by M E Whiter
A tiny seed of insecurity sprouts inside me, worried at the thought that someone might just recognise, that it's a self-portrait. I can’t believe, the one time I choose to do a nude self-portrait, and look what happens, it’s put on public display.
As I turn to move along to the next painting, I suddenly feel ill, a wave of nausea grips my intestines, urging me to dash for the nearest restroom. I manage to reach an empty cubicle just in time, before throwing up. Afterwards, I climb off the floor, and sit on the toilet, with the lid closed, while I clean myself up, with some toilet tissues. When I finish, I lean forward, cupping my face in my hands, groaning in misery, my arms resting on my knees. Damn!I should know better than to drink wine, on an empty stomach.
When the nausea passes, I start feeling better, but the effect on my mood remains, leaving me feeling both tired and gloomy. I suspect it's a reaction to the excitement of the evening, colliding with the feeling that, tonight was supposed to be one of the highlights of my life, and here I am all alone, and no one to share it with. And all I want to do right now, is go back to my hotel room, and crawl under the covers.
Indecision gnaws at my conscience, as I take a moment to debate whether to stay or go? The loud chatter of two women, entering the restroom, disrupts my thoughts, forcing my decision. After leaving the restroom, I head directly to the cloakroom, to collect my coat. While I wait for the attendant, to fetch my coat, I hear a deep masculine voice behind me, call out my name. I spin around, to find a tall man in a black tuxedo, standing in front of me.
"Good evening Miss Day." I’m a little rattled that he knows my name.
Without thinking, my eyes are drawn to the faded crimson scar on his left cheek, but in no way does it detract from his rakishly handsome face. In my opinion, it gives him a rather appealing ‘bad boy’ image. I try hard not to stare at, until I remember his question.
”Do I know you?" I ask, dragging my gaze from the scar to his eyes, which sparkle, like pools of pale blue, enticing, except for the dark shadows I see, swimming in their centres.
"No, but I know you,” he says, with a slight twist to his head. “At least, what I read about you, in your profile."
I raise my eyebrows, staring at him, "Excuse me?" I have no clue what he's talking about. Just then the cloakroom attendant returns with my coat. I take it from her, folding it over my arm, as I return my attention to what Damon is saying.
"I came across your painting, when I looked through the auction catalogue, this afternoon. Your artist’s profile was included,” he replies, giving me a wicked lopsided grin.
My pulse quickens, in response to the way the deep rich tone of his voice, resonates through me like a force of nature. I’m disturbed by it’s effect on me.
"Oh, yes of course," I reply, a little too breathy. "Sorry, I forgot about the catalogue.” My cheeks blush, at my failure to make the connection.
“My name’s Damon Fox, by the way.” The corner of his mouth twists into a lopsided grin as he introduces himself. "I knew I’d be able to recognise you, when I saw your name on the guest register."
"Oh, how’s that? My photo isn't in the catalogue.”
"Let's just say," he says, lowering his voice as he leans in a little closer, the scent of his spicy aftershave, lulling my senses. “Just from reading your profile, I could tell you must be beautiful, and when I saw you walk in, I knew it had to be you."
Really? I’m speechless. I try to ignore his flattery, but my body has other ideas. My eyes drop to the ground, under the weight of his penetrating gaze, impressing on me, that he knows everything about me, including all my deep dark secrets. A slight shiver rolls down my spine, at the thought.
“How are you enjoying your stay here in Vancouver?”
I’m still reeling from his compliment, my voice along with it. I take a deep swallow, to rinse the dryness from my throat. “I’ve only been here a week, but I’ve enjoyed every moment of it.”
“Perhaps, we can find a way to persuade you to stay, so you won’t want to go home?” The question is fuelled with hidden intentions, that I have no wish to explore.
I frown at him. “As appealing as that sounds, I don’t think I’d want to give up my life back home.” I have no wish to give him any encouragement, for whatever he may be thinking.
"Well then, I'm glad you could be here tonight, so I could tell you, how much I like your painting.”
"Thank you." The blush on my face, hiding the fear that next, he’s going to tell me, he knows it's a self-portrait.
"You are a very talented young lady. I wouldn't mind seeing more of your work.”
What? Is he flirting with me? What can I say, that won’t lead him to believe, his suggestion is something I’d be willing to entertain. "Um, I guess you could, if you don't mind the long flight to Sydney."
"Actually, I'm planning to enter a bid for your painting, at tonight's auction."
"Oh, I see.” I avoid his gaze, confusion flashing across my eyes. Maybe, that’s what he was referring to, in the first place. There’s something about his cryptic comments, that agitates me.
“My partner and I, are currently building a new nightclub downtown, and your painting would look perfect, hanging behind the main bar. But I need to get his opinion first, before I do anything.”
