11
MIRANDA
I stepped back to study Ethan’s impressive nudes, which were abstracted by smudged paint.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“I love them. They’re very sellable.”
“Commercial, you mean?”
“Hm. Yes, but that doesn’t diminish their artistic worth.” I smiled reassuringly.
“I think this is a very well-curated collection,” he said, pointing at the art on the walls.
A sense of pride and achievement flushed through me. I loved the collection, which I’d worked tirelessly to collate.
If it weren’t for a horrific encounter with the sleazy landlord and my missing Lachlan like crazy, I would have bounced along.
That frightful meeting with my landlord made me realize two things: One, if I wanted to succeed at running my own business, I would have to learn to stand up to bullies. Two, Lachlan was in trouble. The landlord, in his mangled rasp, had mentioned something about Lachlan being buried in concrete if he didn’t pay up. That terrified me more than the threat of having the Artefactory torched.
Just as I answered Ethan’s lingering gaze with an awkward smile, my phone vibrated, making me jump.
Lachlan’s face smiled up at me, and my heart skipped a beat.
“Your boyfriend?” Ethan asked.
Am I being that obvious? “Um… I don’t have one.”
“It’s just that you’ve gone red.”
“No, I haven’t.”
I decided against taking the call, just to prove a point, though maybe more to myself. Though I craved Lachlan as one did water in the desert, I needed to focus on my career. While we were together, I lost myself to him.
All week, I’d tried to avoid those ugly memories of our last meeting by focusing on my work. Every now and then, caught off guard, I slipped back into thinking about Lachlan, and the tears, with a will of their own, poured out again.
Why didn’t he try to call and apologize sooner? If that’s even what that call is about.
Although I could understand his frustration, it was low of him to sink the boot in just when I already felt terrible. I kept beating up on myself with the same thought on loop—I should have done more to stop Lachlan from leaving the paintings with Florian.
Unable to eat, I hated Lachlan for possessing my body and soul. Every moment was filled with him. He even had a starring role in my dreams.
“Where should I put this?” Clint asked, carrying a chair with a mask aimed at the sitter’s face.
I pointed at a corner. “I think there, so that the mask creates a silhouette on the wall.”
My phone rang again. “Excuse me.”
Though I’d hoped it was Lachlan again, Harriet was calling.
“Hey.”
“I need you to take Ava to dance class. I’ve got an interview.”
“Oh… sure. What’s the job?”
“It’s a role at the rehab trauma unit.”