Mind Waves

by Amanda Uhl

  Her heart sank as her gaze alighted on a couple nearby. It was him, the Job Crusher—David Jenkins. The jerk who had watched her presentation with unblinking eyes this morning and kept scribbling in his notebook. What was he doing here?

  Grace stood at the counter and studied him carefully under the guise of perusing the drink list. His clothes were more casual than this morning’s suit, but he still cut a GQ figure, dressed in charcoal gray slacks and a black, button-down shirt. He didn’t wear a tie, which was likely a good thing—she might be tempted to strangle him with it. His black hair looked exactly as it had this morning—perfect. Except, now there was a slight curl on the right side. Ha! So he was as vulnerable to Cleveland’s summer humidity as the rest of the population. Nice to know he was human. She had doubted the possibility.

  Her gaze shifted to his companion. The girl was young, maybe twenty-five, thin with straight, long blonde hair and a skimpy green dress. She spoke, her hands waving as if it were her primary form of communication and smiling, clearly doing her best to flirt. As far as Grace could tell, it wasn’t working. Job Crusher looked bored. He nodded to his companion and seemed to turn his head deliberately to catch her staring.

  “Dammit.” Grace mumbled under her breath. She gave him a casual smile, but he showed no sign of recognition, so she looked away. When she looked back again, he was speaking to his companion, who laughed at whatever he said.

  Did he even remember her? She had gone to great pains to look good this evening. She was supposed to be meeting an online date, but he had yet to show. Grace looked around and checked her cell phone. It was ten minutes past seven. She had been running late and figured he would be waiting for her. It concerned her he was not.

  Could he have seen her arrive, picked her out from her photo on the dating site, and hidden in the bathroom? It didn’t seem likely. They had been emailing for months and had a great deal in common. Neither liked the bar scene, which was why they had met online in a chat room. They had kept their identities secret, preferring to call themselves by a handle. She was Gigi. He was Brains. When he had asked her to meet him for coffee, she had agreed easily. Sucker.

  With a sigh, she checked her watch again and glanced around. Looked like a no-show. A wave of insecurity overwhelmed her. By anyone’s standards, she was cute, but no one had ever called her beautiful, like the slim blond with the Job Crusher, who reminded Grace a little of her sister, Claire. While Claire was white blonde, blue-eyed and leggy, Grace was small—standing five foot four inches in her bare feet—and curvy. Yet she knew she looked much younger than her thirty-five years. She should have no trouble attracting a date.

  She spotted a favorite magazine nearby and scooped it up before making her way to the counter to order a latte. David still talked to the young girl. In her peripheral vision—she didn’t dare get caught staring again—Grace saw her nodding her head at him.

  She grabbed her latte. The rich smell of coffee beans and vanilla was mildly comforting. Her date was nowhere in sight. Taking the table and chair closest to the window, Grace opened the magazine and pretended to read, though all she wanted was to curl into a ball and cry. Was steady work and a little male attention too much to ask for? How could a day, which had started out so promising, become so depressing?

  She frowned and turned to search out David, but he was hidden behind other customers. Why did she let his silence intimidate her? She should have reintroduced herself. Maybe she could have changed his impression.

  Grace sighed and gazed unseeing at her magazine. The thought of looking into his cold gray eyes again unnerved her.

  “Is this chair taken?” A deep, male voice startled her from her thoughts, skittering deliciously across her nerve endings. Was this Brains? She glanced up, hoping it was.

  It wasn’t.

  David Jenkins was in front of her. Time seemed to speed forward. She took a deep breath and forced a smile.

  “Oh, hello. I saw you earlier but wasn’t sure you remembered me. You know—from our meeting this morning.” She swallowed, her throat dry. What could he possibly want to talk to her about after his total lack of interest that morning and snub minutes earlier?

