Hourglass

“Tonight isn’t a date.” I said it out loud, reminding myself. “It’s a business dinner—he’s getting paid to take me out. Thomas hired him. It’s not like Michael turned up and asked for an introduction.”

Dru didn’t meet my eyes. “What are you going to wear?”

I could practically see her fingers twitching, desperate to help me clothe myself. “How about I leave it up to you?”

Two minutes later she handed me another pair of killer heels and a dress in a shimmery copper color. “This. It’ll make the green in your eyes stand out. I’m going to make a call. I want to make sure you two get the perfect table. And we got a wine shipment, so I’ll be there tonight. But I swear I’ll act like I don’t know you. Now scoot!”

It was a testament to how much I loved her that I let her boss me around that way.

When I was at boarding school I would have killed for a bathroom like the one I had now. Heaven. All the times I crammed myself into one of the tiny shower stalls with their dinky plastic curtains or waited for an empty sink so I could brush my teeth simply floated away, completely forgotten. I luxuriated in the spray of the shower heads—three of them, and all adjustable. They felt amazing once I’d figured out how to aim them so that I wouldn’t drown. I resisted the urge to linger. As seductive as the shower was, it couldn’t compete with the evening I was anticipating.

Or rather, the company I was going to keep.

I walked into my bedroom in my towel and submitted before she asked, sitting down in front of Dru. She was armed with her makeup bag and various hair-styling instruments. It was all art to her, from applying makeup to dressing people to decorating buildings. She had the aesthetic thing nailed. I knew firsthand that she excelled at taking care of people.

When she finished, I put on the dress and looked in the mirror. My eyes did look greener than usual. My hair felt like silk flowing over my bare shoulders. Dru dusted my collarbone and upper chest with some sort of luminous-looking powder that smelled like spun sugar, and between it and the metallic dress I felt really shiny. She had done my makeup in soft iridescent colors that also made me feel very … shiny. Like one of those reflective Christmas globes.

“Are you sure about this?” I asked.

“Trust me.” She apparently never heard the trust-me rule either. At my doubtful look Dru said, “No, I’m serious. The lighting in the Phone Company is very soft, lots of candlelight. You’ll glow.”

“Aliens glow.”

“Not like that. Here.” She turned on the small lamp on my dresser and turned off the overhead light, pulling my now straight curtain of blonde hair back from my face. I looked in the mirror again. An exotic stranger stared back at me.

“He’s going to think I tried too hard.”

“He’s going to be too busy looking at you to think much of anything.”

And that didn’t make me nervous at all.

Chapter 7

I arrived at the restaurant early to wait for him, thinking I’d be more comfortable if I were seated first. The maître d’ led me to an intimate little table for two, tucked into a cozy alcove and illuminated by two brushed metal sconces. I felt like some kind of seductress and considered switching tables, but that changed when I caught a glimpse of Michael walking toward me.

His crisp white shirt complemented his olive skin perfectly. Khaki slacks rode low on his hips and accentuated his muscular build. In the soft light he looked like some kind of dark angel, his eyes almost as black as his hair. They met mine before flickering over my face and neckline. I felt uncomfortable until he let out a low whistle. Then I felt uncomfortable in a whole different kind of way.

“Hey.” The word came out on a wispy breath of air. I sounded like I was trying to imitate Marilyn Monroe.

Michael didn’t answer, only smiled and took his seat. I caught the scent of his cologne: light, crisp, and citrusy. Tempting me to move closer.

I started to bite my lower lip, thought about the gloss Dru had so artfully applied, and stopped myself. “How was your afternoon?”

“Productive,” he answered, pulling his napkin into his lap. “Yours?”

“The same.”

“I talked to Thomas about taking one of the lofts in your building. My roommate from last year transferred, and I’d rather live alone than play the live-in lottery.”

I was really glad I didn’t have anything in my mouth, because I’m certain I would have choked on it. Iced tea streaming out of my nose—not pretty.

“A loft? In my building? Wow, really? Wow.” I cleared my throat. “So you’re planning on sticking around for a while.”

“As long as it takes.” Michael’s eyes searched my face, lingering on my mouth a fraction of a second too long. Again, I fought the urge to bite my lip.

Tried really hard not to think about biting one of his.

“So,” he asked, leaning closer to me from across the table, “did you come up with some more questions for me?”

Time to get down to business. My list was in the front pocket of my purse, but I doubted I’d have to refer to it. Feeling fidgety, I reached out to play with a tiny pink rosebud in a vase on the table. “Well, I was thinking about what happened last night. What I see is getting stronger. I mean—a jazz trio? Fully equipped with a grand piano? Did it gradually get worse for you?”

He was silent for a moment before answering. “I can’t explain what you saw yesterday. Rips that come with scenery are new to me, too. I wouldn’t worry. My guess is that it has something to do with our ability growing stronger as we age.”

“Your guess? That’s comforting.” I laughed in disbelief. “Are you serious? I’m not supposed to worry when you can’t even give me a decent answer to my first question?”

Michael focused somewhere over my left shoulder. His voice was firm when he spoke. “I’ll get the answer. Don’t worry.”

“Okay,” I said, doubt almost crowding out curiosity in my mind. “Have any of the rips ever known anything about you?”

“What do you mean?” His gaze returned to my face.

“Like your name, or …” I trailed off. Maybe I should keep that specific incident to myself. I pictured the list of questions in my mind. “Um, when you know you’re seeing a rip—how do you approach it?”

“Very slowly.” Michael grinned, breaking the tension.

I was still fiddling with the rosebud in the vase. Sidetracked by his smile, I stopped paying attention and tipped it over, spilling water onto the table.

Good thing I wasn’t on a date. I might’ve been embarrassed.

We reached to pick up the vase at the same time, and our fingertips touched. A current of energy pulsed through his hand to mine. My skin felt too small, stretched too tight, as if searching out more exposure to his. I heard several pings, and the table went dark.

Something was very, very off.

I slowly raised my eyes to meet Michael’s. The muscles in his face tensed; his expression was completely unreadable. Confused, maybe scared, I pulled away. I could still feel the way electricity had flowed through his fingers to mine, all the way to the roots of my hair. The remaining lights returned to normal.

I could’ve sworn I was twitching. Michael tucked his hand under the table and stared down at his menu.