Dark Perception: The Corde Noire Series

by Alexandrea Weis

  “Nathan is my boss, and I—”

  “He probably wants you just as much as you want him,” Ellie interjected.

  “I can’t have him, Ellie.”

  “But do you want him, Melinda?”

  Do I want him? Every time she saw Nathan, her stomach did somersaults, her heart beat faster, and the burning in her gut grew more intense. Melinda knew the signs; so why had she been ignoring them?

  “He’s smarter, richer, and a whole lot more sophisticated than I’ll ever be,” she argued. “Why would Nathan want me?”

  “Did it ever occur to you this job was just a way to get you into bed?” Ellie proposed.

  Melinda appeared dumbfounded. “That’s what Jack said! Nathan wouldn’t go to all that trouble to—”

  “He’s a man, honey. Of course he’d go to all that trouble. The more trouble, the better. It means he’s willing to work hard to keep you.” Ellie patted her arm while clucking like a mother hen. “You want some advice? Go after him. Men love it when someone they want turns the game on them. Keeps them guessing.”

  Melinda played with the strap on her backpack. “If I wanted to go after a man like Nathan, how exactly would I do that?” She raised her green eyes to her friend and grinned.

  Ellie nodded to Saks Fifth Avenue. “You can start with some sexy new clothes, shoes, and definitely makeup.”

  Melinda rolled her eyes at the mention of makeup.

  Ellie tugged at Melinda’s long braid of red hair. “We’ll need to do something about this, too.”

  Melinda grabbed for her braid. “What’s wrong with my hair?”

  “It’s too long. It should fall at your shoulders and not your waist. We need to find you a stylist to help you with your hair.”

  “Maybe Nathan likes me as I am.”

  “He wouldn’t have suggested the shopping spree if he was into your …” Ellie’s hand waved down Melinda’s shabby outfit. “Whatever this is. Honestly, Melinda, dressing like you do is fine for the tourists, but you’re going have to step things up a little.”

  Melinda gaped down at her long-sleeved white shirt. “I did step it up … I didn’t put on a T-shirt.”

  Ellie shook her head, appearing exasperated. “If you want this man, you’re going have to fight for him. The way women fight is to look their best so their man won’t want anyone else.”

  “This is pointless.” Melinda flung her hands into the air. “I don’t know anything about clothes or makeup or how to wear my hair. I never had to do any of this crap with Jack. He wanted me just the way I am.”

  “But you didn’t want him, remember?”

  “I know.” She stuck the toe of her tennis shoe in a gouge on the dark-tiled floor. “How is he? Have you seen him lately?”

  “I’ve seen him.” Ellie glimpsed the wide Saks Fifth Avenue entrance. “I even gave him your new address, but it may be a while before he gets the courage to come and see you. He’ll come around. Jack always comes around.”

  “That was before …”

  Ellie edged closer to her. “If you want it to stop, Melinda, all you have to do is walk away. Tell Nathan you quit and you can go back to the Square. Is that what you really want?”

  Melinda adamantly shook her head. “I’m not ready to walk away, not yet, anyway. Is that a bad thing?”

  “No, it’s a very good thing.” Ellie pushed Melinda toward Saks Fifth Avenue. “Just play your cards right and clean up your appearance. That should get Nathan Cole’s attention.”

  Melinda glanced over her shoulder at Ellie. “Then what?”

  Ellie shook her head. “One step at a time, kiddo. One step at a time.”

  * * *

  The following morning, Melinda donned her new gray pantsuit, pulled her shoulder-length red hair back in a barrette, and applied a light touch of makeup, just like the lady at the makeup counter had showed her. When she stepped back from her bathroom mirror, she was stunned by the change in her appearance. The woman staring back at her was no longer the dewy-eyed girl who had first moved to New Orleans three years ago. Ellie had been right. The old Melinda would never have been able to hold the interest of a man like Nathan Cole.

  Clutching her new black purse and the brown leather briefcase—Ellie had insisted on them—Melinda headed out her apartment door. When she reached the lobby, Melinda searched the assortment of plush forest green armchairs for Nathan.

