Chapter 5
five
AMANTHA
Iwould have given my left kidney for anyone to be standing in that doorway but Val Russo. What were the chances? Of all the times to stand up to a jerk, I just had to pick this morning, didn’t I? Would it have been that hard to hold the door open for him?
But then I remembered the cruel look in his eyes and my blood began to boil again. This guy was a Grade-A jerk who didn’t deserve my regret. Did I really want to work for someone like him anyway?
My stomach sank.
I needed this job. For Anthony. To prove to the judge that Ryan didn’t deserve joint custody.
Seeing no alternative, I rose from my seat, offered my hand, and said, “Hello, Mr. Russo. I don’t think we have, uh, formally met. My name is Amantha Adams. I’m here to interview for your assistant position.”
Mr. Russo’s cold eyes flicked to my outstretched hand. He scoffed and shook his dark brown curls. Ignoring my peace offering, he strode around and sat at his desk.
I blinked, retracted my hand, and sat down. Mr. Russo watched me, stone-faced, as I chewed my lip, the silence deafening as I waited for him to say something.
Anything.
Despite the scowl, even I could admit that Val Russo was attractive.
Like an evil dictator with a built upper body.
Thick curls brushed the tops of his brows.
Eyes the color of rich earth were fringed with dark lashes.
Based on his olive skin, I presumed he had heritage from around the Mediterranean. Greece, or Italy, maybe?
“Are we seriously going to do this?”
I was startled by his rough voice. “Do what?”
“Pretend to go through with this interview, as though you have any chance of getting this position?”
I gritted my teeth, feigning nonchalance. “Why shouldn’t I get this job? We’ll both agree I’m beyond qualified.” I shoved my resume across the desk.
Mr. Russo didn’t break eye contact with me as he reached for the resume, crumpled it up, and tossed it in the stainless steel waste basket.
Something snapped inside me.
I was done being nice. Done being the bigger person.
For just once, I wanted to drop kick the doormat version of myself far away.
You’re not the first man to throw away my dreams.
I stood and gripped the edges of the desk. “Who do you think you are?!”
Mr. Russo looked as shocked as I felt at the words spilling out, before his surprise melted into something far more insidious. He rose like a cobra, slow and lethal, until he was towering above me.
“Definitely not your employer,” he said coolly, folding his arms across his built chest.
“Listen, Mr. Russo,” I said, picking up his perfect nameplate and waving it in front of his nose.
“I don’t care who you are. You need serious help.
Like, professional help.” The nameplate clattered to the desk as I grabbed my purse.
“My deepest condolences to your new assistant, whoever they are, because it sure isn’t going to be me. ”
“That’s the first intelligent thing you’ve said all day.” A smirk twisted his mouth as he casually flicked an invisible piece of lint from his black shirt. “And don’t bother applying to other positions here. I’ll make sure you won’t get them.”
I snapped my gaping mouth shut.
Heat permeated the space between us—pure, unadulterated loathing. The new, reckless version of me imagined the satisfying sound my slap would make across his stupidly handsome face.
“Not that I would ever want to work for a jerk like you, but I will apply for each and every position available.” I stomped to the door.
“Then you must be even more pathetic than you look. Say, there is a janitor position available.”
“I would love to be a janitor!” I said, flinging the door open. “Because right now, I would love nothing more than to piss you off!” My shout reverberated in the small office before I stormed away.
Rage shook my body as I let myself out the employees’ entrance and onto The Spiral. Even the beautiful, prismatic ramp couldn’t calm me. Never had I encountered someone so awful. Never had I yelled at someone so awful—not even Ryan.
A dark side of me couldn’t deny that it felt good. Like a decade-long itch I finally scratched.
A lighter part of me felt embarrassed, maybe even apologetic, but I was too angry to care.
Val Russo didn’t know me. Did he treat everyone like that?
I passed museum visitors as I rounded down the shimmering ramp of The Spiral. The sound of people talking and the wafting scent of food made me realize I was starving. An open cafeteria beckoned from across the lobby, and I stalked toward it.
I grabbed a sandwich, a banana, and a Diet Coke, all while cataloging insults for Mr. Russo if I ever saw him again. Plucking a brochure from the stand beside the cheerful cashier, I paid for my lunch, plopped down at a table, then opened the pamphlet.
The sandwich dropped from my hand.
A bubble of unexpected laughter burst out as I reread the wonderful news. Starting in June, the Vanderbilt wing would showcase an entire collection of an Austrian painter named Felix Andreas. I squealed, ignoring how psychotic I must seem to the surrounding strangers.
I was obsessed with Felix Andreas. I had even written my master’s thesis on one of his pieces, Attersee Bei Sonnenuntergang or Lake Attersee at Sunset.
“I take it you’re a fan of Felix Andreas as well?”
