Haze
Authors: Andrea Wolfe
Haze
By Andrea Wolfe
Copyright
© 2013 by Andrea Wolfe
All rights reserved.
Cover art by EroCovers
Editing
by Aeroplane Media and Anya Karin
Contents
Chapter 1
Whoa.
I was standing there in the subway, absolutely transfixed by the individual cars flying by in front of me. They all looked identical, yet none of the people occupying them were the same. Everyone had a different story, a different place they were headed, a different purpose for their actions.
I sometimes found myself zoning out when that rush of sound and air hit me. It wasn't just a nervous response; no, it was more like hypnosis or a drug. The problem was I had missed my train multiple times in the past after getting distracted. Today, that wasn't an option.
Thus far, New York City hadn't been bad to me, but still, I felt as if I barely belonged. Just a few short months ago, I had been at Michigan State University, unsure what my future held. And then, like a magician revealing the hidden coin behind my ear—oh, and I would definitely keep that coin to put toward my student loan debt—this job landed in my lap.
I was working at a
record label. It was sort of like a paid internship, one where I'd have flexibility going forward. Honestly, it paid pretty well, but I think the main reason I was there was for the experience. My dad insisted that I take such a job because this wasn't some tiny, hole-in-the-wall independent label—no, this was
the big leagues
. This was MCI Music Group, one of the biggest labels in the world.
Only problem is
I wasn't really into music. I actually recognized a number of the artists and talents on the label from the radio, but I just wasn't that into them. I wasn't like some of my friends from home who cruised Pandora and Spotify all day, looking for whoever the hottest new indie band was and then attending concerts on the weekend. Nope, that wasn't me.
Thankfully
, I was going to be more on the financial side of things. I could crunch numbers, and so I guess that's what made me appealing. If they had wanted me to sign new talent—I'm sorry, but picking out the next Justin Bieber was just not my thing—I probably would have turned down the position.
So why was today so special?
I noticed that my train had arrived and I ran inside, pushing through the throbbing maze of people until I found a seat. Every day, I just sat in silence, listening to the loud hum of the train and the quiet chatter of people. Today, for the first time ever, I took notice of all of the headphones in people's ears, the white ear buds that shielded them from the sounds of the real world. They were all lost in
music
. It seemed like a sign...
***
I had been here for just under a month, doing sales reports and other bland, mindless tasks at the MCI offices. My boss, Sam, was a decent guy, and he was reasonably nice to me, despite the fact that I just assumed he'd be an asshole because this was NYC, after all. In fact, he was so reasonable—he actually invited me!—that he was allowing me to sit in on today's meeting, a meeting with a guy named Jack Teller.
The only thing I kne
w about Jack Teller was that he was somewhat of a Renaissance man. Oh, and that he was
actually
rich and talented, not just a wannabe big shot. That was it. Frankly, I just didn't care that much. I assumed that if I were at this job long enough, eventually I'd develop an appreciation for such things. If this position had been in Hollywood, it would have been a much different situation for me. There had to be some crossover between the two industries, right?
A girl could only hope...
Honestly, it wasn't that I had specific goals in Hollywood, just that I found it more fascinating that the music industry. But I had a job, so I wasn't complaining.
I got to the office early
and poured myself a cup of coffee that happened to be freshly brewed.
Score!
Getting to work early had meant that I had to forego my usual stop for an Americano—but this would suffice just fine. On top of that, it was free.
The meeting was about twenty minutes away, so I sat down at my computer a
nd answered a couple of emails.
Jack Teller.
I kept thinking about his name as I typed, my curiosity suddenly piqued. I started to type it into the search bar, amazed at how many things were popping up before I even pressed enter.
Rapid rise to fame and fortune.
Music industry mogul and genius.
Breakup with Stacy Levons.
Stacy Levons?
That was a name I actually knew, an actor I really admired. My heartbeat upped a tiny bit as I slowly moved the cursor to click on her article.
"Hey, Effie, are you ready?" It was Sam, standing right behind me. He was dressed up a little more nicely than usual, his slightly oversized
red dress shirt buttoned almost to the top. His black khakis definitely fit him better than the shirt did. I kept my cool despite the fact that he had startled me.
"Uh, yeah, okay, one second," I said. I closed the window I had opened and turned to face him. "Is it time already?"
"A couple minutes away." He kept nervously checking his watch, a fancy gold-banded thing that glimmered whenever sunlight struck it. "This is a really big deal. You're about to witness history."
I let out an awkward chuckle. "Well, I hope he doesn't back out, because I barely know what I'm doing."
"You're not there to negotiate," he said. "Just watch—and look pretty."
