Exposed to You (Overexposed) Page 3

  I sighed. “Sure, if I get it.”

  The conversation felt somewhat morbid—me pretending to want a position when really I had been offered a position, it was just beyond what I’d ever imagined. Part of me was dying to tell Sam the truth, but my embarrassment won out. Like my parents, I wanted her to think that I was going to make it. I also wouldn’t be able to explain to her why I hadn’t punched Mr. King the moment he’d put his fingers between my legs. There was no way in hell that Sam would have put up with that.

  “I think I need a glass of wine,” I said and went to help myself in the kitchen.

  When Monday afternoon rolled around, and Mr. King still hadn’t responded, I became an emotional wreck. I oscillated from shame and self-pity to anger, and finally the last one stuck—I was seething and ready to rip him a new one. Who did he think he was, not bothering to respond to my email? Did he think he could get away with it? Well, I’d show him that I was not the pushover he’d so obviously labeled me. If necessary, I would embarrass him in front of all his colleagues, out him for being a complete pig.

  By the afternoon, I’d decided to take matters into my own hands. I took the subway back to his office, seething the entire way. My anger didn’t even fade when I stepped into the lobby. Madeline the receptionist looked surprised to see me again so soon but greeted me warmly.

  “I have to speak with Mr. King about an urgent matter,” I said in a clipped tone.

  “Mr. King is very busy today,” Madeline warned me.

  “It will only take five minutes.”

  “All right then, I’ll try.” She picked up her phone. “Mr. King, Miss Clair is here. She says she needs to speak with you about an urgent matter.”

  I bit my lip, waiting for him to tell her to throw me out. Instead, her eyes widened in surprise and she opened a calendar on her computer. “It’s in fifteen minutes. Should I cancel, or tell them you’ll be late?”

  I was momentarily surprised, and then suspicious. Perhaps he thought I was going to take him up on his offer. That I was so desperate for a job, I would allow myself to be treated that way again.

  Boy would he be surprised.

  Madeline escorted me down the hall, looking at me as if for the first time. “It must be very important,” she said to herself or me, I wasn’t sure which.

  Some of my anger was slipping, and I tried to stir it back up again. Confronting him had seemed like a much better idea before I’d left the house. I’d been so busy fuming; I hadn’t taken the time to think about what I would do when I actually saw him again.

  Madeline opened the door and announced my entrance before hastily exiting again. Mr. King was resting his chin on his hands, a smug smile on his face.

  “I was hoping you would return.”

  “You didn’t respond to my email.”

  “No, I did not. Like I said, I was hoping you would return.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “I’m not here because of that. I’m here to find out what you plan to do with those pictures.”

  “It’s really none of your business,” he said calmly.

  “None of my business? The pictures are of me!” I was angry again and didn’t care who heard me. Good, I’d ruin his reputation.

  Mr. King seemed unfazed by my outburst; he simply shrugged casually. “You signed an agreement.”

  “Yeah, an agreement that says I won’t tell anyone. And don’t worry, I won’t be telling anyone about your sick project!”

  He put a hand against his heart, pretending to be wounded. “That hurts, Miss Clair.”

  “You never even told me what your project was about before you…” My sentence trailed off, but he ignored it anyway.

  “The agreement read that in addition to not betraying my projects, whatever photographs we took would become my property,” he said softly.

  My mouth fell open. “You didn’t tell me that either. You tricked me and I trusted you like an idiot.”

  He smirked. “You’re young. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

  My hands balled into fists at my sides. I was either going to destroy his office in a rage or burst into tears, I didn’t know which. My heart was beating so fast, it took me a few moments to speak.

  “You are a bad guy,” I said finally, holding back my tears.

  Mr. King chuckled and stood up, came around his desk to stand in front of me. He moved to touch my hair but I jerked away.

  “I’ve heard that before, but that’s what some people like about me,” he whispered in my ear.