"I see.” Just then, someone bumps into me, as they rush past, not bothering to apologise, when they see the icy warning in Damon’s glare, as he reaches out and grabs hold of my arm, to keep me from stumbling.
“Listen, I would like my partner to meet you, before I show him your painting. He should be here soon. If you don’t mind waiting, I could . . .”
He’s cut off, by the sudden appearance of an attractive blonde, in a black satin evening gown. “Excuse me . . .” He says, straightening his shoulders, as he turns towards the young woman. Her hand wraps around his upper arm, in a possessive move, as she boldly ignores the black threat in his expression, reaching out to wrap its claws around her throat. I must say, she’s got guts, if not brains. His look certainly has me scared.
“Damon, I’ve been looking for you everywhere," she purrs, her red lips spreading wide. "Mr Richter sent me to look for you. He needs to talk to you, urgently.”
Looking back at me, he says, “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” His forced smile barely veiling the storm in his eyes, now a shade darker.
“Alright,” I reply, delighted to see him leave.
"Don't go anywhere.” He warns, raising his index finger at me. I blink back the shock, at hearing the latent threat in those three words.
I watch Damon storm off, with the blonde trailing slightly behind him, until they disappear into the crowd. As soon as they are out of sight, I breathe a sigh of relief, feeling the tension in my body dissipate.
Who is that guy? And what are the odds, of me, meeting two incredibly good-looking men, in the same day? It’s a shame Damon’s not my type; far too intense and intimidating for my comfort. It's one thing, being attracted to the bad boy image, but he's seems downright dangerous. The type who’d tie you up and torture you, just for interrupting him.
A sudden shiver runs down my spine, but I'm not sure, if it's from my physical attraction to his roguish good looks, or my fear of his dark side. I do know that, I don't believe a word of his story, about wanting me to meet his partner. Whatever his real intentions may be, involving me, I'm not interested, and neither am I going to wait around here, just to find out.
As I step outside, the cold chill in the night air, blasts right through me, rattling my bones. I pull on my coat, fastening all the buttons, anxious to get warm again. When I spot a vacant taxi, pulling up to the curb, I race over and slip into the back seat, eager to get out of the cold. I give the driver the name of my hotel, and then fall back against the upholstery, relieved to have escaped, both from the cold and the roguish Damon Fox.
Chapter Three
THURSDAY, 7th August
Rachel
OF ALL THE worst days to wake up feel
ing hung over, it has to be this morning. I have to check out of the hotel before nine. Connor is driving me to my interview this morning. Dragging myself out of bed, I cringe in agony, as a cramp tears into my left calf muscle, unused to riding a bike. Rushing into the shower, I turn the hot water up, as high as I can tolerate, the prickling heat on my skin. Leaning my head against the tiles, I wait for the pain to ease.
After my shower, I head back into the bedroom to get dressed. I slip into a pair of black slacks and a purple sweater, before stepping into my black ankle boots. Sitting on the bed, I zip them up, and then head back into the bathroom, to do my hair and makeup.
I finish getting ready, my thoughts looking ahead to the interview, wondering how it will turn out. My nerves are rattled just thinking about it. At least, I will finally meet my mystery buyer, no matter what else happens. I know, saying that, is probably deflecting from my main goal, but when I accepted the invitation to fly here for this interview, I didn’t want to assume the job was already mine.
I wasn’t told, but I’m assuming there are other applicants, besides me, vying for the job. Before I left home, I promised myself, not to get my hopes up too high, just in case I don’t get it. If that does happen, of course, I’ll be devastated, after coming so far, only to be rejected. I guess, I should look on the bright side; I’ll have some wonderful memories of my first overseas trip, to take home, to share with my family and friends. Yeah, right! I can’t fool myself that easily.
When breakfast arrives, I’m not sure my stomach has recovered from last night, to feel up to facing a cooked breakfast. So, I just stick with a piece of dry toast, and a cup of weak tea. The promise of a clear day ahead, is in the view outside, watching the dull grey rain clouds receding over the mountains. When it’s time to leave, I slip into my black trench coat, tying the belt securely into a knot. My eyes start to tear up, as I take one last look around the room, that’s been my home for the last week, to make sure I haven’t left anything behind.
Grabbing my two suitcases by the handles, I wheel them behind me, as I walk out the door, and head for the lift. Noisy loud voices greet me, as soon as the lift doors open, at the ground floor lobby. Stepping out, I walk over to the reception desk, and stand in the queue, waiting to check out. When it’s my turn, I place my suitcases in the hotel’s storage facility. I will return to collect them, later, after the interview.
I then walk into the lounge area, and plonk myself down in one of the plush high back chairs, resting my handbag on my lap, while I wait for Connor to arrive. I absentmindedly, toy with the tassels on my bag, twisting them around my fingers, as I think about what lies ahead. My nerves are already frayed around the edges, knowing my immediate future, will be determined, by the outcome of this morning’s meeting.