  Part of her registered relief. She had another shot to change his first impression. Grace badly needed a client, any client, to pay her mounting debt. Saying goodbye to a husband and a corporate paycheck in the same year had not been favorable to her pocketbook. If she landed the Gallant job, she would stand to make ten to fifteen thousand dollars after expenses. A chunk of change compared to her normal commissions. “Please take a seat.” She gestured to the chair opposite.

  “Are you expecting someone?” He raised one eyebrow in query.

  “No—I mean, I am, but it doesn’t look like they made it. Go ahead and sit if you’d like.” He did, casually crossing his long legs under the table. He stared at Grace intently. She reached a hand into her hair and twirled a strand. His eyes followed the movement. She pulled her hand into her lap.

  “Gallant didn’t do a good job with introductions. I’m David Jenkins. And you are Grace…?”

  “Woznisky.” She fiddled with the handle of her coffee cup. Um…what exactly do you do for Gallant?”

  “I don’t work for Gallant. I’m a business consultant. From time to time, Gallant has used my services. I happened to be there today to talk about another matter and was asked to sit in on your presentation.”

  He placed one hand on his forehead, his long fingers caressing his temples. “So, how long have you been in business for yourself?”

  Grace snagged her drink and took a swallow. C’mon Grace. You won a staring contest with Luke Wilson in the third grade. You killed a humungous spider in the bathroom yesterday. You can do this.

  “A year.” She managed breezily. “I was a graphic designer for a greeting card company for fifteen years but decided to pursue a career as a full-time mosaic artist when I was laid off a little over a year ago.” When he didn’t immediately respond, she added, “It was a good decision.” She mentally kicked herself for adding the last part. She didn’t need to justify herself.

  “How did you get in with Gallant?”

  His fierce eyes glittered, seeming to stab into her disjointed thoughts, compelling her to respond. At the same time, she noticed they were not gray, but green. Or was it a trick of the light? “Brice Gallant went to school with my ex-husband.”

  David nodded as if cataloging the small detail but remained silent. Grace fiddled with the magazine, a Bargain Design. She noticed the bright, yellow bedspread on the cover—it would look great in her bedroom.

  He cleared his throat, bringing Grace back to the present. It never failed, when she was intimidated, her focus wandered. To stall for time to pull herself together, she took another sip of coffee. David Jenkins was looking at her as if she were an abandoned dog he needed to handle gently. His penetrating eyes seemed to see right into her mind. She fidgeted in her chair and searched for something to say. “So, what brings you here tonight?”

  He didn’t reply right away but took a drink of his coffee. He was tall, but not overly muscular. His long fingers curled around his coffee cup, and his left pinkie was crooked. Maybe it had been broken and hadn’t healed properly.

  “I had business here,” he said, a small smile on his face. He set his coffee cup down suddenly, as if he had made a decision. “Grace, Brice Gallant has decided to go with abstract paintings rather than a mosaic design for his new office building. I’m sorry. He’ll be letting you know on Monday.”

  Grace had known it, but hearing the words from this man was especially painful. She fought to keep her disappointment concealed with a question. “What do you do for Gallant? Mr. Gallant seemed to value your opinion greatly.”

  “My advice has been on target on a number of occasions, so he tends to value it.”

  Well, that’s peachy. And were you the one to advise him to go abstract? “That’s nice,” she said, staring defiantly into his chameleon eyes. She would be d
amned if she let him intimidate her. She’d experienced enough male ego to last her a lifetime.

  “Nice for me.” He smiled, making him look years younger and catching her off-guard. “You see, contrary to what you might believe, I liked your design ideas. I have a proposition for you. Would you consider working for me?”

  This time she barely kept her mouth from falling open. A job offer was the last thing she had expected tonight, especially from the Job Crusher. She thought of the dwindling funds in her checking account, her mortgage and car payment due at the end of the month.

  Then quickly pulled herself together to talk business. “What do you have in mind?”

  “I’m looking for artwork for my lake cottage. It’s been in my family for generations and needs a bit of modernization. I think your beach glass mosaic designs may be the right touch. Are you interested?”

