Finding Karma Read online

  FINDING

  Karma

  Stacy M. Wray

  Finding Karma Copyright © 2016 by Stacy M. Wray

  Kindle Edition

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Formatting by BB eBooks

  Cover design by Scarlett Rugers Book Design Agency

  For more information visit www.stacymwray.com

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter one: April 2013

  Chapter two: August 2006

  Chapter three: April 2013

  Chapter four: August 2006

  Chapter five: May 2013

  Chapter six: September 2006

  Chapter seven: May 2013

  Chapter eight: October 2006

  Chapter nine: May 2013

  Chapter ten: May 2007

  Chapter eleven: May 2013

  Chapter twelve: July 2007

  Chapter thirteen: May 2013

  Chapter fourteen: October 2007

  Chapter fifteen: May 2013

  Chapter sixteen: May 2008

  Chapter seventeen: June 2013

  Chapter eighteen: May 2008

  Chapter nineteen: June 2013

  Chapter twenty: June 2008

  Chapter twenty-one: June 2013

  Chapter twenty-two: July 2008

  Chapter twenty-three: July 2008

  Chapter twenty-four: July 2008

  Chapter twenty-five: July 2008

  Chapter twenty-six: July 2008

  Chapter twenty-seven: July 2008

  Chapter twenty-eight: July 2008

  Chapter twenty-nine: July 2008

  Chapter thirty: July 2008

  Chapter thirty-one: June 2013

  Chapter thirty-two: June 2013

  Chapter thirty-three: June 2013

  Chapter thirty-four: July 2013

  Chapter thirty-five: September 2013

  Chapter thirty-six: September 2013

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  This book is a reminder to every girl to always listen to your inner voice. Go with your gut. Put yourself first. The rest will fall into place.

  chapter one

  April 2013

  I give myself a silent pep talk on the way up in the elevator, noticing my deceptively calm demeanor as I spy myself in the mirrored walls of the lift. Thank goodness my thumping heart and rolling stomach aren’t noticeable as I take a deep breath to calm my insides. The glass circle, imprinted with the number five, lights up as I release my press. Briefly closing my eyes, I exhale slowly.

  The doors open to LARU Advertising’s modern, stark lobby, decorated mostly in white with accents of gray and orange. Approaching the front desk, I notice a young woman sitting behind it with sleek, straight black hair, her fingers punching away at her keyboard. Her ruby red lips are slathered in a matte finish lipstick, making them look overly dry. I unconsciously lick my own as I step up to the counter, waiting to be acknowledged.

  When she senses my presence, she looks up and greets me with a warm smile, the red of her lips casting a yellow tinge on her teeth. I relax somewhat after seeing the kindness behind her eyes, letting out the breath I had been unconsciously holding. Upon giving her my name, she tells me in a bubbly voice that they’ll be with me shortly.

  Taking a seat in a row of coordinating orange and gray chairs, I flip through my portfolio, going over in my head all jobs that have paved the way for my being here. I’ve done well in my career so far, knowing how many freelance photographers float around L.A., but the empty feeling in the pit of my stomach battles with the confidence in my head. My head wins, reminding me I am here for a reason – they love my work. That thought alone causes me to sit up a little straighter, the tightness in my chest fading.

  “Ms. Mickelson? If you just follow me, Mr. Tully will see you now.” I look up to see the receptionist ready to lead me down the hall. Her pleasant personality is in stark contrast to her harsh appearance, and my nerves calm even more at the friendly tone of her voice.

  Closing my portfolio, I rise to follow her. “Thank you.” The click clack of both our high heel shoes echoes around us as I follow her down a corridor. I subtly brush my sweaty palms down the sides of my cotton skirt, hoping she doesn’t notice.

  I’m led into a small conference room where I take a seat at the table, laying my work in front of me. “He’ll be with you in a moment – oh, here he is now,” she laughs as she passes a slightly balding man, who looks to be in his mid-forties.

  “Thanks, Cindy.” He walks over to the table and extends his hand. “You must be Ms. Mickelson. Pleased to meet you. I’m Raymond Tully.”

  “Likewise. And you can just call me Karma,” I say, as I shake his hand, praying he doesn’t notice the clamminess of mine.

  “Well, Karma, let’s take a look at your portfolio. I’ve seen quite a bit from your website and I must say, I like your eye.” He takes his glasses from his suit pocket and puts them on his unusually round face, opening up the leather binder holding my life’s work. It gets eerily quiet as he studies one photo after another.

  My mouth becomes dry, my heart palpitating as time seems to stand still in the silence. I can’t read him as he slowly turns the pages, his face remaining expressionless.

  Pulling his glasses off, he says, “This upcoming job’s for a clothing line, and the client wants us to come up with at least three different concepts, totally unrelated to each other. Having said that, we’ll need to be versatile in meeting their needs. I guess what I’m trying to say is that this job will probably be drawn-out. Is that a problem?”

  Knowing I have little lined up after the job, I welcome the fact that it could last a while. “No. Not at all. I’m sure I can work around your schedule,” I reply with confidence.