  I began to shake. “What are you planning to do with those pictures? Are you going to sell them on some porn site or something?”

  “Of course not.” He looked disgusted with the idea. “I’m not a total cretin.”

  “You just trick twenty-something girls into letting you take pictures of them.”

  “Twenty-two year old girl,” he corrected, sitting down on his desk and crossing his arms. “And as I recall, this whole thing went down a lot differently. We took some test pictures, I offered you a modeling job, and you turned it down. We entered into some consensual foreplay—because let’s face it, you didn’t stop me—I went upstairs to bring you breakfast the next morning, and you were gone. I thought you weren’t interested. In my proposal or in me.”

  I stared at him. How could such a gorgeous and successful man be completely insane? How was it that he got by day to day without anybody realizing it?

  “Sit down, Amy,” he said sternly.

  “No.”

  His jaw clenched. “That was your free pass, Amy. I’ve let you storm into my office and say what you want, and now it’s my turn. The next time you disrespect me, I’ll take you over my knee, no matter where we are.”

  “I’m not into that kind of thing,” I retorted, crossing my arms.

  His look didn’t waver. “We’ll find out.”

  My legs practically buckled under me as I sank down on his pristine couch. I had to find a way to get those pictures back. Even if he actually was being honest and didn’t plan to sell them, the idea of him keeping them to look at as desired freaked me out.

  “Let’s talk this through, shall we?” he said and moved his desk chair in front of the couch again, sat down on it. “You’re angry, I can see that. But isn’t there a part of you that is interested in my proposal?”

  “No! I just want my pictures.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I beg to differ, Amy. I think you enjoyed our time together much more than you’re letting on. I felt it with my own fingers.” He lifted his right hand and twitched his fingers, smiling a half smile.

  Blood rushed to my cheeks, but I clenched my jaw and didn’t drop my gaze.

  “Now,” he leaned forward and clasped his hands together loudly. “You claim to be here about the pictures, but I think there is something more. I think you’re actually interested in getting to know me better.”

  “In your dreams,” I said and crossed my arms.

  He raised an eyebrow. “I’m not such a bad guy. I said I would give you a decent salary and a place to live. Have you found another place to live in the meantime?”

  “Anywhere but with you!” I spat.

  “Don’t be childish.” He frowned at me as if disappointed. “And it’s impolite not to answer a question.”

  I sat there, seething.

  He sighed, leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. “All right, seeing as you seem a bit shy about going first, how about I start? When you came into my office on Friday afternoon, I could tell you were completely nervous about the modeling thing. You met all of the physical requirements I listed, but you definitely didn’t have the personality.”

  I glared at him, but he only smiled and continued.

  “Still, there was something about you that I instantly liked. Something raw. Genuine. Learning more about you, something struck a chord with me. I loved your blush.”

  At the last sentence, Mr. King turned a bit red himself and sat forward quickly, as if to draw
attention away from it. My breathing slowed slightly at his confession, despite how I felt about him.

  He cleared his throat. “Many women have called me a jerk over the years, and I get that. I can be emotionally insensitive at times. I’ve never cared about what they think or what they’re about, but you’re different, Amy. I want to get to know you.”

  I rolled my eyes and looked away. “So you can take more photographs of me?”

  It took him a moment to respond. “Well, yes. But also because… you turn me on.”

  My head snapped back to him and I gaped. “So you want to have sex with me? Well sorry, Mr. King, but I’m not that kind of girl.”

  I got to my feet and stomped to his office door. Before leaving, I turned back. “My friend Luke is a lawyer. If you don’t delete those pictures, I’m going to contact him and find a way to sue.”

  His eyes turned cold and he and stood up slowly, buttoning his suit jacket.

  “Miss Clair, I appreciate your opinion on this matter, and respect your freedom of speech to barge into my office and demand my property, but the agreement you signed was legal and binding and will hold up in a court of law. Besides, while I’m sure your friend is an excellent lawyer, I have the means to secure an excellent lawyer myself and do not foresee a court date going smoothly. Pictures would have to be shown as evidence.”