  “He took his car and went on ahead to your meeting, Miss Harris,” Phil called out from his Queen Anne desk. “He had me call Bob to take you over to Poydras Street.”

  “Thanks, Phil, and just call me Melinda.” She paused and bit down on her lower lip. “Did Mr. Cole leave any other instructions for me?” she voiced with a hint of apprehension.

  “Just that he would see you at the meeting and for me to call Bob.” Phil gave her an unusual smile as he appraised her outfit.

  A shimmer of light from the street bounced around the lobby as the black Mercedes pulled in front of the building.

  “There’s Bob, right on time,” Phil remarked.

  Melinda tugged at the long strap on her purse.

  “Don’t look so scared. He’s really not a bad guy.”

  Melinda stared at him, a bit confused. “Who’s not a bad guy?”

  “Mr. Cole. That’s why you look like you’re about to jump out of your skin, right? First day on the job jitters. Relax. Mr. Cole is really easy to work for. He only asks that you do your job.”

  Melinda almost laughed out loud. “My job? But what if I can’t do my job?”

  Phil shook his head, chuckling. “You’ll be fine. He wouldn’t have hired you if he thought you couldn’t get the job done.”

  Melinda wanted desperately to tell Phil why Nathan had hired her, and that the best people in her line of work usually had reality television shows, but she rushed for the door instead.

  In the early morning sunshine, she felt better. The heaviness that had been pressing down on her in the lobby instantly lifted.

  “Good morning, Miss Melinda.” Bob opened the back door of the car for her.

  Before Melinda climbed in, she stopped at the curb and looked back at The Shallows. As she peered up the red-bricked building, the heaviness returned. She closed her eyes and tried to allow the energy around her to flow into the center of her chest. As the darkness cleared in her mind, she envisioned intermittent faces—dark faces—with their mouths wide open as if trying to scream.

  No wonder I’m jumpy.

  The drive over to Poydras Street only took a few minutes, and Melinda questioned if it would have been easier for her to walk. Having lived in the French Quarter for so many years without the benefit of a car, she had been used to hoofing it everywhere she needed to go.

  Gazing up at the thin, gray skyscraper, Melinda wondered if she had not made the biggest mistake of her life—just like Jack had warned. What did she know about existing in this kind of world? Did she honestly think she could sit in a room with hardened business professionals and not feel completely out of place?

  “I’m to remind you the meeting is on the sixty-second floor at the offices of Rutgers and Meyer Architectural Firm,” Bob informed her as she stepped from the car. “Mr. Cole said he will be driving you back from the meeting, so you have a good day, Miss Melinda.”

  She gripped her briefcase in her hand. “Bob, do me a favor. Just call me Melinda.”

  Bob gave her a reassuring pat on the arm. “You’ll do great, Melinda.”

  Slowly, she proceeded to the glass and steel front entrance of the towering building while assorted professionally-dressed men and women scurried around her. As Melinda strode across the ultra-modern lobby with its shiny silver sculptures, she began to tremble.

  “This has got to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”

  Chapter 8

  The offices of Rutgers and Meyer Architectural Firm were located right outside of the elevator on the sixty-second floor. There was a small reception area with a few red leather c
hairs and an oval cherry coffee table covered with magazines. Cut into the wall opposite the entrance was a square window with frosted glass. Melinda had not even approached the window when the glass slid open and a round-faced brunette smiled at her.

  “Are you Miss Harris?”

  Melinda just nodded.

  “Mr. Cole is waiting for you in the conference room. Just go through that door, down the hall, and it’s the last set of doors on your right.”

  Melinda noticed an oak door to the left and then looked back at the brunette. “Thank you.”

  “Would you like some coffee, Miss Harris?” the brunette called out.

  Melinda figured the less she put in her stomach, the better her chances of not throwing up in the middle of the meeting. “No, thank you,” she told the woman, and then hurried for the door.