Only a couple of hours from now, I will either be checking into another hotel for a couple of weeks at my own expense, while I wait for my cousin Mary, to come home. Or, if fate is on my side, and I do get this art commission, then I will be provided with accommodation and living expenses, during the period of my contract.
“Here you are.” Connor’s grumpy voice interrupts my thoughts, making me jumpy. His voice sounds more impatient, than ever before, jarring my already tender nerves. Besides, he has no right to be moody with me, he’s the one who’s over twenty minutes late.
I hop out of the chair, putting a lid on my outrage, waiting for him, to walk around from behind, to face me. When I glance up, I notice the vexed expression on his face, his eyes shifting sideways, as if he’s debating some contentious issue, and not willing to commit to one course of action or the other.
“You’ll have to wait here, there’s been some mixup with the transport arrangements.” He tells me, before he takes off again, leaving me to stare in disbelief, at his retreating figure. Where the hell is he going now? I’m still standing, leaning against the back of the armchair, staring at the entrance, when he returns again, almost ten minutes later. This time his expression, looks darker than before, if that’s possible.
“The car I’m supposed to drive hasn’t arrived and I can’t get another one here in time,” he says, waving his hand towards the front entrance, as a signal for me to go with him. “We’ll have to walk.”
Despite the warning glare in his eyes, I remain unmoving, not willing to go anywhere, until I gain a better understanding of what’s going on. “Why can’t we take a taxi?”
“I’ll take too long to get here, and we don’t have time to wait,” he replies, shaking his head angrily. “It’s only a ten minute walk away. I’m sure you can manage that, if you don’t want to be late.” When he starts walking away without me, I have no choice but to follow him. He’s the only one, who knows where we’re going. I catch up to him outside, choosing to stay one step behind him, as he charges off down the street, towards the harbour.
After a couple of blocks of struggling to keep him in view, I curse myself for not insisting, he give me the address, so I could get their on my own, without being subjected to all this drama. The morning peak hour traffic, blares through my thoughts, forcing me to concentrate on where I step, as we compete for pavement space with all the other early morning commuters, rushing off to work.
My shoes are almost soaked through, from walking through the rain puddles, left over from this morning’s heavy shower of rain. The squelching sound of my feet with each step, making it uncomfortable to walk in them. Not that Connor notices my distress. He doesn’t bother to look back even once, to make sure I’m still following.
It’s not until, we approach the second set of traffic lights, that he stops without warning. It almost causes me to run into him, when he turns around, to face me. He then grabs my arm, pulling me to one side, so we’re standing up against the side of an office building, out of the way of the other pedestrians.
When he speaks, he has to raise his voice above the traffic noise, to make sure I hear what he’s saying. “Listen, I’m supposed to meet someone here, but he’s not here yet. We’ll wait a couple of minutes, to see if he shows up?”
I scowl at him, not believing this is happening. “Why don’t you just give me the address, and I’ll find my own way there?” I ask, shaking my head at him.
“We have plenty of time. This won’t take long.” He turns his back on me, again, facing the traffic lights, to keep a look out, for his friend.
Grrr! I just want to get to the damn interview, without all these delays. Connor’s phone starts to ring. He walks away to answer it. Too far, for me to hear what the conversation is about, but I can tell by his reaction, it’s not good news. When he comes back, the expression on his face is blank. Which worries me even more, only adding an extra layer on the unease, that’s been building up inside me, since Connor first showed up at my hotel.
“Connor, what’s going on? Why aren’t we moving?”
“We have to wait here,” he growls, turning his back on me, as people continue to hustle past, ignoring us. The sound of tyres screeching and car horns blaring, pass through my ears, in a rotating pattern, as the traffic lights change from green to red and then back again. And yet, here we stand and wait. For what, I have no idea. His behaviour is beyond the pale, my patience strung beyond its limit, ready to pounce on him, if we don’t get going soon.
Before another moment passes, he turns back to me. “Come on, we need to cross over.” He turns sideways, signalling with a wave of his hand, for me to go ahead of him.vThis time, I do, without question, only too eager to get going.
By the time we reach the curb, the lights turn red, forcing us to stop and wait, until they change back to green. Keeping my anger in check, I ignore Connor, standing behind me, as I keep my eyes focused on the signal box. As we wait, the crowd of people gathering behind us, start pressing forward, anxiously waiting for the light to turn green.
When I feel a hand press firmly against the small of my back, I don't think too much about it, at first. A heartbeat later, the pressure on my back increases, and suddenly my whole
world flashes past in a moment of terror, when I feel myself being pushed forward, propelling me out onto the road, and head-on into my own waking nightmare, as an oncoming car slams into my side. The next thing I remember, is the road coming up to meet me, and then everything going black . . .