Falling Over You, page 10
Mike normally didn't believe in psychics, but he knew a legitimate one he planned on taking her to. "Fine," he agreed.
21
After talking to Jane, Lara managed to find what most people deemed a genuine psychic. She called the woman—appropriately named Zelda—and scheduled an appointment for the next day sometime in the afternoon. Lara couldn't exactly focus on the appointment just yet due to the fact that it was finally time for her to go to her job interview. Brett kissed her on the cheek before he left for work that morning, wishing her luck. Lara herself was so distracted with worry that she barely noticed it and didn't even say goodbye.
She took a quick shower and once she got out, she dried her hair and slid on the forest green suit she had bought with Mike only last week. She pulled her hair back into a sleek ponytail with a clip and did her makeup as professionally as possible. She wished she could go in with her face completely bare, but she knew that having no makeup was nearly as bad as having too much makeup; she needed to look put-together and that meant compromising. The suit, thankfully, fit her body well. It was tight, but not to the point where it was sexy. On her feet was a cute pair of ankle boots that were on sale at Target. She grabbed her purse and then headed out to the garage.
Oddly enough, she hadn't seen or heard Mike since the night of her date, but then again, maybe that was a good thing. She was still upset with him and figured if she had had another confrontation with him, she might take it out on her interviewer, which could risk her potential job.
Why was he constantly upsetting her like this? God, she hated when he continued to criticize Brett. So what if Brett wasn't perfect? Nobody on this planet was perfect; not even Mike was perfect when he was alive. It upset her and though she didn't want to, she took it personally. If he had a problem with Brett then surely he had a problem with her because Lara chose to be with Brett. It was as simple as that.
And if he had a problem with her....
Lara knew she shouldn't care. Mike was a ghost, for crying out loud. But his words had struck a chord with her. What if he really was sent here to warn her about something? What if that was the reason she could touch him and hear him and feel him? But Mike had only died seven years ago; it wasn't as though he was her guardian angel or anything like that.
There had to be a reason he was there, though. It couldn't be a coincidence, could it?
Lara pressed her lips together as she started the car. She didn't want to deal with these thoughts, not before an interview. She needed to think positively and decided to turn on the radio, hoping for a song that would boost her confidence and put her in a good mood.
Was Brett really checking out other women at dinner last night?
The thought struck Lara faster than lightning and she had to blink in order to focus herself. Even before moving to New York, Lara had never been worried about Brett being unfaithful. She trusted him, blindly actually, which was probably why when he asked her to marry him, she had no qualms about saying yes. Although, there were inklings in her stomach that she had ignored that might relate to Brett at least checking out other women, in the past and even recently.
It was healthy for a man to check out other women, wasn't it? She checked out other guys, but she didn't do it blatantly or when Brett was with her.
And Lara couldn't be a hypocrite. How could she judge Brett for checking out women when she was attempting to sort out her feelings for Mike? Mike, the person she was mad at right now.
She shook her head, feeling the beginning of a headache coming on, and she ran her fingers through her hair.
When did life become so complicated? When did her feelings become so conflicted with each other? She thought she had everything sorted out; she thought life was going according to plan, and then Mike came along and everything was up in the air, falling into disarray.
No time to think about that now, Lara, she reminded herself. You are about to interview for a job. You need to focus.
It wasn't long before Lara reached the building and headed up to the sixth floor. The receptionist checked Lara in and promised her the wait wouldn't be too long before offering to get Lara a cup of coffee or tea. She smiled at the offer but politely declined; she was too nervous to drink anything and didn't want to risk her clumsiness by spilling on her nice suit. Lara took a seat and crossed her legs, refusing to think about both Brett and Mike, and instead, chose to focus on different interview points, her strengths, and how to make her weaknesses into strengths.
