense as he adds, “of human sexuality.”
I raise my eyebrows at him. Is this guy hitting on Larissa now?
She nods, totally and blissfully oblivious to anything that may or may not be going on. “You’re so right, Aleron.”
He cups her hand, holding the “charm” in his own, and says, “Close your eyes and concentrate. Feel the charm working. Feel the way your blood pulses through your body.”
Well, I had hoped her blood had already been doing that all by itself, for her sake.
Larissa’s eyes pop open. “Oh, my goodness. Yes! I totally felt that.”
Aleron gives a knowing nod. “That is the power of the unanyo. It’s working at a deep level to improve your circulation. What it does is strengthen your body’s internal connectivity.”
I clamp my lips shut to stifle a giggle. Strengthening your body’s connectivity has got to be a good thing. You wouldn’t want to be walking down the street and have limbs and things just fall off, would you? Maybe your internal organs drop out of your butt? A messy experience for sure.
Aleron turns his head to glare at me momentarily before he returns his attention to Larissa.
I’m not always so cynical about the things people peddle to Larissa. Sometimes I actually believe in them, or want to believe in them, I guess. Like the time I wore a rock pendant that was supposed to attract love. Well, it attracted love all right, only not the human kind. The day I wore the pendant, Erin and I found a family of mice living in our oven, and despite the fact they’re super cute with those long whiskers and twitchy noses, we had to get someone in to get rid of them. They were eating our food and leaving little deposits all over the kitchen, which was pretty gross. Of course, we asked the guy to trap them and release them into a pretty field somewhere for them to play in, which he agreed to do, but I’m not sure how honest he was about their fate.
My phone vibrates, and I flip it over. It gives me a break from all this connectivity strengthening babble. I smile as I read a new message from Seth.
Did I tell today you how beautiful you are? I’d love to see you again soon.
Aww. He’s so sweet! Maybe a little corny, but I’m not going to think anything but positive thoughts about this one. After two dating disasters, I know Seth is one of the good guys. Three’s a charm and all that.
I tap out a message.
Dinner tomorrow night?
His response is immediate.
Perfect.
It’s a date.
I add two kisses at the end of my message and turn my phone face down on the table. I return my attention to the conversation in the room.
“Does it work on a cellular level?” Larissa asks, her hand still gripping the Ethiopian “charm.”
“Deeper. Much, much deeper.”
“Deeper than your cells?” I can’t help but question.
“Yes. Picture this, if you will. If your cells had cells, it would be working at their cellular level.”
Wait, what?
Larissa’s face is bright when she til
ts her head to look at me. “Darcy, this is an amazing feeling. You have got to try it.” She turns back to Aleron. “How many charms do you have?”
My ears prick up.
“Oh, I’ve got a large supply, although they are in high demand, as you can well imagine.”
Larissa gives a knowing nod. “Yes, I can imagine. They’re so powerful. We’ll take a thousand, to begin with.”
“A good start, Larissa, but I need to warn you that there isn’t a limitless supply,” Aleron replies, if “Aleron” is even his real name. I bet it’s really something like Nigel or Derek. Colin maybe. Yes, he looks like a Colin under all those beads and hemp clothing.
Larissa’s face creases in distress. “What are you saying? My followers could miss out on these?”
It’s blindingly obvious she’s been sucked in by Aleron-slash-Colin’s super-powered vacuum. I need to do something about this fast.
“Larissa? I don’t think we should rush into this, do you?” I say.
“I think rushing in is exactly what she should do,” Aleron says. “The unanyo have proven very popular in the wellness arena. Larissa, your followers need these. No, they deserve them.”
Larissa nods emphatically. “Yes, yes, you’re so right, Aleron.”
Uh-oh. Not a good sign.
Quietly, trying my best not to be noticed, I pick up my phone and send a quick message with the number 104. It’s a secret code between me and my coworkers. The whole company is in on it, unbeknownst to our boss. We had a meeting and everything, which is where the 104 code was decided (although one time, when I briefly dated a cop, he told me 104 was actually the official police code for “stupid cat stuck up tree,” but I think he was joking). Right now, I need the code to work.
The thing with Larissa is, she’s what she calls “open,” which is New Age speak for “pretty darn gullible,” as far as I can see. She readily believes in all this mumbo jumbo nonsense, lapping it up. People like Aleron know it all too well. She once bought an entire container of rubber ducks because she was told they were imbued with the spirit of a former Dalai Lama. Rubber ducks, people! I’m not so sure Dalai Lamas go in for little plastic things that float in the bath. That’s much more Ernie and Bert’s scene.
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