Overture (Rain Dance, Book 1) (Rain Dance Series) (3 page)

     
"Hey, Em,
how's it going?"

     
"Good.
You?"

     
"Great. So
look," she began, getting straight to the point. "I've been tasked
with delivering a message to you personally. Someone wants you for a job."

     
My face
scrunched up in confusion. "Um…Like a commission?"

     
"I'm not
exactly sure what kind of job, but I'd imagine so."

     
"Me
specifically? Why didn't they just email me?" If they knew about me, then
they also had to know about my website.

     
"They
wanted to make sure that you became aware of it."

     
That sounded a
little too serious. "Who, exactly?"

     
Mercedes
laughed. "Get a pen and paper so I can give you the number. A woman,
Patricia, will answer. She'll schedule you an interview."

     
My body
automatically cringed at the word. Whether by phone or in person, interviews
were a fucking nightmare. "I really don't think I'm interested-"

     
"Listen,
Em," she cut me off. "You're going to want to take this job. Trust
me. Now write the number down."

     
Two hours
later, I held the phone between the palms of my sweaty hands, chanting in my
head to
just do it
. Had I really needed a job at the moment, I would
have called right away. But because I had the option to think about it, there
was enough time for anxiety to have set in. In the end, curiosity had won over
my lazy side, so taking a deep breath, I dialed the number and cleared my head,
numbing myself.

     
A very
pleasant-sounding woman answered on the second ring. "Ethan Desmond's
office. Patricia Carnell speaking. How may I help you?"

     
"Hi, this
is Emeline Vincent. I received a call regarding an interview?"

     
"Miss
Vincent? Ah, of course. What days are you free to come by?"

     
"Um…All
days." It probably wasn't the best answer, but I panicked.

     
"…Today?"

     
Today?
I
looked at the clock. It was almost four. "I'm available today."

     
"Mr.
Desmond will be free by five-thirty this evening. Would that be convenient for
you?"

     
No, that's
way too fucking soon.
"Yes."

     
"Great. I
can have the address emailed to you in a few minutes, along with
directions."

     
"I have a
pen and some paper right here." I wasn't about to tell her where I lived,
so I had her give me the address instead. As I wrote it down, I mentally cursed
myself for agreeing so suddenly before thinking it through.

     
"Just give
the young lady at the front desk your name," she instructed

 
    
"Um…Is there anything in particular I
should bring? Will I need a portfolio or…?" Was it unprofessional to ask?

     
"All you
need to bring is yourself."

     
"Alright.
Thank you."

     
After hanging
up, I tossed the phone onto the other side of the couch.
Well, the sooner I
get it over with, the better, I guess.

A
quick search on the internet and I had found the place. The Luxadigm. The same
building I had just spent days working on.
Of course.
It all made sense
now. Perhaps they wanted another painting of their building? I wasn't sure I'd
be up for that, though. It was rare that I painted anything architectural. But
I figured I might as well see what they wanted.

     
If I walked I
could probably be there in half-an-hour. Or I could take a cab and be there in
minutes. The choice became obvious when I realized I only had a certain amount
of time to get ready. I'd be entering the nicest building in the area, so presentation
was important. Would it be better to play it safe and wear slacks and a nice
top?
I wonder what would happen if I showed up in some outlandish outfit
that screamed 'look at me, I'm an artist!'

     
…Maybe I should just keep it classy. If I looked mature,
I would be taken a little more seriously. Hopefully.

     
Whenever in
doubt about an outfit, I always resorted to the default:
the little lady
black
. It varied depending on where I was going, but only made use of the
one color. This time it consisted of a sleeveless dress with a lightly pleated
skirt and matching pumps. Proper, but simple enough that I wouldn't stand out.
After putting on my stockings, I fixed my hair in a simple half-up, half-down
style. My makeup was kept to a minimum, just enough to highlight certain
features. I was lucky enough to have clear skin, so all I needed was a little
eyeliner, some mascara, and tinted lip balm.

        
From
my closet, I pulled out a heavy black coat - originally over two hundred
dollars, but I got it for a steal at only twenty-five dollars while thrifting.
I had to sew a few buttons back on, but it was well worth it. After grabbing a
matching purse, I checked myself over in the mirror to make sure I looked okay
before calling for a cab.

     
My mind was
elsewhere during the ride over, resting quietly while my body moved on its own.
It was easier this way. If I thought too hard, it would lead to panic. But it
was also out of habit that I did this. It was my approach to most things in
life that involved the outside world.

     
Elsewhere must
have been really far this time because I didn't even remember walking through
the doors of the Luxadigm. But suddenly I was here, trying to remember what
for.

     
Clean.
That was my first thought as I studied my surroundings. Even the air I was
breathing seemed fresher than it had outdoors. The ground was made of
cream-colored marble, as were the walls, but in a slightly dark shade. There
was a large staircase to the left of the lobby leading to a second floor that
appeared to be open to the public. Opposite of where I stood, further in the
distance, was a set of turnstiles. A large hallway formed just beyond them, and
I could see that it led to another open area. The decor was mostly colored in
various shades of brown with golden accents. Overall, the inside was somehow
simple yet grand all at once.

     
When I realized
I was standing there gawking like a fool, I quickly began making my way to the
information desk towards the right. I almost stopped in my tracks when I saw
the pristine woman who was seated there. She was young, around my age,
probably. Her frizz-free, white-blonde hair was pulled into a tight bun. When
she looked up to smile at me, I had to force myself to keep walking. It
shouldn't have been possible, but her face seemed to be perfectly symmetrical.
With her grey-blue eyes, silky-smooth skin, and glossy pink lips, I had to
wonder if she was a model. If not, she would be once I started painting her.

     
Smiling back, I
informed her of who I was.