  When he’s about halfway through, he looks up. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to call my associate in to take a look since I’m pretty sure he’s the one who recommended you a while back.”

  “Sure, sounds great,” I tell him, trying not to act baffled by the fact someone had recommended me. My knee bounces nervously under the table, a reflex brought about by his statement.

  Who on earth from here suggested me for this photo shoot? I could barely wait to find out. I’ve had the same thought I don’t know how many times since I’d answered the email.

  Mr. Tully picks up the phone and punches in an extension with his pudgy index finger. “Hey, it’s Ray. You want to come down to conference room one and take a look at the photographer’s work for the Spectra campaign?” Pause. “Yeah, she’s here now.” Pause. “Great.” He hangs up the phone, his eyes darting to mine once again.

  “This campaign starts in a couple of weeks – will you be available then?”

  “Absolutely,” I tell him as I hear someone behind me enter the room.

  “Hey. Thanks for coming down,” Mr. Tully says to the man who has just walked in. “This is Ms. Mickelson…”

  I slowly turn towards the door and am shocked to see the familiar smoky gray eyes from my past. He walks into the room with the same confidence I remember from so long ago. My gaze halts on his now filled out physique
, his boyish good looks smoothed and tailored by the passing of time. My muscles slowly relax as I take in the physical form of some of my most painful and cherished memories that run through my head like some sort of montage of my past, a shallow sigh escaping me.

  A flash of surprise fills his widened eyes, and I notice him tense slightly before he quickly recovers, giving me a close-lipped smile.

  What.

  The.

  Hell?

  My skin tingles and my heart races as I lock eyes with my past, my voice suddenly unable to function after some twenty-some years of use.

  I quickly gather my wits, wanting to remain professional, even though I’ve just had the wind knocked out of me. All reasons why I want this job so desperately are swirling through my mind as I try to remain calm.

  I stand and extend my hand, “Karma Mickelson.”

  He grasps my hand as he would a colleague. “Braden Stewart. It’s nice to meet you,” he says, with a twinkle in his eye.

  Having his fingers wrap around my hand brings back the most familiar feelings in the world – that of comfort, excitement, lust.

  He walks around the table and sits down beside Mr. Tully. “Let’s have a look, shall we?” He flips through the pages of my portfolio, all the while darting his eyes to mine every chance he gets. Sometimes it’s too much, and I have to avert my gaze. When he gets to the end, he says, “These are exceptional.” I hear the pride in his voice, my body slowly relaxing.

  There’s a page on the intercom for Mr. Tully to report to conference room three. He stands up and extends his hand, saying, “I’m sorry but it seems I’m needed. Mr. Stewart can wrap this up and give you all the information you’ll need. Congratulations and we look forward to working with you, Karma.”

  Shaking his hand, I reply, “Thank you so much for the opportunity, Mr. Tully. I’m looking forward to it as well.”

  He looks at Braden with a raised eyebrow and says, “She’s all yours.”

  Braden’s eyes flick in my direction quickly, leading me to wonder if those three words carry some unspoken meaning.

  After he leaves the room, Braden and I stare at each other, neither of us knowing what to say. Finally, he says, “You look great, Karma. L.A. agrees with you.”

  I try to envision myself through Braden’s eyes. My light brown hair is much shorter since I last saw him, barely past my shoulders. I’ve finally developed curves over the past couple of years, and I’ve embraced them, making me feel more like a woman.

  Braden looks great, too, but then again he always did.

  I can hardly believe I’m sitting across from him, especially the way he seems to undress me with his eyes. My whole body responds to those eyes and it feels like I’ve just downed two or three shots of tequila the way I’m heating up.

  I shake myself from this trance he’s got me in. “Thank you. Um, you recommended me for this job?”

  A slow smile spreads across his face. “Well, I recommended you in general several months ago, but yeah, I did.” He leans back in his seat, pleased with himself.

  I didn’t even know Braden was in L.A., let alone that he would be familiar with my work. He notices my confusion and says, “I came across your photo in a magazine while working for a firm in San Jose. I knew it was your work even before I saw it was Karson Designs. I looked you up online, just to confirm it. I must say you were smart following your dream. Even if you did break my heart in the process.”

  Absorbing what he just revealed, I say, “How would you know my work?”

  Shaking his head, he smirks, knowing I just ignored the part about breaking his heart. He starts to say something, but stops himself, mulling his words carefully. Looking almost forlorn, he admits, “I’ve always followed your work, Karma, even when you were in college.”

  I’m struck speechless – that, in and of itself, is a miracle.

  chapter two

  August 2006

  It’s unbelievable that I have to spend a Saturday at the end of summer break taking pictures of the boys’ soccer team practicing. Practices don’t count for anything, really, so why do I have to spend my own free time shooting something so lame? I’d rather be doing anything, but that’s what I get for taking the easy route for my junior year in high school. The rest of my classes will be challenging so I thought this would be an easy A. Yeah, A for pain in my ass.

  When I signed up for the yearbook staff, I had no idea what that might entail. I never dreamed it would involve a camera around my neck. I thought I’d be selling ads to local businesses, maybe having my picture taken with the owners to fill the pages in the back of the book.

