“Um...” I glanced at all the buttons. What floor? I had no idea. “I’m not sure.”
The guy smiled. He was tall and bearded and had a relaxed demeanor about him that was the complete opposite of the guy who had almost run me over. What I really wanted, I realized, was to just stay in this elevator for a little while, but that probably wasn’t an option.
“My office is in this building,” he said, “so I’m familiar with most of the places in here. If you tell me where you’re going, I might know what floor it’s on.”
“I don’t know,” I finally said, because my mind was drawing a blank. I couldn’t think of one single thing that I could say about where I was going, other than the truth. “I’m not really going anywhere in this building; I just ended up coming in here because I was trying to get away from some guy.”
“Is everything okay?”
A genuine question; I could hear it in his voice.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m not trying to make a big deal out of it or anything. It was just this guy, whom I don’t even know—he was yelling these threats at me because he tried to run a red light when I was crossing the street. And I said something to him. I probably shouldn’t have done that.”
The elevator had stopped and the door slid open. The guy bent down to pick something up at his feet, and that’s when I noticed he had a tray of coffees.
“Well,” he said, “this is my floor. Twenty. There’s thirty-two in the building, though, so you could keep going up if you wanted. Probably quite the view.”
I didn’t want him to leave, I realized, though that was stupid because I didn’t even know him. Maybe it was his calm demeanor, maybe it was the fact that he had inquired about how I was, maybe it was some combination of the two; I didn’t know—all I did know was I couldn’t just yet take the elevator down and go back out onto the street.
“You said you work here?” I asked. “Where do you work?”
“A security company,” he said. “Parker Security Services.” He nodded to the coffee tray. “My day to get coffee.”
“Oh!” I said. “That’s funny you should say that.”
“What? About the coffee? Or that I work in security?”
“That you work in security. I was actually thinking about talking to someone about maybe getting, um, a security person.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Oh, yeah? That’s rather perfect, then. Here we are. My name’s Ben, by the way.”
“Teagan.”
“Nice to meet you. Since it sounds like you don’t have anywhere to be at the moment, you want to come in? We can talk about what it is you’re looking for.”
“Sure.”
I followed him out of the elevator, feeling a little weird, but also kind of taking it as a sign from the universe. I mean, really—what were the chances that I would end up in an elevator with a guy who worked at a security firm? Obviously, the universe was telling me I should at least consider Elliott’s idea. And after that encounter I’d just had with that guy, the idea didn’t seem as crazy.
Ben set the coffees down in what appeared to be a conference room, extracting one for himself. We went down the hallway to a smaller room, his office, which he ushered me into. He pulled out the chair for me that was in front of the desk, a gesture which I found oddly touching, and then went and took a seat behind the desk.
“So, Teagan,” he said, “tell me what it is you’re looking for.”
There was something about his voice that was so comforting, familiar, almost. Like pulling a warm blanket around your shoulders on a winter night, or slipping into bed after a long day. I didn’t know this person at all, but he felt like someone I could talk to. He felt like someone who actually saw me for who I was.
Were these the thoughts of a crazy person? I couldn’t help but think that, at least a little bit. In trying to escape one crazy person, I was kind of acting like one myself.
But not really, I thought. You’d been thinking about getting some sort of security person and, lo and behold, you just happened to find one.
“I’m not entirely sure,” I said. “Some people have recently said that it might not be a bad idea if I looked into getting some kind of security person.”
“Do you feel as if you’re in some sort of danger?”
“No. Well, I don’t know. Are you on Instagram?”
“No, I’m not.”
“Have you heard about the shootings that have happened?”
“I have, yeah. Pretty disconcerting. I don’t know all the details about it, but I did hear about it.”
“See, I’m also on Instagram.”
“That’s the picture-sharing app?”
I stared at him for a second, not sure if he was joking with me or not. He wasn’t, I realized. Were there still really people out there who weren’t sure what Instagram was?
“Right,” I said. “I originally signed up just for myself, but it sort of turned into something bigger.”
And there it was again, that smile of his. “You’re being modest,” he said. “Your account is probably pretty popular, huh? And that’s why you wanted to talk to a security company, because of what’s happening. I don’t blame you, to be honest. The world’s a scary place.” There was no hint of irony in his voice, no judgment. “I try not to get too caught up in the whole online world,” he said. He held his hands up. “I’m not judging, though.”
“I know,” I said. “And believe me—I never thought this would be something that I’d even be considering doing. I’m not... I’m not that sort of person.” I paused as I realized how snobby that sounded, which was not at all what I meant. “I don’t mean that the way I’m making it sound,” I said.
“It’s okay,” he said, giving me that smile again. I shouldn’t read that much into it, but it was hard not to think that he was somehow understanding me in a way that no one had before. I found it comforting, though I knew it was just my mind playing tricks on me. It was crazy how well a person’s mind could fool them if they let it.