Fifteen minutes went by when the man, a Mister Harry Timbleweed, called her into his office to start the interview. The first thing Lara noticed about his office was that everything inside of it looked to be made out of dark oak. There was a bookshelf stacked with books behind his desk, and two chairs in front of him, one of which Lara took. The wall behind her held various degrees and awards, plus pictures of his most successful clientele.
Mr. Timbleweed took a seat and interlocked his fingers before giving Lara a friendly smile. "Thank you for coming in, Miss Darling," he said, a faint hint of an English accent tainting his brogue. "I do apologize for the continuous rescheduling. It does get hectic over here."
"Please," Lara said with an easy smile. "Don't worry about it."
"All right, then," Mr. Timbleweed replied with a curt nod.
With that, he proceeded to start the interview, beginning with very basic questions such as what college she graduated from, why she moved from California to New York, how she liked the city. Once the preliminary questions were over, he started asking her questions that had to do with writing, reading, editing, and then assisting. Why did she want to be an assistant? Finally, he began asking questions that had to do with how she felt about herself at this particular job.
"And your strengths?" Mr. Timbleweed said, glancing up from the file he had out. His eyes were peering at her from over the thin-rimmed glasses he was currently wearing, and his fingers were currently holding a crimson-red ballpoint pen.
"Well, I am a very open-minded person," Lara told him, hoping that her list would help persuade him to give her the job. She really needed it. "I am very diligent, and a quick learner. I also feel that I'm quite organized, and actually love writing down dates in datebooks and—" She cut herself off when a very familiar black trench coat caught her eyes and she swallowed. No way. There was no way....
"You're always on time as well," a familiar voice pointed out, and she knew that he was standing next to her. Mike scrunched his nose as he thought about what he had said. "Either that or you're early."
"I," Lara began, her voice slightly shaky. Don't you dare look at him, don't you dare acknowledge him. I have no idea what he's doing here, but pretend he's not here. Pretend he's not here. For the love of God, pretend he's not here. "I am always on time."
"You like to organize things," Mike pointed out, glancing down at her.
"I already said that," Lara said, looking up at him.
"Already said what?" Mr. Timbleweed asked, looking at Lara with an odd tilt to his head.
Fuck.
"I already said just how much I love to help people," Lara said, thinking fast. "That must be obvious right?"
"All right," Mr. Timbleweed drawled, writing something down.
"Go away," Lara hissed under breath at Mike. "Go away. You are ruining things for me."
"Excuse me?" Mr. Timbleweed asked. He reached up and pulled his glasses off of his face as he peered at the woman before him. "Did you just tell me to go away?"
"Of course not!" Lara exclaimed, laughing nervously, but Mr. Timbleweed did not look so amused.
"Actually, I think you did," Mr. Timbleweed said, his voice firm. "I must tell you, Miss Darling, one of my biggest pet peeves is liars." He glanced down at the folder and snapped it shut. "You may leave, Miss Darling. Do not expect a callback for this job."
"Right," Lara said, obvious disappointment written over her face. "Right, I'm sorry Mr. Timbleweed. Thank you for your time." As Lara stood, she tossed a heated glare in Mike's direction, and was not surprised when the ghost followed her over to the elevators. Once they were in one alone, Lara snapped her head in Mike's direction. "You cost me another job. God, I can't wait until we get to that psychic."
22
Mike could instantly tell just how upset Lara was. He could feel the tension radiating from her body, and if the reason had been anyone but him, he might have offered her a back rub. He followed her down the street, idly wondering how women could walk miles in heels, whether they were simple pumps or actual boots. It was something he admired about women, and it was just another reason why he loved Lara. Yes, he loved her. It was obvious now that he thought about it, and once he had come to the conclusion, it was simple and easy to realize.
However, the question remained. If he loved her, then why would he go to her interview and distract her, and end up costing her the job she wanted? Mike didn't intentionally do something like that; at least, he hoped it wasn't some unconscious reason, like maybe he didn't want her to get a job because if she did, that would mean they wouldn't be spending as much time together. Looking at her from the corner of his eye, he immediately recognized that subtle scowl on her face. All of her muscles were tense. Yup, he was in the dog house, and though his intentions were honorable, this was all his fault.