  Backing my Vibe out of the driveway, I drive towards my high school, praying for lightning or some other form of Mother Nature’s interference. Looking up at the sky through my sunroof, I realize the odds of a thunderstorm are slim as the soft blue Colorado sky proudly displays itself. Slipping my sunglasses on, I turn the volume up to Justin Timberlake’s Sexy Back, the music lifting my mood.

  Parking my car closest to the entrance of the football stadium, I make my way inside the open gates. Hearing the high pitch of whistles and the chatter among the players, I walk towards the sounds, recognizing the faint odor of fertilizer lingering in the air.

  I feel stupid about the whole photo shoot thing and could kick myself for thinking I’d breeze through this class with little work involved. Having no idea what I’m doing, I hate being put in instances where I feel uncomfortable. I just want to get my pictures and slip out before anyone notices me.

  Well, I’m right about the sweaty boys part – most have their shirts off. This should be any girl’s dream assignment, watching a bunch of guys run around half naked while they sprint up and down the field. Most of the female population would salivate at the chance to watch these guys parade their goods, which unfortunately, I am not.

  In the past two years of my high school career, I’ve found the jocks to be quite shallow, most fitting into the preconceived categories of arrogant, self-serving and loving the sounds of their own voices. The problem is, they say nothing worth listening to if you take away how many touchdowns, tackles, baskets or goals they’ve made in their last game. I like for my conversations to be filled with a bit more stimulation. For this reason, I gravitate to the artistic personality type, hoping for a bit more than the dull, self-absorbed drivel that bounces around the hallways of our school.

  Holding the camera to my eye, I make sure the settings are on auto and concentrate on finding something in my lens that meets the definition of a ‘good shot.’ I’m not sure what Mrs. Landry’s looking for, but if I take enough pictures there’s bound to be something she can use.

  As I scan through the guys on the field, one of them stands out to me. Slowly lifting my head above my camera, I try to get a better look at the subject whose swift movements refuse to stay on the tiny screen of my camera. I’ve not seen him before and wonder if he’s new. His medium brown hair is soaked in sweat, making it appear darker than it probably is. His upper body’s sculpted in an athletic kind of way, not super-buff but definitely chiseled.

  Surprised he catches my attention, I become intrigued. He’s extremely good-looking, and I find myself staring at him unabashedly. The confidence he displays as he carries the ball at his feet is mesmerizing, and I can’t stop my eyes from following him. I don’t know the first thing about soccer but I know talent when I see it, and this guy has it in spades.

  Someone yelling my name snaps me out of my reverie. Damn! Now everyone’s looking at me. My cheeks flush with color immediately. I hate being the center of attention, squirming at the thought of many eyes focusing on me at once. Peeking over my camera, I see my neighbor, Jimmy, waving. Giving a small wave back, I can’t help but notice the new guy stops dead in his tracks, staring at me. It unnerves me a little, and I pretend to fidget with my camera, attempting to change the lens in hopes of appearing somewhat qualified for the task.

  Once the moment has passed, the boys focus on their
drills again, and I’m left to click away in peace. But the new guy won’t stop looking over at me, and I’m not sure how I feel about it. Normally, I would be a little flattered but he’s not checking me out, he’s blatantly staring and it feels weird. Creepy almost. My face and neck feel impossibly hot, and it has nothing to do with the climate. As I subtly watch him, there’s something oddly familiar, but I can’t figure out what.

  As I check the screen on my camera to make sure I’ve got some good shots, a trickle of sweat runs down my back, my cue I’m finished here. I roll my eyes and shake my head. Great! Now I need another shower before the back-to-school bonfire tonight.

  I’m so tempted to look over my shoulder as I leave, the feeling of being watched skitters over me. Hairs stand up on the back of my neck, but I tell myself it’s just the heat.

  But that prickly feeling follows me all the way home.

  * * *

  My best friend, Stella, is picking me up for the junior class bonfire. We became friends our freshman year, and she couldn’t be more opposite than me. She’s loud and obnoxious and I blend in. I’m afraid I would be a wallflower if it weren’t for Stella, and even though she has the brutal honesty that tests most friendships, I appreciate that about her. Because as tough as she’d like people to believe she is, I know she always has my back and I love her for it. I, on the other hand, am always the voice of reason for her, although, let’s face it, Stella’s going to do what Stella wants to do.

  Glancing at the mirror, a satisfied smile crosses my face as I take in my appearance. My light brown hair is naturally tousled, pinned at the crown to lift, hanging to my mid-back. Lining my blue eyes with kohl eyeliner causes them to pop, my long eyelashes sweeping below my brow. My confidence soars as I text Stella that I’m ready.

  I’m excited about starting my junior year, and I’d be lying if I said that boy on the soccer field hasn’t entered my mind as I finish my primping. Why do I care? I keep telling myself I’m not interested, that he isn’t my type. I’ve had a crush on Matt Heckman since the end of last year and decide I still do. He’d been in an art class of mine, and I hope we have another class together this year.