Lacey arrived at the exhibition hall just as the curator was introducing Desai. She stayed toward the back of the room, silently taking in her surroundings. There was an eclectic mix of patrons at the showing, many of whom were the type of hipsters that frequented this area of town. Some of the edgier people in the crowd were standing off to the right. Lacey noticed that they became almost raucous as Desai ascended the stage. Exploring the faces of the rowdy bunch, Lacey noticed Jo Masterson in the middle of the group, clearly the ringleader. Jo, she remembered from her readings, had been a close friend of Desai's growing up. She had been there with him the day that he killed his aunt, and had become a pseudo-child celebrity over night. Jo had taken a deep spiral into drugs and partying, presumably to escape the trauma that surrounded her following the incident. She had successfully won emancipation from her parents at 16 and had moved to the city. Jo and Desai had reunited after he was released from prison two years later, and the two were virtually inseparable ever since. It was unclear what the status of their relationship was at the current moment, but what was clear was the fact that Jo was hopelessly in love with him. Whether he reciprocated those feelings had never been confirmed, and Lacey wondered now as she observed them from afar.

Desai stepped up to the podium, welcoming everyone and thanking them for coming. He spoke about the inspiration for this new exhibit, and told of the creative process. Finally, he brought everyone up for a toast, thanking a select few who had "helped make it all happen" before disappearing into the crowd. Lacey stood on her tip-toes, craning her neck to see where he had slipped off to, but to no avail. She sighed to herself, thinking that, since she had lost him anyway, she should at least look around at the art.

Lacey wandered through the gallery, taking in the sights around her. Desai's art work truly was unique. It had a strange quality about it that was all at once frightening and beautiful. She gazed across several works in a series, finally settling on the last. This piece was unlike the others in the series, and could have easily been a standalone piece. Lacey lost herself in the cacophony of colors and shapes on the canvas before her, allowing the emotion from the artwork to flow through her as she experienced the artist's vision. This piece, aptly named "Volant" made Lacey feel as though she were flying through space and time, lost in the moment on some sort of psychedelic trip. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to experience the vision all over again as it replayed itself in her mind. She was so immersed in the feeling that she didn't notice him as he walked right up on her.

"Enjoying my work, I see?" he said smugly. His voice was deep and lilting as he sidled up beside her, observing her as she took in his latest (and his favorite) piece.

Lacey was slightly startled, both by his voice and his suddenly close proximity. She had thought herself alone in this part of the exhibition hall, and she hadn't expected to see anyone here, especially not the artist himself.

"Mr. Desai," she started, "yes, actually, I was. This is an amazing piece – I love the colors… you've captured so much emotion and feeling in this one piece. It's amazing!"

Lacey knew that she was gushing, but she was also telling the truth – she absolutely loved the painting. She also decided that it might not be a bad idea to lay it on a bit thick – she did want to get to know Desai better after all.

"My name is Lacey, but the way – Lacey Porter." She said as she extended her hand to him. He grasped it between the two of his and kissed it lightly before responding in kind. "I am Daniel Desai, or Danny, if you'd prefer. Tell me, Lacey, what brings you to my little show tonight? Forgive me, but you stand out a bit from my usual crowd."

With this Lacey blushed slightly. She was charmed by Desai's – Danny, she reminded herself – Danny's warm demeanor, but she was also caught off guard that he had noticed that she looked different. She had taken great care to look her best tonight, and to dress in a fashion that would be at home among the Manhattan-ites. She had only lived in the city for a few months, but felt that she blended in pretty well by this point. Obviously, blending in in Lower Manhattan wasn't the same as blending in at Columbia among the college crowd. To Danny, she evidently stuck out like a sore thumb. Yet the way that he looked at her, so appreciatingly with those deep dark eyes, she wasn't sure that standing out was such a bad thing. Since she had his attention for the moment, she decided to make the best of it by being honest with him.

"I actually came to see you, Danny," she started, putting extra emphasis on his name. "I wanted to meet the Daniel Desai, and see what all the fuss is about."