     
"Of
course. One moment, please." Her voice was surprisingly soft, but very
clear and precise.

     
A few seconds
later, she stood and began leading me through the turnstiles to the area beyond
the hallway. Even in my heels, this woman towered over me. I sighed inwardly,
feeling very small - in more ways than one.

     
She stopped in
front of the elevator that was furthest away. It was different from the others,
which were all situated together. Also, this one happened to be guarded by a
brawny man of some mixed ethnicity. He paid us no mind.

     
"Patricia
will be expecting you on the top floor," the young woman informed me with
a slight bow after she hit the call button.

     
Top floor?
Whoa.
"Thank you," I answered kindly, trying to hide the new bout
of nervousness.

     
I entered the
elevator and pressed for the highest floor before checking my phone for the
time. I had seven minutes until five-thirty, and I was in no way prepared. What
kind of questions would they ask? Most of my art-related transactions were done
online, not in person. I didn't know what to expect, especially from a place
like this. Taking a deep breath, I pulled off my coat and folded it into my
arms. I was going to need to cling to something if I was going to get through
this.
Just smile and don't look scared.
The elevator doors opened and I
stepped out.

     
In front of me
were ceiling-to-floor windows. I could see the sun beginning to set in the
distance. The clouds, seemingly still, were actually in motion, slowly drifting
by as though being pulled on a single sheet of paper. From up here, it was a
very lovely view. Turning my head away, I could see a small seating area
towards my right and a large circular desk beyond it with another blonde woman
- this time strawberry-tinted and kept in a low ponytail. As I neared, I could
see that she was actually a little older than she originally appeared. Possibly
in her late thirties, though her soft brown eyes seemed much younger.

     
There was a
moment of slight surprise before she smiled at me sweetly.
 
"Miss Vincent?"

     
"Yes," I answered, hoping she couldn't tell how my voice had
just shook.

     
"Mr.
Desmond is ready for you now." She pointed towards the door behind her.
"You can go right in."

     
"Oh."
Damn. I was hoping to have a few minutes to pull myself together. "Thank
you."

     
I hesitated
when I reached the door. She had said to go right in, but I still felt like I
should have knocked. Creeping the door open only slightly, I squeezed through
and entered quietly.

     
The first thing
I noticed was a long desk surrounded by chairs, followed by the wall beyond it,
which actually wasn't so much a wall as it was one giant window.
What must
it be like to work with a view like that?
To my right was another section
of room containing a large sofa, two armchairs, and a coffee table. And on the
furthest end of the room, Mr. Desmond sat on his desk facing towards the window
that stretched the length of the room, reading what appeared to be some kind of
file.

 
    
Well, fuck me.

     
Even from a
distance, I knew it was
him
. There was only one question circulating my
mind at that point. Was it just one big coinkydink that I was here? It seemed
unlikely, but if he worked here and he had seen my painting, then I suppose it
made sense. I couldn't deny that part of me wanted to shout my thanks to the
heavens for allowing me another opportunity to look upon this delectable
specimen. But a more annoyed part of me wanted to punch something and ask
why
.
As it was, the third part of me that was feeling overwhelmingly weary seemed to
be winning over. But at least I was no longer a nervous wreck. All I had to do
was focus on getting out of here.
Play your part and get this over with.

     
I began to make
my way towards him, mentally preparing myself for the stare that was about to
befall me by chanting part of the heart sutra in my head.

     
No feeling,
no thought, no will, no consciousness…

     
"Mr. Desmond?"

     
He snapped the
file shut, turning his head to me. Quickly setting it down to the side, he
stood up and came to greet me. "We meet again. I'm surprised I didn't hear
you come in."

     
Was that my
heart leaping out of my chest? I think it was.
"I hope I'm not
intruding," I replied, staring anywhere but directly at his face. "I
realize I'm a few minutes early."

     
"Not at
all. I'm glad you could come, especially on such short notice." My body
hummed in reaction to his baritone voice.
Well, that's never happened
before.

     
I knew that he
was tall from our first run-in, but having smacked right into him at the time,
it hadn't really registered. As I watched his entire form walking towards me, I
could see that he was much taller than the nice girl from downstairs. If I had
felt small next to her, it was nothing compared to what I felt now.

     
Still, he
regarded me fondly and held out his hand when he reached me. I meant to be firm
in my handshake, but it ended up falling limp in his much larger hand. One
simple touch and my knees were weak. But damn, did he have beautiful hands.
Smooth, free of any wrinkles, and obvious in strength. I had to distract myself
before I fell into a full-blown study session, so I quickly looked up.

     
As my insides tensed,
I fought the reflexive urge to run away. His eyes looked more human without the
fluorescent lighting, but they were no less mesmerizing.

     
...
No
smelling, no tasting, no touching, no imagining…

     
At least I was able to make out the rest of his face this
time. His eyelashes were thick, possibly thicker than my own, and outlined
those astounding blue irises in the most beautiful way. The contrast between
them was striking. His eyebrows were long and shapely. His hair was rather
long, as well - rare for a man in his position, whatever it might be - and
framed his head in an almost unruly, naturally breezy kind of way. And with his
straight nose, high cheekbones, and slightly narrowed jaw, I found that he had
every single facial quality I preferred in a man. Out of politeness, and of
course to prevent myself from looking like a complete fool, I managed to avoid
the temptation of staring at his mouth.

     
"May I
take your coat?" he asked, holding out his hands.

     
"No, thank
you." It was my security blanket. No way was I handing it over.

     
After an
inscrutable pause, he motioned his head towards the sofa. "Please, sit
down."

     
Turning, I felt
his hand at the small of my back as he led me towards my seat. My breathing
faltered, the urge to run returning again.

     
...
And so
with no delusions, feel no fear, and have Nirvana here and now…Damn, I forgot
the rest.