  I swallowed, my hand shaking on the doorknob.

  “Good day, Miss Clair,” he said icily before sitting back down at his desk.

  Chapter Three

  Tears pricked me eyes as I stormed out of Mr. King’s office and past Madeline with a simple wave. I pushed the button for the elevator repeatedly, as if it might speed up the process. Once alone in the safety of the elevator, I leaned against the metal wall and let the tears slide down my cheeks. I’d always been emotional, and I cursed myself again for not being stronger.

  I hadn’t planned to talk to Luke about the matter—it had just slipped out. Now that the idea had been voiced and I realized how fruitless it would be, I felt even more depressed. There was nothing left to do; I was going to have to get over the entire ordeal and live with the fact that Mr. King had nude photos of me. Chalk it up to a learning experience.

  I shivered as I walked through the busy streets, even though it was a warm, humid day. In order to warm up, I ducked into a coffee shop—Cat and Fiddle Café—and ordered a hot chocolate. As luck would have it, a comfy chair was available beside the fireplace. I sat down and crossed one leg over the other, stared at the black leather boots I’d worn to present a tougher appearance. So much for that.

  There was nothing left to do but accept what had happed, and so I spent the next hour working through it and trying to cheer myself up.

  What was the worst that could happen? He would look at them. Obviously. He would sell them. Okay, that was a possibility. He said he wouldn’t, but he’d proved I couldn’t trust him. Still, I had been bent over for the nude photo. Technically no one would be able to tell it was me. Then again, connected with the other photos, it would be hard to refute…

  My thoughts traveled in circles until there was no denying that I had to stop thinking about it. Trying to predict his actions was only going to drive me crazy.

  For now, I needed to focus on surviving in New York City.

  I looked around the café. Empty dishes were scattered everywhere and newspapers and magazines were glued to the tables with coffee splotches. I wondered if they were in need of some help. It was certainly not what I wanted to do for the rest of my life, but maybe I could help out for a bit.

  I walked up to the counter to give them my dirty mug and asked, “Are you hiring by any chance?”

  The server at the cashier was around my age with auburn hair and bright, green eyes. She looked up and smiled widely.

  “Yeah, for sure! Are you interested?” She waved the question away and continued. “I’m Assistant Manager and can interview you right now. We could really use the help.”

  We returned to where I’d been sitting and she introduced herself. “I’m Michelle. We aren’t usually this disorganized, but a bunch of students just quit on us when they graduated and got ‘real’ jobs.”

  Ouch. I bit my lip before responding. “I should probably warn you that I’ve just graduated as well. I’m looking for work until I find something in my field. Is that okay?”

  “Yeah, I understand,” Michelle smiled. “It’s the nature of this kind of position. Have you ever served before? Made lattes and cappuccinos?”

  “No, but I’m a quick learner.”

  Michelle beamed. “Great. Can you start tomorrow?”

  ***

  When I got home, I was in much better spirits than when I’d left. I had a plan now. The job didn’t pay well by any means, but it was temporary and with my savings, it would allow me to survive for… Well, three months. Three months to find something better was doable.

  “I feel bad that we can’t live together again,” Sam said, tucking her dark hair over her shoulder before picking up another box to move into the living room. She was wearing an oversized T-shirt and leggings, her legs six miles long.

  “Seriously, it’s okay, Sam. Of course you should move in with Luke. Don’t worry about me.” I was sitting on her bed with my laptop, scrolling through apartment rentals.

  “You have to live in Brooklyn,” she said and scrunched her nose.

  “So what? The commute isn’t that bad.”

  In all honesty, I was less than thrilled to be living in Brooklyn, but I really didn’t have much of a choice. Besides, as boring as commuting would be, it was much better than reading textbook after textbook of boring law stuff. So really, I was the one better off. At least that’s what I told myself.