He smiled at her, but she noticed that it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Great," she thought to herself, "now I've gone and ruined it before I even got the chance to really talk to him." She waited for his response, somewhat tense with anticipation.

"Well, Lacey," he started smoothly, "you're definitely different from the type I usually get. Most of the girls that come to these shows looking for the 'socio' aren't nearly as classy as you."

Lacey flustered, stammering, "N – N – No. I'm sorry, let me start over. I'm a psychology student at Columbia. I've been researching you for the last few months for a project in one of my classes, and I just thought I'd get out of the books and come down for some firsthand research."

"Ah," said Danny, "Now that seems a bit more likely. So – you want to dissect me for one of your papers at your fancy college across town, huh? Well then, that is going to cost you."

Lacey furrowed her brows. "Cost me?" she thought, "Cost me what exactly? What is he getting at here?" She was a bit apprehensive, thinking of what he may be suggesting, but then decided that she had nothing to lose after coming all this way.

"Name your price, Mr. Desai," she said, confidently lifting her chin. She would not let him see that he'd intimidated her already.

He paused, assessing her before responding, "Meet me tomorrow at this address." He handed her a white card with an address on the back, as well as a phone number and his name. "This is the address of my studio – we can meet there tomorrow at 1:00 pm to discuss the terms of this arrangement."

"Arrangement?" Lacey breathed out. Internally she thought, "When did this become an arrangement?"

"Yes, Lacey, arrangement," Danny stated again, never taking his eyes off her. "You want something from me, and I'm more than happy to give it to you, but we'll need to discuss what you'll be giving me in return."

Flustered, Lacey started to respond again, but Danny quickly shushed her. "Don't worry," he said, "I don't want money from you, and I promise to be fair in what I ask for. You've already gone to all the trouble of meeting me in person, don't make your efforts in vain." With that, he placed the card in her hand, grazing his fingers over his wrist and sending a chill up her spine as he did.

"Tomorrow, 1:00 pm" he said to her, smiling as he turned to walk away. "I look forward to seeing you again, Lacey."

Lacey let out the breath she had been holding, running her fingers over the embossing on the card. "Sure," she murmured quietly, "see you then."

Later that night, Danny lay awake in his bed, his mind racing. It had been a good night, he thought to himself. The gallery show had been his most successful opening yet, and there had been great critical response to his new work. Strangely, though, the most striking moments of the night were the few minutes he spent with Lacey Porter. Lacey, he remembered, feeling his manhood stir as images of her flashed through his mind. She was quite possibly the most breathtaking woman he had ever seen. He thought of her beautiful caramel skin, and the sexy way that her raven hair fell over her shoulders and cascaded down her back. When he walked up beside her he had to take a moment to admire her before speaking. He had noticed her when she walked in and had wanted a moment alone with her all night. With Jo there, however, that had been all but an impossibility.

He thought of Jo, looking down at her listlessly sleeping form next to him in bed. "Why am I doing this?" he wondered to himself for the umpteenth time. It wasn't that he didn't care for Jo, of course he did. She was his oldest friend. But lately, she acted as though their "friends with benefits" arrangement was something more than what it was. He enjoyed spending time with her, and he really enjoyed fucking her, but he didn't love her – at least not that way. Her incessant partying and wild lifestyle left much to be desired for Danny. He knew that she was falling in love with him, and he knew that he should put an end to it… but every time he got ready to tell her, somehow something happened, and they ended up in bed once again, and… Well, he just didn't see the point of breaking her heart right now. Jo knew what this was between them – they had made it explicitly clear in the beginning. As she stirred beside him, rousing herself for another round, Danny closed his eyes and let himself get momentarily lost in the feeling of her expert lips exploring his body. He decided he wouldn't worry about this tonight, instead he would let Jo please him as only she knew how. But as he relaxed and allowed his thoughts to flow freely, it wasn't Jo's face he was picturing above him… it was Lacey's.

Tomorrow afternoon couldn't come quickly enough.