The thought came on so quickly and so strongly, he knew it was right.
“Fuck me,” he said to the empty studio. Rage filled him and he wanted to smash something. He thought of the tree topper. He could break it and tell her that none of them came out.
But then, he’d be no better than her lying ass. No. He deserved the truth, so he’d confront her.
He grabbed his keys and the topper and headed to her house. In his car, he texted her.On my way. We need to talk.
As he started the engine, she responded.
That doesn’t sound good. Is everything ok?
No, it fucking was not okay. Rather than answer her, he just took off out of the lot. On the entire trip, he tried to convince himself that there could be a million other reasons for her to be copying art. Maybe it really was practice.
Then why say she’d been commissioned?
His brain spun in circles. He wanted to believe she was innocent of the thought he was having, but that didn’t make it so. He shouldn’t care.
Maybe he could just walk away without confronting her, but by using his studio—usinghim—he was part of whatever shit she was into. And it pissed him off.
He whipped into the visitor spot, grabbed the box, and stormed to the door. He jabbed at the bell. Less than a minute later, the door swung open and London stood there with a huge smile on her face. She looked genuinely happy to see him.
“You made great time. Come on in. It’s cold out there.”
He realized that he was just staring at her and not moving.
Stepping into the building, he said, “What are you up to?”
She glanced over her shoulder. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, who the fuck are you trying to fool with this forgery?”
There was a hitch in her stride and she turned to face him, halfway to her door. “What are you talking about? I told you I was copying the style for a gift.”
He gritted his teeth and shoved the box at her so he could pull out his phone. As he opened the article, she said, “Come inside and tell me what has you so mad.”
He followed her into her loft and without closing the door, he thrust his phone in her face. “This.”
She focused on the words and paled. Setting the box down on the floor, she took the phone from him and began scrolling.
“Now tell me how it’snota forgery.”
Clutching his phone, she said, “It’s not what you think.”
“Yeah, what is it?”
She licked her lips and took a deep breath.
“Need some time to get your lie together?”
“I haven’t—”
He stared at her, waiting for the next lie to come.
“Okay.” She handed him his phone. “I haven’t been totally honest. The topper is not a gift for my mother.”
“Surprise.”
“But it’s not what you think.”