  “You’re so sweet,” Sam said before carrying the box out of the room.

  I shivered, remembering the person that last said that to me. Maybe I had to work on being a little less sweet.

  I called the number for a studio apartment and made an arrangement to see it after work. Then I walked to the subway and went to the Cat and Fiddle Café.

  Before we started training, Michelle asked if I’d mind tidying up a bit. It was only her and Jackson on shift that day, and Jackson had been swamped making drinks while Michelle took the orders.

  “Aren’t we pleased to have you,” Jackson smiled warmly. His dreadlocks were secured in a ponytail.

  It took two hours until the lunch rush slowed enough for them to train me. Jackson showed me a laminated book with pictures and steps for making the various drinks and Michelle walked me through how to use the espresso machine. By the end of the day, my apron was covered in coffee grinds and I smelled like espresso. I was also heavily caffeinated from all the free coffee I could drink.

  “So what made you decide to take sketching and painting?” Jackson asked as we cleaned up together for the night.

  “I just love it.” I pushed the mop around, moving chairs on top of tables as I cleaned. “I’ve always loved drawing and want to find a way to make a living out of it. I’ve thought about being a teacher. I don’t know… I don’t want to return to school until I’m sure what I want to do. I thought I’d work for a few years until it becomes clear.”

  “I’m working on an Accounting degree right now,” Jackson said, leaning a hip against the counter and watching me.

  “Really? I didn’t peg you for the Accounting type.”

  “Why? Because I’m black? Or gay?” Jackson pretended to be insulted.

  I knew he was joking, but I reddened anyway, never comfortable with those types of jokes.

  “No, because, um… your hair.” I glanced pointedly at his dreads.

  “Just because my job’s boring as hell doesn’t mean I have to be.”

  I laughed. “So why are you doing it?”

  “I’m good at it, I guess. Also it will pay the bills. My plan is to work hard, play hard, and retire early.”

  I sighed. “Maybe I should have done that.”

  He
shrugged. “It’s a shitty tradeoff. I dread going to class every day. Is that any way to live a life?”

  After Jackson locked up, we went our separate ways and I headed to Brooklyn. I met the landlord Bran at the bottom of the building and he showed me to the room. And that’s all it was: a room. A tiny studio that didn’t even have a kitchen, only a hot plate and a microwave. But it was clean. It was also entirely empty and available for me to move into immediately.

  “I’ll take it,” I told him.

  ***

  That night, I finished packing all my things into boxes and Sam and I celebrated our last night as roommates together. We shared a bottle of red wine, both of us teary and nostalgic. We’d been best friends since High School and had lived together all throughout University. It was going to be a big change for both of us.

  I showed Sam a picture of my new apartment and she cried harder.

  “You can’t live there! It’s a hole.”

  I snatched my phone away. “It’s my hole. It’s my first apartment alone and I will decorate it to look nice, thank-you-very-much!”

  Sam’s face fell. “Oh Amy, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I’m just worried about you and I feel so bad. If I weren’t moving in with Luke, the rent my parents pay for me would go to supporting half of a nice two bedroom. You could afford that.”

  I waved her away. “I’m not going to be anyone’s charity case, okay? I’m actually excited to have a place of my own. I’m going to decorate the walls with my artwork. That will make it a lot homier.”

  “Are there a lot of locks? I mean, is it… safe?” Sam asked, wiping away her tears. “I’m just worried about you,” she added quickly.

  “I know you are. And yes, it’s safe. You can even come see it on the weekend if you and Luke would help me move?”

  “Of course! We’d love to help. And we can use Luke’s car.”

  Luke showed up a bit later to start loading boxes. He was tall, broad and tanned with blonde hair and blue eyes. A line of freckles dotted his nose, making him look cute despite his size. We’d met him at a Students’ Union event our first year and he and Sam had been dating ever since.