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Sine
Three days.
That’s how long it had taken to organize the office, and then all day yesterday to get Alix’s bills and payment schedules synced with his appointments so that everything was all in one place. We’d had a bit of a row on Wednesday when I’d asked about handling his bills. He’d insisted he was an adult and fully capable of paying his bills himself. It probably would have escalated to the point where I would’ve said something I shouldn’t have, but in the middle of it all, as if God was sending a message, the lights went out.
He hadn’t apologized when I politely informed him that the electric company hadn’t received his payment...or when I confirmed that he’d paid his bill for his city apartment twice. He had, however, told me to call him Alix instead of Mr. Wexler, so I’d counted it a win.
With a bowl of cereal in my hand, I scowled as I looked at myself in my bathroom mirror. I’d made the mistake yesterday of taking advantage of the June sunshine after work and had gone for a run in Central Park. The run hadn’t been the mistake, but not buying stronger sunscreen was. I didn’t burn as badly as I could have, but my nose and cheeks were redder than I liked. With fair skin like mine, burns and more freckles were the only response to the sun, but this looked more like I was blushing, and I didn’t want Alix to think I was embarrassed by the subject of his photographs.
I’d been very careful not to show any reaction to the photographs he was taking or to the way his model pranced around half-naked. I wasn’t paid to be an art critic or his conscience. My job was to make sure the lights stayed on, and he didn’t double-book.
I put the bowl down and smoothed foundation over the sensitive skin, taking care to blend the edges. I rarely wore makeup, but I felt like representing a photographer meant being a bit more aware of how I looked. Alix hadn’t said a word to me about my attire, but I’d seen the looks Giselle had sent my way every afternoon when she saw me. I didn’t care what she thought about me as a person, but as a representative of Alix, I needed to make sure I always looked professional. Going to work with a bit of a sunburn made me look more like a child who’d been playing outside than an adult, so using makeup to keep the red to a minimum was necessary.
I needed to go shopping, I thought as I smoothed down my sundress. Back home, I’d always dressed comfortably, which for me had usually meant jeans with a variety of t-shirts and sweatshirts, often hand-me-downs from one brother or another. In college, I’d scoured thrift stores for slacks and blouses, and those had serviced me well in my previous jobs. Now, however, it was far too warm for pants and I certainly wouldn’t wear shorts, but I’d never fancied capris, which meant I’d be wearing dresses or skirts. I’d give Alix no cause to be ashamed of my appearance.
I tugged at the dress, wishing it was a bit longer. If I remembered to bend at my knees instead of the waist, I should keep from embarrassing myself. Alix and I had developed a tentative truce at the moment, and I didn’t want anything to spoil that, especially me accidentally flashing him a peek of my white cotton panties.
* * *
When I arrivedat the studio, he was already there, tossing pillows and blankets into different piles, then frowning and doing it again. He glanced up as I set his coffee on the table next to his laptop, but didn’t say anything. I didn’t take his reticence personally. My observations over the past week had shown me that he didn’t talk much in general, at least not when he was working. Direct questions with a point were answered, but personal inquiries rarely received answers, though he was warm enough when he gave those few answers to make me think that it was more about where his thoughts were when I asked than it was about him trying to keep his distance.
I took my coffee back to my office, already thinking about today’s tasks. Ms. Holloman had asked me to send her a report of everything I’d done at the end of my first week, so that was my top priority. If I could land this job on a permanent basis, it’d go a long way to making me feel like I had enough job security to renew my lease. It’d also get Mam and Da off me about coming home.
“This is home,” I reminded myself softly as I settled in my chair.
I took my time with my report, wanting to be thorough enough that Ms. Holloman could see that I was necessary, but not so detailed that I sounded like I was bragging. It was a fine line to walk, that was certain.
With that out of the way, I moved to Alix’s email, weeding out the junk, the proposals no reputable artist – or decent person in general – would accept. Like an offer to star in an adult movie titled Sorority House Humping III.
When it was almost time for lunch, I called over to the Indian restaurant on the list of take-out places I found in the desk and put in an order for delivery. Less than twenty minutes later, I walked back through the studio and called over to Alix that I had lunch.
“Thai?” he asked as he came into the office.
“Indian.” I gestured to the cartons on the desk. “Lamb curry, chicken makhai, chana masala, and shrimp biryani. Take your pick.”
“Do you have a preference?”
I looked up, surprised at his question. “Not really.”
I watched as he picked up one of the cartons, then leaned on the desk next to me. The previous times I’d ordered lunch for us, he’d taken his back out to the studio to work while he ate. Today, though, he stayed.
Stayed and glowered at the lamb curry like it had personally insulted him.
I picked up the chana masala and took a few bites, but he still didn’t say anything. Coming from a huge family, I liked the relative quiet I found here, but now, with neither one of us speaking...it didn’t take long for it to make me feel awkward enough to break the silence.
“Is something wrong?”
He raised his head, those gray eyes not revealing anything below the surface. “Pardon?”
I gave him a partial smile. “You’re looking at that food like it did you wrong.”
He raised an eyebrow, but a corner of his mouth tipped up. I’d seen him with polite, professional smiles, but this one had some good-natured humor to it. “My parents and I spent a summer touring the UK when I was fourteen. Aside from taking pictures when I was there, the accents were my favorite part.”
“As long as you don’t go asking me to say anything about a pot o’ gold or a certain sugary cereal, you can listen all you want.”
The words popped out before I could decide if they were appropriate or not. Then he laughed, and I decided that there was something to be said for a relaxed work environment. The sound rolled over me, liquid heat that warmed me to the core.
“Thank you,” he said. “I needed a good laugh.”