“You have a legitimate reason to be concerned,” he continued. “And even if you didn’t, if having some form of security would make you feel better, then you should go for it. All that being said, of course, there is a cost associated with it. It can be expensive, so I do like to go over the potential costs with clients before they make any decisions. It’s certainly not my favorite part of the conversation.” I smiled and listened as he went over what I might expect this to cost me.
“Oh, I don’t think I’ll need someone twenty-four hours a day,” I said quickly. “I mean... that seems really unnecessary.” And it did—I couldn’t imagine having someone being there all the time, in my apartment, following my every move... Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, after all. Did I really need to have a bodyguard? Because that’s what this would be. A bodyguard. “Actually...” I pulled my purse up from where I’d placed it on the floor and slid my arm through the straps. “I’ll need to think about it,” I said, standing up. “I’ll... I’ll give you a call.”
Ben started to say something but I hurried out of there, bumping into a tall, dark-haired guy with an intense look on his face. The expression relaxed a little, though, and he gave me something of a hint of a smile.
“Hi there,” he said. “Do you need any help with anything?”
He had one of the coffees that Ben had brought in with him. “No... no, I’m just leaving.” I hurried off, because I didn’t want him to say anything else to me. I didn’t want anyone there to say anything to me; I couldn’t actually believe that I had been sitting down with some guy, talking about getting a security guard. The whole idea was ridiculous. Having a security guard meant that you were the sort of person who was worthy of something like that, and I really wasn’t, no matter what Elliott, or my mother, or anyone else thought.
Chapter 3
Ben
I took a sip of my coffee, a little perplexed. The girl who had rushed into the building when I’d been on my way in, Teagan, had just no
w rushed out of my office like she couldn’t get out of there fast enough, gone in a rush of long, vibrant red hair. That was the first thing I had noticed about her, when I was standing in the elevator and she was looking confused, like she wasn’t quite sure where she was going—who was this girl with the cascading locks of auburn hair?
Drew stuck his head in the door. “Everything okay?” he asked.
“Peachy,” I said.
He smiled faintly. “Red just booked it out of here. Did she have an appointment?”
“No. More like a chance encounter in the elevator. She was looking to hire a security guard. Or at least talk to someone about it.”
“You’re usually so good at closing the deal.”
“I don’t think she quite feels comfortable with the idea.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Just a vibe I got.”
Drew was about to say something, but then he stopped as Cole stuck his head in the doorway.
“Hey,” he said. “Was that Teagan Kelly?”
I glanced at him. “Uh... maybe?” I said. “Her name’s Teagan; I didn’t catch her last name. We didn’t get that far.”
Cole nodded. “Yeah, that was her.”
“You know her?”
“Stella does, sort of. They’re both on the ’Gram. Stella likes to look at her account for ideas around the apartment.” He nodded in approval. “She comes up with some good stuff. We kind of copied what she did in her front entryway, with the decorative dresser and the votive candles.”
Drew and I both stared at him. Cole was younger than I was, and understandably more into social media, but the thought of getting ideas about how to decorate your apartment from someone online seemed... I don’t know, kind of ridiculous. I tried not to let my face show that, though.
“Did you just say votives?” our co-worker, Lena, asked with a snicker. She and Cole were always giving each other a hard time; chances were good that Lena had some votive candles herself, but she’d take any chance she could to mess with Cole.
“Okay, okay,” I said. “I’ve got some work to do. I didn’t expect my office doorway was going to be the place for everyone to come congregate.”
They dispersed, Lena and Cole continuing to give each other shit as they walked down the hallway.
Once I was sure they were gone, I did something I’d never done before: I went onto Instagram. I looked up Teagan, and found her account. I scrolled through some of the photographs, which were quite nice. I had no experience with anything remotely close to interior design, but it was clear even to a novice like me that she had an eye for it.
Out of all the pictures she’d posted, there were only a few of her. In one, she was standing in what I assumed to be her kitchen, a bright, airy space with lots of white and glass. She was at the island, holding a drink, a smile on her face, though she wasn’t looking at the camera. She wore a sleeveless green blouse which was in sharp contrast with her red hair that tumbled down past her shoulders. I read the caption next to the picture, and realized that the photograph, while also talking about the joys of spending the day at the flea market, was really a plug for the wine company whose wine she was drinking. The post concluded with the assertion that there were few better ways to end a busy day than with a nice glass of blush wine. I closed the browser. What was the point? I’d probably never see her again, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to become one of those Internet stalkers.
Chapter 4
Teagan
Aoife got to the restaurant almost fifteen minutes late, as usual. I tried not to look annoyed. At this point in our lives, I should have known better than to expect that she would show up anywhere on time. She came in, my little pixie of a sister, her blue eyes sparkling, her long, almost waist-length blond hair trailing behind her like the train of a wedding dress. The tips of her hair, I noticed, were bright pink. The people eating stared as she walked past, though not in a bad way. Several of the guys—who I was certain hadn’t even seen me when I came in—took their time checking her out. She didn’t even notice.
“I really tried to get here on time,” she said. “But the universe was definitely conspiring against me. Which is why I seldom make plans that include an actual time. It just never works out. Wouldn’t it be so much better if time just didn’t even exist?”
