“He,” Kyle says, “is still in the room, and not going anywhere.” He sits down at the conference table and opens his MacBook. “And I’m not programmed to refrain from commenting should this conversation continue.”
We both laugh, and then Barbara looks at him, her cheeks flushed, her eyes warm with fondness that has me deciding she’s quite taken by Kyle, which can only work in our favor. I hope. “I’m not staying anyway,” Barbara replies, focusing on me. “I just wanted to give you a heads up that I’m going to have the model agencies send you spec sheets this morning and I’m hopeful you pick some models you want to see this afternoon.”
“Actually,” I say, deciding not to ask but rather tell her what’s going to happen. “I don’t want models. We don’t need them and they’re expensive and high maintenance anyway.”
She looks dumbfounded. “But the campaigns.”
“I have a solution I am quite pleased with,” I reply, showing her my sketches, to which she gives a critical inspection before her expression lights up.
“I’m blown away,” she says. “I love the concept of “We design. You make the style.” Everyone is going to love it. I’ll get with the art departments at the magazines right now, and find out what we need to do.”
“I still have a few ideas I want to elaborate on,” I say. “I need to finish these sketches.”
“I’ll have the appropriate people work through it with you,” she says, standing, “and really, this is a load off. We can focus on other things now. I’ll be in touch in a few.” She turns to leave, but Kyle stops her progress.
“Before you leave,” he says, drawing her attention and mine, since I have no idea what he’s about to say. “There’s going to be a security team coming in late this evening to install a new system and cameras,” he continues, clearly intent on giving his team full access to the building and being prepared for whatever comes our way. “I’m asking them to complete the task after hours as to not disrupt your work, but if you could make sure all appropriate people know as to not be concerned.”
“Of course,” Barbara says, her tone saying that her mind is clearly elsewhere at this point. “We appreciate the extra protection.” She’s gone by the time she’s spoken the words, leaving Kyle and I alone.
I grin and pick up my sketches, pointing to them, and feeling quite proud of myself for my morning success. No models. No more victims. Kyle winks, his eyes alight with understanding and support, and as I walk to the Keurig, I have this sense in that moment of really not being alone anymore. Unbidden though, when I reach for one of the chocolate coffee pods Michael had arranged for me, I hear his voice. Does it please you? The photo shoot comes to my mind, and I toss the pod in the trash, walk back to my desk, and reach for my sketchpad, pretending to work to hide my reaction from Kyle, who I can’t tell about this. He won’t want me to do it. I know he won’t, but if I refuse, there will be consequences none of us want to pay.
***
The day ends without a photographer or any contact to explain why, but that is not unlike Michael when he travels. His unpredictability is part of what makes him elusive to his enemies and the authorities. Kyle and Blake are determined to change that, though, planning a virtual hack party tonight, delayed by the need to keep my routine looking “normal” if anything about this life could be called such a thing. The instant we arrive in our room, Kyle and I change into workout clothes and head to the gym, even bypassing a scan of the room.
It’s on the treadmill, with Kyle by my side, that the photo session starts bothering me again and I’m not sure why. These are the kinds of control games Michael plays with me to prove he owns me. About ten minutes in, I decide I’m worried because I know this is going to upset Kyle, despite the fact that there is nothing dangerous about pictures. I can’t even call them demoralizing, considering the things Michael’s made me do or done to me. Twenty minutes into the run, I don’t think that’s what’s bothering me at all, but I don’t know what is. Thirty minutes in, I still can’t figure out what the heck is grinding at my nerve endings.
At the forty-minute mark, I have an epiphany that hits me like a heart attack and I punch the stop button on my machine, grab my towel, and force myself not to visibly show how freaked out I am right now. Kyle does the same and glances at me. “Are we done?”
“Yes. And I just remembered something I need to tell you back at the suite.”
“How important is this something?”
“I think you’d rate it as a “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?” moment.”
“Okay then,” he says, wiping the back of his neck. “We’ll talk in the room where I can react accordingly.”
And we stick to that decision, enduring the ride upstairs and the walk down the hall to the room, in silence. Once we’re in our private space, Kyle flips the locks, points to the bedroom, and follows me inside. “Tell me,” he says, the instant he joins me.