  The conference room was at the end of a long hallway and marked by double doors with elegant brass handles. As soon as Melinda stepped into the room, she saw Nathan standing in front of a picture window that looked out over the French Quarter. When he saw her, he smiled. All the apprehension she had been struggling with since getting out of bed instantly evaporated.

  “Right on time,” he said, coming toward her.

  In a double-breasted, blue pinstripe suit with a yellow silk tie, he smelled of his enticing cologne. He kissed her cheek, and she could have sworn the images suddenly filling her head were his. There were flashes of her naked body laid out on a king-sized, black walnut, four-poster bed with her red hair fanned out behind her.

  “You look fantastic,” he whispered to her. “I can see my money was well spent.”

  A surge of pride swept through her. “I didn’t go hog wild, but I did make a dent in your credit card.” She glanced about the room, noting the long conference table and plethora of empty red leather desk chairs. “Are we the first ones here?”

  Nathan nodded. “I wanted to give us a chance to talk before the meeting.”

  Melinda placed her purse and briefcase on the table. “Talk about what?”

  “These are the offices of the architects drawing up the plans for that abandoned power plant I told you about. They have an investor from Dallas who is real interested in putting money into the project. His name is Bud Moore, and I want you to tell me what you feel about him. Is he trustworthy, or out to steal the property from me?”

  Melinda placed her hand over her nervous stomach. “I’ll do my best.”

  “Good girl.” Nathan patted her shoulder. “I’m going to introduce you as my assistant, so just pretend you’re taking notes throughout the meeting. After we’re done here, we can talk.”

  Melinda opened her briefcase and pulled out a yellow legal pad and pen.

  “You even got a briefcase. I’m impressed.”

  Melinda held the pad and pen in her hand. “A friend suggested it.”

  Nathan frowned at her. “Not Jack, I hope.”

  She hugged her legal pad. “No, I haven’t spoken to Jack since I left the Quarter.”

  “Good. I think the less contact you have with that man the better. He’s too protective of you.”

  Melinda noticed the odd change in Nathan’s voice. It sounded uncharacteristically dangerous. “You make that sound like a bad thing, Nathan.”

  “I just don’t like obstacles, Melinda.”

  She quizzically tilted her head to the side. “What obstacles?”

  The door to the conference room opened and two older gentlemen in dark suits entered.

  “Harry, George,” Nathan said, greeting the men. “I’d like you to meet my assistant, Melinda Harris.” Nathan waved to the gentlemen entering the room. “Melinda, this is Harry Rutgers and George Meyer, my architects for the Market Street project.”

  Melinda nodded to the two men. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”

  Just then, a short, sinewy man in a black suit, with thick black hair and coal black eyes, ambled into the room. As soon as she saw him, Melinda instantly disliked the man. But when he spotted Melinda, his eyes hungrily devoured her curves.

  “Let’s get this show on the road, boys,” the man dressed in black announced in a heavy Texas drawl.

  “This should be fun,” Nathan murmured next to her.

  Melinda lowered her head, hiding her grin. As she began to field impressions from the abrupt Texan, she sagged with relief. This was going to be a lot easier than she’d thought.

  * * *

  An hour later, Melinda was sitting in Nathan’s Jaguar XK as he pulled the car out of the garage located next door to the gray skyscraper.

  “I can guess what you’re going to say about that Texas tycoon, Bud Moore,” Nathan surmised as he merged his car into the street traffic.

  “If you already know, then why do you need me?”

  “Because sometimes I need reassurance that my gut feeling was right.”

  She eyed the other cars around them. “Your Bud Moore came across as garish, loud, and obnoxious as hell, but you can trust him, Nathan. I didn’t like him from the minute he walked in the door, but he’s trustworthy and very interested in your deal.”

  Nathan gave her a cautious side-glance. “He didn’t appear interested, and he put up more resistance than I expected to my proposal.”

  “He’s interested, but he didn’t want to appear too eager. That whole macho act in the office was merely for show. On the inside, he’s a savvy businessman with a lot of confidence, and from what I can see, a lot of cash.”