Was this a rhetorical question? “Um, not really.”
“Have you been waiting a long time?”
“Not really,” I said, though that was a lie, because I always had to make sure I was at least fifteen minutes early, even if I knew the person I was going to be meeting would show up late. While such an attitude might’ve worked out well for me if I’d been living somewhere on the East Coast, here in California, I was always the one who was left waiting for people who couldn’t be bothered to get anywhere at the time they said they would.
Aoife slid into the seat across from me and picked up the menu. The waitress came back over, now that Aoife had arrived, and took our drink order. I decided to get a sake, which I didn’t really enjoy the taste of, but I knew just a few sips would loosen me up a little, at least get my mind to forget about all the stuff that had been happening, even if only for a little while.
As we waited for the drinks, Aoife filled me in on her latest adventures, which included things like taking a yoga teacher training, a love affair with one of the guys in the training, a trip to Costa Rica, and buying a Vanagon with the guy she was having this love affair with.
“A Vanagon? Like one of those VW campers?” I asked.
“Yeah! It needs a little TLC, but we got a really great deal on it. We’re going to go live the #vanlife for a little while. I’m so excited!” She leaned back so the waitress could put our drinks in front of us. I took a big gulp of mine, even though the taste of it made me cringe. It wasn’t that I didn’t want Aoife to be doing what made her happy, or that I didn’t want her to find success. But she had always managed to outshine me in everything, and I knew that it would only be a matter of time before she overtook me on Instagram. It was such a stupid way to think, and I felt ashamed of myself that such thoughts would even occur to me in the first place. It was certainly something I would never admit in real life, but in my mind I couldn’t help but wish that Aoife would find something else to be interested in.
After we ordered our sushi, Aoife leaned her arms on the table and looked at me.
“So, Tea,” she said, “are you at all freaked out by what’s happening? Did you know that girl, @cecilybythesea?”
“Yeah,” I said. “We had never met in person, but we knew each other online. According to Mom, that doesn’t count.”
Aoife waved me off. “You know how Mom is. She just doesn’t get this whole thing. I haven’t even told her about the Vanagon yet. I’m not sure I will, either. She’s going to be so pissed. She was mad enough about the yoga teacher training.” Aoife covered her mouth with her hand, trying to suppress a giggle. “When I told her I was doing that, she wanted to know what she had done in a past life to deserve two children who couldn’t be bothered to be gainfully employed.” She slapped her knee and let out a howl. Several people seated nearby glanced our way, though they didn’t look annoyed; they looked like they wished they knew what Aoife was cracking herself up over.
Her expression quickly sobered, though. “I shouldn’t be laughing,” she said. “It’s serious, what’s happening. Do you think it’s all connected? Why do you think someone would be doing that? It’s making me want to just delete my Instagram account altogether. Not that I think I’d be the target or anything.” She grinned. “I’m not big-time like you.”
“I’m sure it’s only a matter of time.” I took another sip of sake. “But yeah, the whole thing is kind of freaking me out. I didn’t know those two other people, but I did know Cecily. I feel really bad. It doesn’t make sense at all; she had a family. Young kids.”
“That’s terrible. I didn’t know her, but I did leave a little message on her page. I started to scroll through to see
if I could find yours, but there were so many.”
“I didn’t leave one yet.”
“You didn’t? Why not?”
“I just... I started to, but everything I was thinking of writing just sounded so... contrived, I guess.”
Aoife eyed me like I was the worst person in the world, which was exactly how I was beginning to feel. “It doesn’t need to be the Great American Novel or anything,” she said. “Even just to let them know you’re thinking about them. You should do it right now.”
“Now?”
“Yes! I can’t believe that you haven’t already.”
“I’m not taking my phone out and doing that right now,” I said. “I’ll do it later.”
“Suit yourself. Know who I randomly ran into at Rainbow Grocery the other day? Elliott.”
“Oh, yeah? I just talked to him. He didn’t mention it. He was actually the one who told me about what happened with Cecily,” I said. “And he thinks that I should get some sort of security detail.”
“Elliott?” Aoife could barely conceal her distaste. Unlike Mom, Aoife had never been a big fan of Elliott, but that was just because he did not possess any of the characteristics she liked in a man. Aoife liked guys who would be just as comfortable wearing pink or rocking a man bun as they would be in jeans and a plaid shirt, and that simply was not who Elliott was at all—though partially, I suspected, because of the way his father was. His father was a man’s man, a hunter, a survivalist, and—though I had never told this to Elliott—part of the reason we had broken up. Only a tiny part, of course, but it had still been a factor. His dad lived up north in Occidental, and in the time that Elliott and I had been together, I had witnessed for myself the slow transformation from avid outdoorsman to paranoid doomsday prepper. Not that Elliott’s dad, Graham, didn’t have some valid points. He did, actually, but it was the way he was allowing it to consume him, and trying to convince Elliott that he needed to be doing the same thing.
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