Dray by Tess Oliver Page A

but I’d come with high recommendations from the photo editors at International Weekly where I’d spent my internship. The internship had been far beyond anything I could have imagined. In three short months, I’d traveled every continent but Antarctica. I’d spent a great deal of time in remote villages where humanitarian and medical aid was greatly needed and openly appreciated. It had opened my eyes to a world of despair and human suffering that I’d always known existed but that had always been easier to push out of my mind. Now I had a portfolio of photos that would always remind me of the hardships that existed all over the world. Human emotion was what I seemed to be able to capture the easiest. My relationship with Dray and my friendship with Scotlyn may have had something to do with fostering my talent. They were two people who would often drift into an emotional display of hurt and anguish without even realizing they were showing it. After I’d finished the internship, I’d hoped that my career would eventually continue on the same path, showing the world what others must endure and hoping that it would somehow bring light to the darkest places on the planet. But I’d received such an amazing offer from New York, it had been too good to pass up. For now, it seemed like a good place to start. Pulse was a magazine that focused more on urban trends and art, and I looked forward to being a part of it. I desperately needed the money and the experience. Eventually, I would pursue my real interests.
    Mr. Evans, my new boss, looked taller and thinner and considerably less contorted than he’d looked on Skype. I was pleased to learn that he didn’t actually have a flat as Frankenstein head or a long, stretched chin. He had just a touch of gray on each sideburn and wore a sleek black suit that looked custom tailored. “Cassie, you’re late.”
    I opened my mouth to explain.
    “I know public transportation can be a challenge, but you’ll get used to it.” He walked past me and motioned me to follow. “We’re just about to hand out assignments. It’ll give you a chance to introduce yourself.” He looked back with a slightly puzzled expression. “I don’t remember those glasses when we spoke on Skype.” I nearly had to run to keep up with his long strides.
    I pushed them up higher on my nose. “My contacts were bothering me after the flight. Hope that’s all right.”
    His laugh bounced off the pale orange walls. “As long as you can take pictures like the ones I saw in your portfolio, I don’t care if you have horns and fangs.” He stopped without warning, and I nearly smacked into him. “This is your cubicle if you want to put down your things. Then it’s the second door on the right.” A computer sat upon a plain, gray desk. The chair looked expensive and comfortable. I leaned down and shoved my purse into the bottom desk drawer and then hurried down the hall to the meeting.
    I’d never been in a board room or in a meeting. At Freefall, Nix would come out of the backroom and lean over the counter to discuss anything of relevance. The room was already filled with a loud, boisterous group of people. They paid little attention to their boss as he walked in with the new girl.
    Mr. Evans poured me a cup of coffee and offered me a muffin from a basket, which I declined. I sat in the only empty chair and looked around, now wishing I’d opted for the muffin so I would have something to occupy my hands, mouth and attention.
    “You must be the new photographer,” a slim twenty-something guy said from across the table. Even though we were inside and it was still late summer, he wore a plaid scarf draped loosely around his neck and a black fitted jacket that appeared as if it’d been made to look vintage. His lower half was below the table on the opposite side, but I would bet a year’s salary that he was wearing skinny jeans to go with the jacket. I was just glad to see someone dressed in obscure