What could he possibly do to make it up to her?
Lara probably just wanted some time to brood. She wasn't one of those women who needed to fight quickly and get everything over with. Instead, she liked time alone, thinking about what happened, processing what should happen next, and then, when she had cooled down, she would come to him, he would apologize and they would make up. That was how it was, and he hoped that's how it would remain.
So for the walk to this place, Mike decided—wisely—to keep his mouth shut. He was wearing a nice suit for the occasion, hoping to give this psychic a good impression. A white collared long-sleeved shirt tucked into black slacks with matching black loafers and a black tie. Of course, he was also wearing his lucky trench coat, and his hair was as neat as he could get it, which was still messy. He ran his fingers through his tresses with slight worry.
What if this person, this psychic, told Lara that Mike's presence in her life meant nothing? What if she said that whatever Mike told Lara wasn't true? What if the psychic told Lara that Mike was a demon? Mike didn't feel like a demon, and he certainly didn't want Lara to feel as though he was haunting or terrorizing her. What if the psychic recommended exorcism, to get rid of Mike? Did those things even work? Would Lara allow it? He knew he upset her, but he doubted that would be cause to get rid of him. At least, he hoped she wouldn't want to get rid of him.
Shaking his head, Mike pushed the thoughts to the back of his head. What did Lara always say? That's right—positive thinking.
There had to be a reason she could see him, and Mike was intent on figuring out just what that was.
Lara led Mike into a small corner shop. Looking at it from the outside, Mike wouldn't think at first that this was a psychic's residence. It looked like an office, like one would find a psychologist of some sort. In fact, the door had Zelda Ranchell, Ph. D on it. Whoever this woman was, she was smart; there was no doubt about that.
Lara glanced over at Mike, biting her lip nervously. "Should I knock?" she asked him before moving her eyes so that they were back on the door.
"She's a psychic, right?" Mike asked, his lips curling into a dry smile. "Shouldn't she know that we're here?"
Lara rolled her eyes. "So typical," she muttered under her breath. She raised her fist and proceeded to knock gently on the wooden door.
In a matter of moments, the door opened, and there stood a woman, no taller than four foot eleven. She was stout, with carrot-red hair and mocha-colored skin, and she had the darkest blue eyes Lara had ever encountered. Her red lipstick was shiny, and the blue eye shadow, while bringing out the blue in her eyes, distracted one from her face as a whole. She was wearing bold, gaudy clothing, such as lime green mixed in with polka dots, and her feet were bare. Her fingers were short, but she was wearing long acrylic nails, and her toenails were painted the same color. She was definitely a character. At least, she looked like one.
There was no way this woman was a legitimate psychic. Mike had to hide a smile, though he wasn't exactly sure why; it wasn't like the woman could see him.
"Lara Darling!" the woman exclaimed with a Russian accent. "I am so glad you are here." She stopped herself, as though she could suddenly feel Mike's presence. She turned her head so her eyes locked directly into Mike's, and he felt his body freeze in reaction. Could she see him? "I feel him next to you, Miss Darling. Did you bring your friend with you?"
"Yes," Lara said as she entered the room, Mike following her inside. "We both have questions we want answered."
"Of course." Zelda shut the door behind the two clients and locked it, preventing any unwanted distractions from taking place. She led both of them into what appeared to be a living room and gestured for them to sit on the couch. "Now," Zelda continued, sitting on the chair across from the couch. "Tell me how you met, so I can understand your history together."
"She bumped into me," Mike started, but when he realized that Zelda couldn't hear him—and as a result, probably couldn't see him as well—he nudged Lara.
"I bumped into him on my way to a job interview," Lara explained. "To make a long story short, it turns out that Brett and I own the house he lived in before Mike died." Before Zelda asked, Lara explained. "Brett's my fiancé."