  Nodding, she took another sip of her latte.

  “It will require spending a bit of time at the cottage. I’ll expect to be closely involved in the project, too. The cottage is important to me.”

  Discreetly she rubbed a sweaty palm on her skirt. The thought of spending a lot of time in this man’s company sent unwelcome butterflies through her system.

  “I’ve been considering this project for a while. A friend who owns a design magazine wants to follow my progress in the publication. If you take the job, I’ll need you to work closely with the editors to provide them with photographs and updates as you go.”

  “What’s the magazine?”

  “House Trendz. Do you know it?”

  Dear God, was he serious? It was a prestigious magazine, which had the reputation of discovering unique homes and showcasing them with beautiful National Geographic style photographs. Many of the residences pictured were of the rich and famous. She drew a shaky breath. “Yes. What’s the angle?”

  “They want to showcase talented artists bringing new life to old cottages. After seeing your work this morning, I think you’re the right person for the job.”

  Blood rushed to her cheeks, warming them. His flattery fed her ego, but she wasn’t sure she could trust it. He liked her work enough to hire her. This was praise indeed coming from the Job Crusher. Then again, maybe he expected to employ her for next to nothing. It wouldn’t be the first time.

  “I liked your initial proposal and will give you a budget based on your time, the cost of supplies, and additional labor. I’m thinking fifty thousand dollars ought to do it. Is that acceptable?”

  Grace nodded, dazed. Fifty thousand dollars was double what she had proposed for the Gallant project. It seemed her day was turning around after all.

  “Will you be able to clear your calendar for the next several months? I have a busy work schedule, and the deadline is tight. I’ll need you to be on call, so to speak.”

  Grace dug her nails into her palms so her excitement wouldn’t show. “Give me a second to check my calendar.” It didn’t have many entries, but he didn’t know that. Better to seem busy, than desperate.

  Making a show of pulling out her fancy, new smartphone, which she was still trying to figure out, she opened her calendar. For a few seconds, she scrolled through the blank pages. Only a few entries were recorded. Her sister’s shower in two weeks, a dermatologist appointment on Tuesday, a reminder she needed to get fitted for her bridesmaid’s dress—if Claire’s wedding took place. “I have a few appointments, but for the most part, it looks doable.”

  He stood, scribbled something on a business card and handed it to her. Their fingers brushed for a moment, and a strange tingle, like static electricity, jumped from his hands to hers. The electrical charge raced up her arms and into the base of her skull, causing her head to pound. A caffeine attack? Dear God, she hoped so. She would need all her wits about her to pull off this job.

  He gave her a brief smile. “I also have a residence—the address is on my card. If you’ll meet me there tomorrow at nine, we can get started. I think the sooner I give you the particulars of the assignment, the better. You can develop a full design proposal once you get a feel for what’s required.”

  She nodded, and he smiled again slightly. He shook her hand, which still held his card, and abruptly turned and left, his long legs making short work of his exit.

  Grace couldn’t help but stare after him. There was something strangely fascinating and, she hated to confess it even to herself, attractive about the man. Like when he had smiled at her and told her he liked her design ideas. But there was something else, too. Hidden secrets. Unbidden, his crooked pinkie came to mind.

  Grace watched him open the door of the coffee shop and head out. She glanced down at the card in her hand. C. David Jenkins, Economist and Consultant.

  Where was the girl who had been flirting with David when Grace had first arrived? She looked around for her, but the girl was nowhere in sight.

  Grace turned his card over. On the back, he had written his home address, Shaker Heights. She sighed. He lived on the east side of town. It would be a hike from her Lakewood home. Good thing he was generous with his design budget. She would need the extra dough to pay for gas.

  Grace grabbed her purse and headed out the door. Time to get home and plan her strategy for tomorrow. She had a feeling she was going to need to be at her best to keep up with her new employer.

  Chapter Three

  Dating Games

  “Pretty girl. Pretty girl.” Harvey screeched as she came through the door.

