For some reason, the memory of when I’d first asked Darcy out played through my head. Erik had introduced us at a party. I knew who she was because I’d seen her in my freshman Relief Printmaking class, but I hadn’t paid much attention to her before she smiled at me, like I was the only person in the room, and said, “Hi, I’m Darcy.”
“I’m happy for you,” I told Erik somberly, twisting my mouth up into a smile that probably resembled a grimace.
We walked the rest of the way without speaking. Erik walked with an extra spring to his step that was driving me crazy. He had played me. And I’d fallen for it, hook, line, and sinker.
I gave him a clipped bye as we parted ways, him splitting off to go for the engineering building while I went to the art building, dreading each and eve
ry step that brought me closer.
I entered the building and trudged down the hall to my classroom with all the enthusiasm of an inmate walking death row. Maybe Darcy would be sick or just plain not there. Maybe she would have the human decency to sit at a different table. Maybe the earth would open up and suck me in already in some freak earthquake.
The air smelled of acrylics and paint thinner, a combination I usually found comforting but now only served to remind me of whom I was about to face.
Letting out a deep breath, I rounded the corner of the art room and dragged my eyes to my table.
Damn. It. To. Hell.
Darcy looked up from our table, growing very still when her eyes rested on me. Fresh watercolors dripped from the tip of her brush, splattering across the unmarred surface of her painting. That alone should have been enough to send her into a freak-out fit that her art wasn’t perfect, but she didn’t even seem to notice it.
I remained rooted to the spot, my fight-or-flight instinct kicking into high throttle. Ah, hell.
The moment I realized my freaking palms were sweating, I turned to walk right back out when Professor Stark appeared behind me and said, “Ah, Devin. There you are. I was just looking for you. Could you step into my office for a moment please?”
My weight rocked back on my heels, and I let the momentum carry me back out into the hall, past the massive painting room that suddenly seemed too small with Darcy sitting in it. Though I didn’t turn my head to look, I was keenly aware of her eyes following me, drilling a hole into my skull. The whole wall was actually solid glass hung with paintings every five feet or so. I used to think it was a cool design idea, but now I wished it were a wall of solid marble.
I followed Stark around a corner a
nd down another hallway toward the faculty offices, and we stepped into his swanky, modern-looking man cave of steel beams and glassy surfaces. He had sweet taste. It used to excite me a lot more, though. Everything did before a year ago.
His hair never looked like he combed it, and he was scrawny, maybe ten years older than me. His big leather chair threatened to swallow him whole as I dropped my bag on the floor and took a seat across from him, feeling like I was in the
principal’s office back in high school.
Stark leaned forward, twiddling his thumbs. “It’s about your portfolio.”
My shoulders rose as my whole body bunched up like an accordion. “What’s wrong?” I asked, feigning polite concern though I already knew what he was going to say.
“Well, I was hoping you could tell me.” He reached over and grabbed a fat file, plopping it squarely on the desk before opening it.
I scanned copy after copy of shots I had taken this past year, from sunsets to park scenes, to Darcy smiling while snow caught in her hair. My eyes froze on that last one, every bit of moisture in my mouth drying up. The silence in the room seemed to thicken as I waited for him to say it, to point out the fear I was aware of but hadn’t fully confronted.
“These are nice, but, well, they’re not like you. There’s no movement, no passion, and that’s what employers
will be looking for at the end-of-the-year exhibition. Is anything wrong?”
“
Wrong” was too simple a word to describe my life right now. “Hardcore fucked-up” would be closer.
“I’ve… been going through a rough time,” I mumbled, dropping my eyes to my hands, which were clenched on my lap.
Stark blinked, as if processing this, then leaned back in his chair. He looked at me from atop his glasses. “I know things can’t have been easy since the accident, and though I’ve never said it, I hope you’ll come talk to me if you’re in trouble.”
The muscles in my jaw clenched and flexed. Those words sounded so wonderful, like I wasn’t alone in the world. Like I wasn’t being pushed aside and forgotten. “I know,” I said quietly. “Thank you.”
Stark rested his elbows on his desk, crisscrossing his fingers. “As your mentor, I feel like it’s my duty to look after you and make sure things are going well. I’ve been talking with some of your other teachers, and checked in with the Academic Affairs office. Your GPA confirms what they’ve all noticed this past year.”
He didn’t say it scoldingly, but I couldn’t help but feel a little defensive, like he was another person pointing
a finger at me.
“You barely managed to scrape by last term, and this one’s projected to turn up even lower marks. I’m not going to let you fail, Devin. You’re too damn talented to go down this path.”
I lifted my eyes to Stark, seeing only affection and determination. “Listen, I know we’re already halfway through the semester,” he said, “but you need some more pieces for your portfolio. These aren’t worthy of Lionel Thompson’s son.”
A scowl pulled at the corners of my mouth. Of course, what had I been thinking? That I could crawl out from under the shadow of the world famous photographer that sired me?
I blew a breath out through my teeth, tacking on a bitter chuckle at the end. “Is that what this is really about? You’re scared of what my father will think because then the department might not get that donation at the end of the year?”
“Your father’s contributions are much appreciated, but I’m not asking because I’m concerned about what one of our alumni will think,” Stark said fiercely. “I’m asking because I care about you Devin, whether you can see it or not.”
He didn’t give me a chance to argue, to tell him otherwise. “I think you should supplement your portfolio with more portraits. It’s looking a little thin. You’ve always had a gift for capturing people on the camera. The public relates to your photos. But they can’t all be of Ms. McKinley,” he added wryly.
Don’t worry. That won’t be a problem from now on.
“Okay,” I said blankly instead. The nervous tingle in my stomach came back, the first warning my world was about to crumble apart again.
