Beautiful Boy(12)

He was stone-faced.

As if none of this meant anything to him. His father would get him out  of trouble. I'd overheard a rumor about Nolan withdrawing from school to  finish out his senior year at home. I'd hate him if he did, mostly  because I was envious. I wanted to leave. I didn't want to stay in this  building with the people who'd seen me, but I couldn't leave. The only  way I could've transferred schools was if we moved, which wasn't an  option because we couldn't afford it. So I was stuck, while Nolan  Richards got everything he wanted.         

     



 

Yes, I hated him.

And sitting across from him, watching him act so uninterested, only  intensified my hatred. I knew I'd never be the same again, so I made a  vow to myself.

I would be as cold as Nolan Richards.

I would not let this happen to me again.





Five





I had shown up at exactly nine o'clock as we'd agreed, yet when I got to  his office, his secretary asked me to take a seat and wait. I thought  it would only be for a moment; however, I'd been waiting for almost ten  minutes.

The secretary, whose name I couldn't remember, glanced at me every few  seconds. Her smile grew smugger with every peek over the desk. I'm sure  she saw this as vindication after the stunt I'd pulled yesterday. But I  wouldn't let her, or her attitude, get to me. To pass the time, I  studied her appearance.

Her thick brown hair curled around her face and fell over her bare  shoulders. She wore small, plastic-framed glasses, and lined her bright  eyes with heavy liner, bringing attention to her face. And she was  young … like really young. Maybe straight out of high school. Observing  the self-righteous look on her face, I began to contemplate the  probability of her blowing Nolan in his office.

I can't compete with her …

Before I could question my ridiculous thought, movement down the hall  caught my attention. My gaze shifted to the person walking toward me,  starting with his black, polished shoes, and working my way up the pant  legs of his pressed, black slacks. My perusal rose to his face and my  breathing slowed. What a handsome man. If only he didn't have such  ugliness beneath the surface.

Nolan held his hand out, motioning down the hall he was ready for me, and I silently got up and followed.

I couldn't turn around to face him until the door was closed behind us,  and even then, I found it difficult to meet his gaze. Unease once again  set in, much like it had always seemed to do in his presence.

Nolan strolled around me to his desk, not once greeting me, or even  acting as if I were in the room with him. I didn't know how to take his  coldness, nor did I want to spend too much time thinking about it.  Instead of giving it any more thought, I put my bag on a chair and  pulled out my camera. I adjusted the settings and peered through the  viewfinder, looking at anything but him.

"I thought we could start with a few headshots of me at my desk. I need  some for work since I don't really have anything, and then we can move  on to whatever you want to do."

I longed to comment on something about his controlling attitude, but I  didn't. I didn't have the desire to argue with him. He needed to run the  show, fine. I would take his pictures and then be done with it. Be done  with him. Forever. I had no intention of seeing him again after this.

So I started shooting, just clicking away, not even bothering with what  it looked like. I could always edit it later. The faster I was out of  here the better.

"I'm surprised … " His voice interrupted the silence in the room.

I examined him over my camera and raised my eyebrow, offering my silent question. I had no desire to speak.

He must've been waiting for me to say something, but when I didn't, he  took it upon himself to proceed. "I'm surprised you still take  pictures."

"Why wouldn't I?" My anger overrode my desire to stay quiet. I was no longer able to keep my thoughts to myself.

I hated how he acted as if he knew me.

Because he never did, even before.

"After everything …  I don't know, I guess I assumed you would have stopped."

"You seriously think you have that much influence over me and my  decisions? You think you hold enough power over me to make me stop doing  something I love?"

"That's not what I meant," he said defensively with his hands out, palms  up as if to hold me off. "You've talked nonstop about how much I've  ruined your life. How I made your life horrible. So I'm only saying I'm  surprised."

I shook my head, trying to control my hostility toward him. "You know  nothing, Nolan. Let me just take the pictures so we can be done. Do you  think you can do that?"

A shadow of something passed through his eyes. He looked down, ripped  his jacket off, then threw it over the armrest of his chair. I didn't  understand his attitude … if anyone should be pissed, it should been me.  Yet he was the one throwing around his arms, acting like the victim.

I snapped two more shots before he stood abruptly and shoved the chair  back. My finger halted on the shutter release. I waited to see what he  would do next.

I don't know why, but I almost expected him to charge at me. He seemed  angry enough to rush toward me like a bull charging a red cape. But he  didn't. He turned around, faced the window behind his desk, and rested  his forehead against the glass.         

     



 

I pulled the camera back to my eye in time to watch him take in a heavy  breath through the zoomed lens. My finger instantly hit the shutter  release. I held down the button, hoping to catch this emotion in an  image, while the camera shot images in rapid succession. The glass  fogged in front of his mouth as he exhaled, and it's the only thing my  mind could focus on.

Once my thumb found the aperture dial, he turned to the side, eyes on  me, and my breath stopped in my chest. The expression on his face was  something I couldn't process, but I snapped one more photo anyway,  unable to keep myself from pressing the shutter release.

"I think I have enough," I whispered as I looked down at my camera to  turn it off. I needed to put it away, get my things, and get out of  here.

Walk away.

I couldn't seem to comprehend the expression in his eyes. Nor did I want  to. I didn't think I could handle the emotions it would stir within me.  Emotions I'd tried desperately to ignore.

"But we're not done. I'm still dressed." His tone came across as  teasing, but I knew better. His eyes told me so as they bore into mine.

This was no different than high school.

He hadn't changed.

A wolf in sheep's clothing.

"This isn't the place, Nolan."

"It's my office. I can do as I please in here. And the door is locked … no  one will come in." He rounded his desk and stepped forward, his fingers  working the top few buttons on his shirt until they were undone. "I  thought you were going to show me sexy. Isn't that what you do? Wasn't  it the deal?" He continued to walk my way as I stepped back with my  camera and bag in my hands.

"I don't care anymore. I don't need your apology. It'd be a lie anyway.  It won't mean anything … to you or to me. So, I'm done. I'll have your  pictures ready by the end of the week and send them over to you through a  messenger." My voice shook with every word, giving away how anxious I  was on the inside. How he made me feel on the inside. Shaky and weak.

And I hated it. Because I wasn't weak.

Fifteen years ago, Nolan had turned me cold.

Now, he made me hot. Hot with emotion I wasn't ready to handle. Emotion I couldn't sort through.

Anger. Confusion. Lust. Empathy.

I needed to get out of here. In lightning speed. I couldn't handle being  so close to him any longer. "I have to go. I'll develop the prints for  you, and we'll call it even."

"Even? How are we even? What did you get out of this?"

"Answers. To questions I didn't even know I had."

He froze several feet away from me. I watched his greenish-hued eyes  narrow until they were dark slits. I couldn't discern the color of them  anymore. "What answers? What questions?"

"It doesn't matter, Nolan."

His hand flew out and grabbed my upper arm, and it burned all the way to  my chest. "It does matter, Novah." He said my name with such emphasis,  it seemed the word swarmed through the air and wrapped itself around my  neck, strangling every inch of me. "Tell me … what answers to what  questions?"

He appeared mad, yet his words and voice were full of desperation. A  yearning for me to understand. Like he needed my answer in order to  breathe. As if what I had to say would save his life. Again, his change  in temperament had me swimming, drowning with confusion.

"Who you really are. The kind of person you are beneath the façade  you've created. I've been hit with so many variations of you-from the  boy in high school to the man in front of me now. What happened to you  in the last fifteen years … "

"Is that a question?"

I shook my head. "No … I already have the answer."