Faking It. Dorie Graham
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like that.”
“She said the reiki would continue to work for a while longer and that my energies were more balanced, whatever that means.” He glanced at her. “She said my heart chakra—some kind of energy-center thing—was closed or deunified or something and that was partly why I was having trouble.”
He spread his arms in appeal. “I don’t get all this energy talk. Maybe I should stick to conventional medicine. I have a physical defect in my arterial valve. How will balancing my energies or channeling some life force or whatever she was doing help that?”
“It’s all connected. What affects the emotional body impacts the physical body, as well as the etheric and so forth,” Amanda said.
He frowned at her. The woman was nuts. Why was he listening to her?
She raised her hands. “All I’m saying is that unresolved emotional issues manifest as physical illness.”
“Besides the fact that all that mumbo jumbo sounds a little flaky, this is more a defect than an illness.”
“Still, it’s worth a shot.”
“You think I should find one of these McClellan women and strike up a relationship?” he asked.
“It beats hiring a sexual healer off the Internet.”
A sail moved along the horizon. A gull screeched overhead. The hammering of his heart echoed in his ears. He stopped again. “You think it might work?”
She wiped a bead of perspiration from her forehead. “This woman healed my friend’s friend’s roommate’s brother of emphysema. His doctor took before-and-after X-rays of his lungs. It was unheard of. The whole thing was documented in some obscure medical journal. And he wasn’t the only one. Apparently she has a following of men she’s healed. They all adore her and each swears she’s healed them in one way or another.”
“You sure you didn’t read that in the Enquirer?”
Her eyebrows arched. “Yes, I’m sure. She healed him, Jack. You have to find her or one of her sisters, if that’s the case. Maybe we can Google the one who does feng shui.”
“Google her?”
“If she’s practicing feng shui, I’ll bet she has a Web site.”
“And what would I say to her if we were to find her?”
“You’d just introduce your charming self and let nature run its course.”
“I don’t know. The whole thing sounds ludicrous.”
“Hold on.” She pulled her flip phone from her pocket, opened it, then punched a few buttons.
“I’ll bet my friend George can get some information. He’s still good friends with— Oh, here’s his voice mail…Hey, George, it’s Amanda. Listen, I’m trying to get the scoop on the woman who healed that guy’s emphysema. Was her last name McClellan? You know the one who has the gift of sexual healing? Can you talk to your friend and see if he can get an update on her and her family from his roommate’s brother? I was hoping you could help me locate her or one of her sisters if she has any. Okay, so call me when you have something. Thanks, I owe you.”
She hung up and smiled at him. “There, we’ll have you all set in no time.”
A feeling of apprehension settled over him. God, he was a desperate man.
SUNLIGHT FELL THROUGH a skylight onto Erin’s desk in her design studio. She sighed and flipped through the stack of invoices she’d been ignoring for the past week. There was no more putting it off. It was time to balance her accounts.
A whisper of movement sounded and she started, then stared. A blond stranger stepped into the sunlight spilling around her desk. He was tall and lean, his eyes dark and intense.
Her heart pounded. “Goodness, you scared me.”
He gestured toward the front. “Oh, sorry. The bell jingled, but you must not have heard.” Moving forward, he extended his hand. “I’m Jack Langston and I’m guessing you’re Erin McClellan.”
She rose, taking his hand as she moved around the desk. A shock of warmth spread through her at the contact. “Yes, I’m Erin. Guess I’ve been a little too absorbed in balancing my accounts. Or at least trying to.” She laughed, the sound seeming strained to her own ears.
He seemed to fill the splash of sunlight as though he was part of it—an angel sent to taunt her with his beauty. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Langston.”
“The pleasure’s mine. Please call me Jack. I’ve heard so much about you.”
“You have? Then do you mind if I ask who referred you?”
“I didn’t catch her name. She owns a little shop down in Coconut Grove. It’s called the Emperor’s Attic.”
“The Emperor’s Attic?” Unease gripped her.
“I believe she was the owner. She’s certainly worked there a long time. She spoke highly of you…and your family.”
“My family? What did she say about my family?” Her mind raced. She hadn’t been there in ages, but her unconventional relatives no doubt still frequented the metaphysical bookstore.
Jack straightened. “Mostly she talked about how well known you are for your work with feng shui.”
“But you said she talked about my family.” A faint roaring sounded in her ears. She tried to breathe, but it felt as if a weight pressed her chest.
“Isn’t this a family business?”
“No, this is my interior-design business. I don’t work with feng shui anymore.” A myriad of emotions swamped her. She leaned against her desk to steady herself. What was wrong with her?
“You don’t?” He frowned. “Why not?”
“I’ve decided to pursue a more mainstream clientele.”
“Mainstream?” A note of disbelief colored his voice.
“Mr. Langston, I’m not sure what you’ve heard about me or my family, but I assure you I run a very respectable business here.” Who was this man to question her in this way?
“I don’t doubt that, Ms. McClellan, but I don’t see anything disrespectable about feng shui. I’m no expert, but it seems quite a good number of upstanding citizens swear by it.”
“I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with it. I have simply chosen not to practice that type of design anymore. I find my business has picked up significantly since I decided to go with the more conventional mode of interior design.”
“But you would take on a job for a paying client if he wanted you to use your knowledge of feng shui?” He moved a step closer.
The tumult of emotions clamored inside her. She pressed her lips together to keep from crying out. He caused this tangle of feelings. Was this the empathic nature her family spoke of?
Well, they could have it.
“Are you such a client?” she asked.
He met her steady gaze. “Yes, I believe I am.”
“You’re saying you’re interested in feng shui?”
“That’s right. I have a condo on the intercoastal. It needs—” he gestured lamely “—some of that stuff.”
“Feng shui is more a philosophy than a collection of ‘stuff.’”
“Right. I need your expertise on how to bring that philosophy into my home.”
“And are you familiar with it then, Mr. Langston?”
“Jack.”
“Okay, Jack, what do you know about feng shui?”