"Congratulations," Zelda said with a polite nod. She looked over at Mike, and though she couldn't see him, knew there was a scowl on his face. "I take it your friend is not happy with the fact that you are going to be marrying Brett."
"That's actually the reason why we came here today," Lara said, glancing over at Mike before looking at the psychic once again. "Okay. He is always questioning my reasons for being with Brett, telling me I deserve better and all of that stuff. I have no idea why I'm the only person who can see him and hear him and touch him, and I got to thinking that maybe he's like my guardian angel of some sort. But if he is my guardian angel, why is he ruining things for me? Like before we got here, I was in a job interview and he appears, distracting me to the point where it looks like I'm literally talking to air."
"Well, Miss Darling, you do realize that when one door closes another one opens, yes?" Zelda asked, perking her drawn-in brows. "From rejection, we create opportunity and the sort."
"I know, I know," Lara conceded, nodding her head. "But I feel as though instead of the door closing, it's slamming into my face, and when I go to open another one, I can't open it because it's locked." She sighed through her nose as Mike frowned, his black eyes watching her with obvious concern. He didn't know she felt like that.... "But why is it that I'm the only one who can see him, hear him, or touch him? I just don't understand that. I mean, there has to be some reason—that much we both agree on."
"Ah," Zelda said, smiling and nodding as though she expected such a question to come up, and that she had the perfect answer for it. "While some people see things as dead and gone, others see things as alive and prosperous. You, my dear," Zelda murmured, gesturing at Lara, "are probably in the latter category." She moved her blue eyes so they rested on Mike. "And he must be, too."
"Okay," Lara said, conceding the psychic's point. "Okay, I know. I get that. But there are moments when I feel crazy, you know? I'm talking to air."
"But you are not talking to air," Zelda pointed out. "You are talking to Mike."
"Yeah, I know," Lara murmured. "But to other people, I'm talking to air. They must think I'm crazy."
"I don't think you're crazy," Mike murmured before placing his hands over Lara's and lacing his fingers through hers.
"Who cares what other people think of you?" Zelda asked. "You have something special, something unexplainable with Mike, and this is a good thing. Putting words to your relationship will only taint what you have. It is okay that you cannot find rhyme or reason quite yet. Be patient. You will understand sooner or later." Her eyes finally locked with Lara's. "Lara, my dear, do not think of yourself as crazy for being able to interact with someone the world thinks has passed on; consider yourself lucky."
23
She felt nervous.
Butterflies tumbled into the walls of her stomach before getting their senses back on track, flying, and doing the exact same thing over and over again. She placed her hand over her stomach, as though the gesture itself might be able to calm her down. It worked, but only very slightly. Pressing her lips together, she opened her eyes and found that she was standing in front of a mirror—the full length mirror that occupied the guest bedroom of the house she was currently living in. And when she took in what she was wearing, her eyes widened.
She was in her wedding dress. She was getting married. No wonder she was nervous.
She tilted her head, suddenly awed by her reflection. She reached out to touch the cool glass in front of her, as though she couldn't quite believe that what she was seeing was real. The glass was cool underneath her touch, and it was then that she finally allowed her eyes to look downward, at herself. Sure enough, her frame was encompassed by white material, hugging her curves and flaring out at the hips. Unlike the dress she had picked out, this one was strapless, only revealing a slight amount of cleavage. She picked her eyes back up to the mirror and locked them within her reflection's. Her makeup was classy and natural; her eyes, cheeks, and lips were highlighted, and even her freckles stood out. Her hair was swept up into a semi-formal bun with wisps of hair cradling and framing her face.
She looked beautiful.
The young woman looked down at her left hand, wanting nothing more than to see the engagement ring her fiancé had given her some time ago. When she saw it, resting where it should be on her left ring finger, warmth took over her butterflies and settled into her stomach. She was ready to proceed.
