Chapter 18 #2
“He died a long time ago. Isabel lived with my mother since her mother ran off when Isabel was a baby. She graduated high school at the end of last year but doesn’t know what she wants to do. And she needed a job.”
That was sweet that he’d hired his niece. And not what she usually expected from Oliver. He tended to be cut-throat when it came to business.
“Right, please sit.” Oliver directed her to a comfortable-looking sofa and sat across from her in a chair.
Caren slid off her coat and then sat.
Oliver eyed her clothing but knew better than to say anything. He knew that she toned everything down while on assignment. And he had no say in anything she wore.
“Are you all set for the exhibition?” he asked without preamble. That was Oliver. He didn’t really care for pleasantries. Or for small talk.
“I think so. I’m meeting again with Gemma, who is managing it all, at the start of next week to check everything is all good.”
“Good, good. All of the invitations were snapped up. This is going to be a big night. Do you, uh, have your hair and make-up booked in? A dress?” He eyed her outfit again.
She had to bite back a smile as Isabel walked in. “Don’t worry. I found this gorgeous velvet and lace dress. It looks like something from the eighteen-hundreds except it’s a bright neon orange.”
“You’re . . . you’re joking,” he spluttered out.
“Of course she is, Uncle Oliver,” Isabel told him as she placed a plate of cookies on the coffee table.
Yum. Snickerdoodles. She loved snickerdoodles.
“You are?” he asked Caren.
“Sure am. Don’t worry, I’ll dress the way everyone else is. Boring.”
Isabel let out a small giggle and Oliver sighed. “Great. That’s good. Ahh, you can leave now.”
“Thanks, Isabel,” Caren said with a smile.
“Yes, yes, thanks.” He leaned forward once they were alone. “There’s some stuff brewing in the Middle East. I’ve got a number of people contacting me, asking if you’re going out there.”
She knew he’d bring this up. And she probably should have been more prepared. “I don’t know.”
“It’s nowhere near the him, Caren. And, I’ve got to be frank, you really need to be out there.
You can’t hide away in the states forever.
My contacts will move on to other photographers.
Ones who aren’t afraid to put themselves out there to get these photos.
They want you because at the moment you’re the best. But you won’t always be. ”
Ouch.
Oliver always did know how to throw a good punch.
“I know I’m being harsh, but it’s only because I’m worried about you.”
He was also concerned about his commission. That was probably being a bit harsh, but it was also true. Oliver wasn’t her friend. He was her agent. And if she wasn’t earning him money, well, he’d move onto someone else.
“Where is it exactly?” she asked.
“Kazbrekistan. They think that the current ruler is going to be overthrown. Civil unrest. It’s dangerous, but that will mean some amazing images.”
She drew out a breath. Fear filled her. Could she leave the safety of the states?
She knew that safety was a relative thing.
He had let her go. There was no reason to think he’d be searching for her.
Hell, he’d likely moved on. And she’d been careful.
She’d used a different last name when she was with him and he’d had no idea that she was actually American. He thought she was from England.
Was it stupid to hope that would keep her safe?
“I know you’re scared—”
“Do you?” she snapped.
He sat back in his chair, staring at her. It wasn’t often that she got mad at Oliver and he appeared surprised.
“Caren, there are ways to keep you safe. River said you haven’t contacted him again.”
“I don’t think he’s got what it takes to go on assignment. He wore hair gel. And white shoes.”
“So? That doesn’t mean that he wouldn’t make a good bodyguard. I didn’t think you’d be so judgmental about someone’s appearance.”
Ouch. Point taken.
“He has good references. And he can be on-call to leave at any moment. Take him with you. Let him be your assistant and your bodyguard.”
“Maybe. I’ll think about it.”
“I guess that’s all I can ask for,” he grumbled.
“It is. Have a good day, I’ll see you at the exhibition.” Standing, she grabbed her jacket, rushing out of there.
“Are you all right, Ms. Stanford?” Isabel called out. “Can I call someone to come and get you?”
“Ahh, no, thank you. I’ll take the subway.”
“Oh. All right.”
Caren stopped at her desk and reached over to squeeze her hand. “You really are stunning and sweet. Don’t let anyone make you think otherwise.”
“Um, sure, bye! Have a good day!”
A headache was thumping in her temples by the time she made it back to her apartment.
She didn’t know why she was hit by a stab of disappointment as she got off the elevator and found the hallway in front of her door empty.
As if he was going to be there waiting for her.
She was being ridiculous.
Getting into the apartment, she quickly locked the door and took off her jacket before taking out her phone. Then she paced back and forth before sitting on the sofa and opening the message.
OPN: Friends don’t pay their friends back for being a friend.
Oh. That was really nice.
And she should be glad that was what he’d said rather than . . . something else.
She should be.
But she wasn’t. Because all she could play over and over in her head was what had happened in the early hours of the morning.
She had never come like that before in her life. It was like he’d known exactly what to say and do to send her over the edge.
Bugger it.
She really needed to get over this. To stop thinking about him.
There were other things she needed to do rather than obsess over Travis Andrews.
Right.
Like obsess over whether she felt brave enough to leave the states and get on with her life. She suddenly realized how cold she was. And how . . . itchy she felt.
A shower. What she needed was a shower. She knew it wasn’t a healthy coping mechanism for dealing with the stress and turmoil.
But neither was overfilling an already full pantry. Or sleeping in that pantry.
You don’t need food.
You have enough.
You’re not going hungry.
After turning the shower on hot, she climbed in. Instantly, the shivering stopped. But the urge to clean herself was too much to resist.
So she grabbed her favorite shower gel that smelled like birthday cake and washed herself.
Over and over until her brain started to quiet. And when it got noisy again.
Well, she did it all over again.