Revenge(15)

“Do you like tattoos?” she asks.

“I don’t have any tattoos.”

Her eyes don’t waver from the screen. “But you like them on a boy, especially if he’s cute.”

“Sure.”

“Who’s this?” She clicks on the laptop, and music begins to play.

From the tinny little speakers, I hear a guitar strumming, and a man singing, “Why did you wear those blue shoes?”

In a heartbeat, I’m transported back to the sidewalk, staring down at my silly, blue suede shoes. I’m still upstairs on the tenth floor, wearing the dark brown heels that go with my suit, but music is magic.

Music transports me.

With a few lines of song, I’m feeling the intoxicating spotlight of his attention, focused solely on me.

This is the beauty of music: the power to take us on a journey through time and space, folding up the distance between two hearts like a paper road map.

I remember his sly, fox-like expression as he sings, “Pretty brunette girl, where did you buy blue shoes?”

My forearms fill with goosebumps.

Then, I hear through Maggie Clark’s laptop speakers, my own voice. “My heart isn’t blue,” I say. My words repeat over the music, autotuned to match the melody.

My heart isn’t blue.

It plays a third time. My heart isn’t blue.

And then it switches to him singing again.

Hearing his voice brings us into a secret place together, where his tattooed arms are always reaching for me, lifting me up, holding me. All is good, and I am safe. I’ll never be alone, and my heart won’t be blue.

Maggie snaps the laptop shut with a crisp clack.

“And then you know the rest.” Her hand waves between us.

I stammer, “I only heard the song once.”

“I’ve seen the video a few times. He sings about your shoes while you stand there looking all innocent. You’re like a baby deer lost in the woods, with your big, brown eyes all dewy and captivated. When the man with the hood covering his face darts in and tries to take your wallet, your expression is utterly priceless. Your acting is superb, my dear. In fact, I almost believed it. Almost.”

My jaw drops open. I reach up with one hand and wipe at the skin-colored makeup covering the bruise around my eye. “I really was mugged,” I say. “Look. Someone hit me, right in the eye, and knocked me down.”

Her expression tightens. Her lips pinch together in a rosebud as she stares directly into me. For such a petite woman, she has a tiger and a half’s worth of attitude.

“But the mugger didn’t hurt you,” she says. “It’s the woman tourist who was standing next to you. She struck you with her elbow. Your black eye wasn’t part of the plan at all.”

“What plan?”

“To go viral with this video, of course. You and your friend. Your sexy friend who’s going to make an international audience of women scream and swoon and fantasize about cheating on their husbands and boyfriends.”

My mouth opens and closes.

She keeps going, getting excited. “The way he swoops in and lifts you up is perfect. And the look on your face when he hands you his guitar! That pathetic old thing no self-respecting musician would bother to put in a case.” She makes a sound of disgust. “And then he runs down the street like a superhero, into unknown danger, to get your wallet back. Perfect. They should make a movie, with a full album tie-in. The 360 deal on this would be groundbreaking.”

As her words wash over me, I take a look around at the big plants with their green leaves. Maggie’s wearing a taupe skirt and a cardigan sweater covered in leopard spots. She wants to look like a jungle cat. She wants to scare me. Just like the bully who gets his way to the top of the hay bale pyramid through intimidation rather than a fair race.

I’m not taking another word of someone calling me a liar. I’m not afraid of a little hard work, but even my dream job isn’t worth being treated like a liar.

I uncross my legs and rise up from the chair.

“What happened to me yesterday was a terrible thing,” I say slowly. “On my first full day in this city, I was robbed and pushed down. It’s not the worst thing that’s happened to me, but I wouldn’t have chosen it. And I certainly wouldn’t come into your office and lie to you, Ms. Clark. I have nothing but respect for you. However, I can’t be of any use to you if you don’t feel the same way.”

“SIT!” she yells.

My knees buckle, and I’m sitting again.

She’s still got me under her control

But something is different now. I walked into the tiger’s lair, but she didn’t scare me.

Now the air crackles with a different kind of electricity. Push me and I’ll push back.