Noah was being stalked. At least, he was fairly certain of it. It wasn't anything obvious, like getting creepy letters or someone always following him in a painfully obvious kind of way....hell, it was subtle even when he compared his experiences to movies or television. But in the last week or so, he'd had the feeling that someone was watching him, the uncomfortable knowledge that something wasn't quite right. It was making him edgy, always trying to see that person out of the corner of his eye, to catch them peering around a corner or over a menu in a restaurant. Every once in a while, he'd catch the faintest hint of the smell of the air after a rainstorm and a flower he couldn't name. His girlfriend was getting pissed off, and he was losing sleep.
So it seemed perfectly natural to stay late at the studio and do some extra work on several photography sessions. A storm had been brewing all day, and around eleven it finally unleashed itself onto New York. Noah would even go so far as to say that the earlier thunderstorm the week before had been the start of all the nonsense he was trying to convince himself wasn't happening.
Work would take his mind off of things, at least. He could lose himself in details for hours, and if all else failed, he'd clean the damn place until he was ready to stumble home and fall onto his couch and stay asleep until the next morning.
Everyone else had long since gone home, and he'd locked everything up before returning to his work. When he last looked at the clock, it was 11:30. Now....he grimaced, rubbing his eyes and stifling a yawn. One in the morning. Amber was going to kill him for staying up late again, because if he wasn't focused when they went for lunch...
"Just keep working," he muttered to himself, "and it'll work itself out in the morning. Well, later today, anyway."
"You should be sleeping, you know."
Noah nearly fell out of his chair. When he spun around, he wasn't quite prepared for what he saw. The voice came from a woman standing in the middle of the studio, soaked to the bone, and looking mildly unimpressed.
"Who the h-"
"Language."
"Who are you and how did you get in here??"
She was beautiful, despite looking like she'd just waded through the ocean to get into the studio. Black hair was plastered against pale skin, and blue eyes blazed from
So it seemed perfectly natural to stay late at the studio and do some extra work on several photography sessions. A storm had been brewing all day, and around eleven it finally unleashed itself onto New York. Noah would even go so far as to say that the earlier thunderstorm the week before had been the start of all the nonsense he was trying to convince himself wasn't happening.
Work would take his mind off of things, at least. He could lose himself in details for hours, and if all else failed, he'd clean the damn place until he was ready to stumble home and fall onto his couch and stay asleep until the next morning.
Everyone else had long since gone home, and he'd locked everything up before returning to his work. When he last looked at the clock, it was 11:30. Now....he grimaced, rubbing his eyes and stifling a yawn. One in the morning. Amber was going to kill him for staying up late again, because if he wasn't focused when they went for lunch...
"Just keep working," he muttered to himself, "and it'll work itself out in the morning. Well, later today, anyway."
"You should be sleeping, you know."
Noah nearly fell out of his chair. When he spun around, he wasn't quite prepared for what he saw. The voice came from a woman standing in the middle of the studio, soaked to the bone, and looking mildly unimpressed.
"Who the h-"
"Language."
"Who are you and how did you get in here??"
She was beautiful, despite looking like she'd just waded through the ocean to get into the studio. Black hair was plastered against pale skin, and blue eyes blazed from
