There wasn’t any explanation that would have satisfied her ex-boyfriend. Getting involved with a cop had been insane. From the distance of six months, she’d realized her grief over Maude’s death had made her vulnerable. All it had taken to lower her guard was a bottle of tequila, some bad judgment and an adrenaline-junkie cop who hadn’t seemed to mind her ability.
For just a little while, she hadn’t feel alone, and then she’d watched him grow suspicious, carefully removing anything he’d handled and double-checking her apartment after they’d been together. She’d pretended to be asleep the first few times until she’d finally realized there hadn’t been any reason to delay the inevitable. He’d let his fear get the best of him, and she refused to be with someone who didn’t trust her.
Reading an object by touch wasn’t magic, and she hadn’t read anything she hadn’t been invited to read since she’d been old enough to understand the responsibility of carrying someone else’s secrets.
She ignored her shaking hands and changed into a simple black cotton T- shirt and well-worn jeans. Slipping her bare feet into a pair of sandals, she grabbed her purse and closed and locked her dressing room door. A hand on her shoulder caused her to jump, but not half as much as the man behind her.
Her baby-faced and slightly overweight director, Owen, huffing and puffing, held his elbow as if he’d smacked his funny bone, but they both knew he hadn’t. He managed an apologetic grimace and groaned. “Sorry, I forgot.”
If she’d seen him she would have backed away before he touched her. Most were not amused by the residual side effect of her readings. She hated shocking people. There was always that moment before their disbelief turned to horror, when they realized the rumors were true. She was remorseful for about three seconds, until she saw that his assistant, a few steps behind had stopped. He clearly didn’t want any part of this meeting, but neither he nor Owen wiped their noses without producer, David Billings’, permission.
“David wants to see you in his office.”
“I’m officially unemployed until Stuart negotiates my next contract. Anything he has to say to me can come through Stuart. He’ll know how to reach me.”
Thank you, Stuart. He’d insisted upon inserting the protective clause into her contract and Billings had begrudgingly accepted it.
She left Owen standing in the middle of the hall, still rubbing his elbow. His assistant had disappeared, probably wanting to tattle on his boss and perhaps earn himself a better position.
They could scrap and claw amongst each other without her. Her official residence was listed as the tiny Chicago apartment where she stayed during the filming of Cassidy’s Touch. Nobody but Stuart was aware of the old Victorian in Kansas City, and she planned on keeping it that way.
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