“You’re great at photographing women, but you need more variety. I’d like to see something rawer from you, something that really shakes people up and gets down under their skin and into their souls. I trust you to determine what that will be. You’ve always had good instinct
s. And if you need models, I have a list of references you can look at. There’s a lot of untapped talent at this university looking for some experience with a good photographer.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said woodenly, flicking off my emotions
like a switch. The craving for alcohol burned my throat, along with the desire to feel numb again. “Is that all?”
St
ark stared at me, then blinked as he settled back into his seat. “Yes, that’s all.”
I sprang from my seat, swiping my case up as I bolted for the door.
“I’m giving you one week to come up with ten new shots,” Stark said, stopping me dead. “I’d like for you to please show them to me once you’ve developed them.”
One week? Was he serious? It had taken me a month to work up the courage to snap that sunset for our anniversary, and he expected me to pull it together within a week?
“Understood, sir,” I responded mechanically.
I needed a drink or a smoke. Now.
Stark inhaled another breath to say something more, but I never heard what it was. I was out of his office and walking back down the hall toward the parking lot, a cigarette lit in my hand before I left the building.
CHAPTER 5
Angel
STUDYING FOR MY MIDTERMS
stole most of my time this weekend, leaving me exhausted for my shift Monday night but no less wary of my surroundings. The house was hot; our patrons barreled past the point of intoxication well over an hour ago. I was entertaining the floor tonight, going around to each table and lavishing the men with candy-coated smiles. Tam had tried to get me to drink a beer to help steady my nerves, but being less in control of myself was the last thing I needed.
As I maneuvered through
the room, I developed an inner radar to Curtis’s whereabouts. Dread pooled in my stomach in a hard knot each time I caught him watching me as he schmoozed our “guests.” I’d never noticed before the shower incident how often his gaze sought me out, drinking me in from afar while he blew cigar smoke rings into the air. Each glance was a reminder that he was always there, waiting for me to screw up - or worse - be caught alone.
The caffeine high I’d been riding at the start of my shift was beginning to wear off. A nervous hum zinged through my veins at keeping tabs on Curtis, but it only drained my energy faster. What I desperately needed was another caffeine buzz.
Scanning my section, I almost sighed with relief when I counted no more tables to visit.
Time for a much needed break.
Making for the walkw
ay, I scurried toward the break room when a hand reached out and grabbed me by the arm. Immediately my body locked up, expecting to see Curtis moving in.
“Hey, I need to talk to you.”
Frowning, my head whipped in the direction of the husky voice. The package was nice enough - dark hair that curled slightly on the ends, well-defined features with some scars, and one ear clad with a metal stud and matching hoop. But that wasn’t what caught me off guard. It was the intensity of his brown eyes. The weight around them suggested he had something rough on his mind.
He studied my body language for a second, then let go. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
I brought my arms in front of my chest, crossing them. Somehow he made me very aware of the fact I barely had anything on. “It’s club policy not to touch the Foxes. You new here?”
It might have been the lights, but I thought he blushed. “Just bought a membership this evening.” He locked eyes with me again. “For you.”
The air suddenly became thinner. Blinking away my discomfort, I sweetened my voice as I’d trained myself. “Well, welcome to The Fox Hunt. I’m glad you enjoy my performances.” I turned to leave.
“Wait,” he said, starting to get up.
I arched a brow. What was this guy’s problem? If I didn’t hurry up, I was going to miss my break.
“I have something I need to discuss with you, actually,” he said. “Do you have a minute?”
My frayed nerves were starting to wear thin. “Yes, I do,” I replied. “You can buy thirty of them for seventy-five bucks.”
At his blank look, I snapped, “Buy a private dance,” then stalked away from him.
The urge to look over my shoulder was too great. Not turning my head all the way so as not to make it obvious, I sighed deep when I saw he wasn’t following me. That would get rid of him. While a lot of our members were doing all right financially, he looked like some scruffy college kid who probably had to save for weeks just to afford the steep membership.
My inner businesswoman scolded me for not trying to close the deal on the dance. They were my
least favorite part of the gig but probably the most profitable, with Foxes taking a fifty percent cut. Some nights, though, I was tired of being here, tired of pretending to be this person that was a shadow of what I’d hoped to accomplish in life.
Banishing those thoughts to the Netherland of Depressing Shit I’d Rather Not Think About, I burst through the doors of the break room, relief lifting my chest when I saw it was full of coworkers. No way would Curtis try anything here.
Making a beeline for the coffeemaker, I’d only punched in my combo when one of our secretaries tapped me on the shoulder. “Excuse me, Miss Angel?”
I took a moment to keep my anger in check. It
wasn’t her fault I was having a bad day. “Yes, Gina?” I said tiredly, turning around.
“Someone just requested a private sessio
n,” she said, checking her clipboard. “The Blue Room was open, so I booked you in it. Can you meet him in five?”
My lips pressed into a hard line. I was on the verge of telling her to rebook it, but the thought of it getting back to Curtis made me grow cold all over.
So much for a break.
“Sure,” I replied, sounding like a robot. If only I could run on fuel.
“Excellent,” Gina replied. “I’ll tell Mr. Thompson you’ll be with him shortly.”
She scurried away about the time the machine dinged, signaling my coffee was ready. Snatching it out of the holder with a growl, I blew on it, trying to cool it in a hurry, before taking a few rushed, scalding sips and tossing it in the trash on my way out the door.
The Fox Hunt
had several private viewing rooms for one-on-one’s and VIP parties, all coordinated with a different color scheme. Blue was close by, so it didn’t take long for me to get there. After readjusting my bustier, I applied a sultry smile and slinked past the curtain.