  Nathan chuckled as he looked ahead to the street. “I’m impressed. You got all that in what … half an hour with the guy?”

  Melinda shrugged, nonplussed by his skeptical tone. “Some people I can read pretty easily. Others can take me a while.”

  “Why is that?”

  Melinda sighed, wishing she had an answer. “I have no idea. It’s not like I can control any of this stuff. I can focus my thoughts on a person or situation and get impressions or visions. Then there are times when I get nothing at all.”

  “I hope that doesn’t happen too often. I’m counting on your ability to help me, especially in meetings like the one we just left.”

  Melinda browsed the passing buildings. “I have to admit I was pretty nervous this morning, and that does interfere with my impressions. But once we got started, I settled down and got quite a bit from Bud Moore.”

  “What do you see when you read a person?” Nathan asked, glancing over at her. “I know you said you get visions, but what kind of visions? Is it like a movie or looking at a snapshot?”

  “They’re just pictures, really. Like photographs flashing across my brain. Sometimes I get a lot of detail about a person, and then sometimes just shadows. Like with your ghost on the fifth floor. I can’t see any detail about the woman’s looks, I just get feelings from her.”

  “What kind of feelings?”

  Melinda rubbed her hands together, overcome by a chill. “She’s frightened, very frightened.”

  Nathan pulled his Jaguar in front of a slow-moving Lexus. “I stayed in that apartment for several weeks. I never felt anything.”

  “She sticks to that small room with the metal door,” Melinda divulged. “What did you use that room for?”

  “An office.”

  “Kind of small for an office,” Melinda commented.

  “It originally housed the air conditioning units for the building. I had the units moved to the attic and had the area enclosed when I bought the building.”

  “Odd you never saw or felt anything in there. She seems very insistent.”

  “But I’m not psychic.” He became distracted by a sign on the sidewalk. “Hey, are you hungry?”

  “It’s kind of early for lunch.”

  “But not for breakfast,” Nathan cheerily affirmed. “I know the best place in the world for breakfast.”

  * * *

  Mother’s Restaurant was a landmark for food aficionados in the city. The skinny red-bricked building on the corner of Poydras and Tchoupitoulas Streets alwa
ys had a long line out front during the breakfast and lunch rush, but today the front dining room was only half-full.

  Nathan escorted Melinda to a short line of people standing before a metal food prep counter. Melinda gleaned the menu board posted behind the counter as the smell of savory caramelized ham lingered in the air.

  “Do you know what you want?” Nathan questioned while they waited in line.

  “Biscuits, scrambled eggs, and coffee.”

  Nathan viewed the assortment of meats and dressings housed behind the counter while they slowly moved closer to the cashier at the end of the line.

  “This is one of my favorite restaurants. It’s down-home cooking served without pretense or fancy china. I even love the luncheonette decor.” He waved his hand over the assortment of black and chrome tables set against a wall covered with photos of patrons and fans.

  Melinda eyed the tray of ham and eggs a passing waiter was carrying. “When I first came to New Orleans, I used to come here and buy biscuits for Josh by the dozen.”

  “Josh?” Nathan arched one eyebrow. “Was that the man Jack mentioned?”

  “Yes. We met at Ole Miss. I studied music and he was in pre-med.”

  He rested his hip against the metal counter next to them. “So what happened to Josh?”

  Melinda shrugged, hoping to appear coy. “When he got into LSU Medical School, I decided to come to New Orleans with him. Right after we moved here, he had to relocate to the dorms—some kind of school requirement. I had to stay in our apartment.” Melinda paused and lowered her eyes from his gaze. “A short time after that, he found someone else.”

  Nathan was quiet for a moment. “How many have there been since Josh?”

  She stopped moving in the line and faced him. “What?”

  He motioned her along the service counter. “Most women try to get over one man by quickly finding another. Are you one of those women?”

  Rattled, Melinda didn’t know how to respond. Was she like that? She didn’t want to give him the wrong impression, but she also didn’t want to lie.

  “No, I’m not like that … or at least, I hope I’m not,” she eventually admitted.