  “Now that’s what I like to hear,” Grace said. “How ya doing, Harvey honey? Did you miss me? Did you eat all your seed? You did, didn’t you?” She refilled Harvey’s food and water dish, chattering at the silky, gray parrot all the while. When she was through fussing with the bird, she shuffled to her office and turned on her computer, mentally composing a cryptic note to her failed date.

  She opened her email and saw the familiar address almost instantly. Mea Culpa, read the subject line. Her lips curled with disdain and her eyes narrowed on the screen as if it were the offending date who had the nerve to stand her up. She clicked on the message, muttering. “You’d better have a darn good excuse.”

  “It’s a wrap,” Harvey chortled. Harvey had once belonged to her sister, a struggling actress. Claire had purchased him for five-hundred dollars when she was in between boyfriends and left him with Grace when she moved to California. Grace soon discovered Harvey came with a whole repertoire of theater words, such as “break a leg,” “stage right,” and full lines from Shakespeare and other famous works. Sometimes his comedic timing was impeccable. Mostly he was downright annoying.

  Grace ignored Harvey and read the email.

  7:04 p.m.

  Please forgive me. I know you are thinking I didn’t show, but I did. You were talking to a man and didn’t notice me. I didn’t want to spoil anything, so I left.

  Brains

  Lame. She relaxed against the back of her chair, pushed the keyboard away, closed her eyes and contemplated her evening. Everything seemed like too much effort. She pulled the keyboard back and typed.

  7:32 p.m.

  You really should have said hello. The man you saw was a business acquaintance and not one I like all that much. This morning I lost out on a bid I was making because of him. He must have felt a twinge of conscience when he saw me, because he offered me a job. Gotta get to bed since I start tomorrow.

  Gigi

  She hit the send button with a satisfying click, flung off her heels and collapsed on the couch, tired from the stress of the day. She closed her eyes for a moment—the last thing she remembered before the sound of Cyndi Lauper, singing “Girls Just Want to Have Fun,” blared from her cell phone, jarring her awake. Claire.

  “Hello, darling,” squawked Harvey.

  Grace blinked, disoriented, and struggled from the sofa to answer the phone, which was in her purse. She had to dig for it in the big bag, among all the clutter of receipts, makeup and assorted papers she was too busy to organize. Organization had never been her
strong suit.

  She found it before her voicemail kicked in. “Hello?”

  “Grace, it’s me.” Her sister’s voice registered a full octave higher than normal.

  Oh, Lord, not tonight. The thought was followed by a pang of remorse. She always tried to be supportive of her sister. “What’s up?” She forced a bright and cheerful tone.

  “You’re never going to believe who came into the store.” Claire paused only a brief second before gushing on. “John Mayer! He had on blue jeans and a bright blue T-shirt, and he looked totally awesome. I asked him for his autograph, and he smiled and gave it to me. He said he liked my name.”

  The last was said on a rush so that the word “name” ended as a high-pitched squeal. Grace held the phone away from her head. Impressive, but tonight wasn’t a good night to deal with her sister’s drama.

  “Maybe he’ll use it in a song?” Claire giggled. “That would be so great.”

  “Yeah, it would. Claire, what time is it out there?” She squinted at the clock on the microwave. Midnight.

  “Yeah, I know it’s late, but I had to call and tell you. I also wanted to find out how your blind date went.” There was a slight pause while she waited for Grace to respond. “Grace, you did go on your date, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, well, not really.” Grace sighed. “I mean, he never showed.”

  “What? What an asshole. I hope you didn’t try to call him or anything.” Another pause. “Grace?”

  “No, I didn’t call him. We haven’t exchanged numbers. I did respond to an email he sent.”

  “He sent an email? What was his excuse? Somebody had better have died.”

  The comment made Grace want to laugh. Instead, she sighed. “No, nobody died. He saw me talking to one of my clients, assumed it was a date, and was scared off.”