"Thanks a lot for believing in my
abilities, Sam," I said playfully. "I'm always glad to be your doormat." We had a great rapport. In fact, aside from a minor awkward period at the beginning—sometimes it could be difficult to deal with a man a blunt as Sam—things had been pretty good. I liked that the atmosphere wasn't so strict, even though it was a corporate environment.
He started to walk toward the boardroom where our meeting would take place in a few short minutes, sending me a non-verbal hint that I should
follow him. I took a seat next to the one he chose. The other side of the table was empty, but it wouldn't be for long. Soon it would seat Jack and anyone else he chose to bring along to the meeting.
Did he have anyone else to bring?
Eh, it didn't really matter anyhow.
"This is so big for me, Effie. I've been trying to get Jack in here for a long time." He kept nervously tapping his fingers against the smooth surface of the table. I'd never seen him this nervous before. "I just hope I can break through to him. He's brilliant."
"I'm sure you'll be fine," I said. I didn't really know what else to say. He was sort of making
me
nervous, even though I was just supposed to be an observer.
We sat there for what seemed like hours, staring at a nice blank spot on the wall where a clock would have fit nicely. "
Dammit, where is he?" Sam kept muttering those same words under his breath. As far as I could tell, he was essentially
terrified
that he had already blown his big opportunity.
I slowly nursed my coffee, taking tiny sips as we continued to wait for the infamous
Jack Teller
. Even though Stacy Levons was only in her late-twenties, for some reason I imagined Jack as being an older, more seasoned veteran of the entertainment business.
"I can't believe this shit," Sam said. "These big guys are so full of themselves. I'll be right back."
It was such a blatant departure from his former optimism. He stood up and briskly walked out of the boardroom, his steps pounding into the carpeted floor. I could only hope Jack hadn't been standing outside as Sam cursed him...
I played with my phone for a couple of minutes, distracting myself from the fear that this big shot was going to walk in while I was all alone—but it didn't happen. Eventually, my restlessness got the
best of me and I stood up with my coffee, slowly pacing around the office as I waited for Sam to return.
After doing a couple of laps around the room, a business card from a hair salon fell out of my pocket and fell on the floor right in front of the door. I leaned down to pick it up, my coffee still in hand.
"Hey, I'm so sorry I—"
The voice hit my ears at the same time the body struck mine, a collision for the ages. My cup of coffee flew out of my hand and spilled across the front of my dark blue blouse. "Shit!" I stood up and set the now-empty cup on the table, examining the damage. There was a huge, dark stain across the front, all the way from my chest to my stomach. Thank God it had cooled off by
then.
And then I saw
him
.
Jack
Teller was gorgeous, his white smile nearly blinding, his body taut and perfectly muscular. Probably six foot three, he towered over my meager five foot four. Freshly clean shaven, but would have been perfectly fine with stubble. Classically beautiful, yet modern, urbane.
I couldn't break eye contact with him once it began
, his eyes so green, so
striking
that I could almost drown in them. He was clad in a nice pair of light brown slacks—almost the same color as his hair—that complemented his charcoal sports coat and dress shirt. There was something terribly interesting about him.
He was like the perfect blend of artsy and business oriented
. His attire was an obvious attempt to look the professional part, yet his messy brown hair seemed to reveal something entirely different, the tufts flowing in every possible direction. It was just long enough that you could
pull on it
...
"God, I'm so sorry," he said. "I'm Jack. I didn't see you there." He rea
ched out his hand to shake mine—and time seemed to stop.
Dammit
, why was this happening to me?
I froze
. Honestly, it was as if I were at the subway. I was stuck, my mind in some other space entirely as the world roared around me. And then, everything rushed back at once, an explosion of lights and colors and sounds. "I'm Effie!" I said. It came out far louder—and excitable—than I intended.
"Let me get you some paper towel," he said as he disappeared around the corner. I heard some mumbling in the background and then suddenly wondered if he was actually going to come back. If he was a super stuck-up businessman, he might just walk out instead of dealing with the
undignified hassle of bringing
poor me
paper towel.
It also seemed very possible that the whole encounter had just been my mind playing tricks on me. Maybe Jack Teller was just an
apparition. So many possibilities and so little time to deal with them.
"God, I'm so sorry," he said as he handed me a wad of paper towel.
He came back!
"I was late, and then I rushed in and—"
"No, no, it's okay," I said, wanting to avoid any additional apologies on his part.
"Effie, what the hell happened?" Sam had stepped into the doorway and only saw me wiping down my blouse with paper towels. A look of horror formed on his face when he realized that his
star potential client
was standing right next to me. "J-jack?" he mumbled, half to himself, half to Jack.