A bright voice interrupted my thoughts. An energetic, twenty-something Asian American woman stood holding a tray of her own. Her eyes twinkled in amusement.
“Is it okay if I sit?” Without waiting for my response, the woman swept into the booth across from me, smile edged in striking maroon lipstick.
“I’m Kate Chen. Sorry, but I saw you freaking out over the pamphlet. Finally, someone matches my energy!”
“It’s nice to meet you, Kate. I’m Amantha Adams,” I said, waving the pamphlet, “and you’re right. I’m hard-core fangirling right now.”
“Me too! He was by far the most revolutionary artist of his time. The precision, right? Tell me I’m wrong.”
“You’re not wrong.” I laughed.
Kate’s energy felt like a ray of sunshine, lifting the spirits Mr. Russo had tried to crush. I cupped a hand to shield my whisper from the buzzing cafeteria.
“Do you think security will kick me out if I bring a pillow and blanket to camp out in the exhibition?”
Kate’s long sheet of straight black hair brushed her waist as she laughed. I decided I liked the sound, bright and contagious.
“You’ll have to fight me for the best spot then. But you should know my memory-foam pillow hits like a brick. Consider yourself warned.” Kate’s mouth quirked. “But I’m pretty sure I’ll get there first. Employee perks and all that.” She poked a fork into her salad.
I grinned and took another bite of my sandwich. “You work here? What department?”
“Curation.”
I lifted a puzzled eyebrow. “Really? But I thought the museum only had two curators. Um, Blythe Barlow? And…” I tried my best not to gag. “Val Russo?”
Kate shook her head. “Oh no, I’m not an actual curator. Blythe is my boss.”
A curator’s assistant.
I sighed wistfully. “Good for you, Kate.”
“Oh, jeez! Thanks, but why are you saying it like your dog just died?”
I snorted a laugh. Peeling my banana, I began to tell Kate about working as Barbara’s assistant, ending with the tale of my awful interview with Mr. Russo.
“Ew.” Kate’s dark brown eyes flashed. “Don’t take it personally. Val treats everyone like human garbage.” She pointed at me with her fork. “I’m serious.”
“I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse,” I said. “I mean, isn’t there a basic code of human decency or something?”
“Val wouldn’t care if there was,” Kate said. “But enough about him.” She loaded her fork with more salad. “Why’d you leave? Like, why’d you stop working for Ms. Gaines?”
“I got pregnant.” I thought of my spunky mini-human and smiled.
“My son is ten now. Anthony is the best. I know I’m biased, but he’s literally the funniest person I’ve ever met.
And he’s why I needed that assistant position.
” I sighed, resting a temple against my palm.
Only a mother’s love could mourn the chance to work for the devil.
“You know, Val isn’t the only person hiring for an assistant.”
“What?” My eyes snapped back to hers.
“Turns out, Blythe needs two assistants. The position hasn’t been listed yet since she just decided last week.”
Why would one curator need two assistants?
Reading my confusion, Kate chuckled. “I know, I know. It must seem like I suck at my job if she needs another. But, Blythe is”—Kate furrowed her slender, arched brows—“a lot. Don’t get me wrong, the lady is a crazy genius.
I’ve never met anyone whose mind works the way hers does.
But she is such a scatterbrain. It’s too much work for one person.
” She checked the time on her phone. “In fact, if you’re almost done, we could catch her on her lunch break. I could introduce you.”
I stood and instantly collected my trash. “I’m done, I’m done! Let’s go!”
Kate’s vibrant laugh rang above the din of the cafeteria.
“Listen, I can’t promise it will lead to anything, but I’ll text her that we’re on our way.”
“Say less,” I said. “Just getting in the door is a massive win.”
Following Kate’s trendy leather jacket, I hardly dared to believe my good luck.
When I returned to the curation wing, Mr. Russo’s office was as dark and vacant as his soul. Relief trickled through me. I wouldn’t have put it past him to storm into my impromptu meeting and tell security to kick me out.
Walking into Blythe’s office, I stopped short at the sight while Kate plopped into a chair. Blythe Barlow seemed to be exactly as Kate described—pure chaos.
Sticky notes cluttered every square inch of her desk. Towers of papers and folders teetered on the counter. A variety of pens—one with a peacock feather taped on—jutted out of a red solo cup.
The seasoned curator looked more like she belonged on the beach than in a museum.
Her suntanned skin was slightly wrinkled and scattered with adorable freckles.
Her blonde hair was—and there was no other way to describe it—frizzy.
Like it couldn’t make up its frazzled mind whether it wanted to be wavy or curly.
Even stationary, Blythe seemed to vibrate with creativity, like a crazy scientist inventing something spectacular.
Blythe offered a flustered apology, waving wildly at us as she yanked out drawer after drawer, searching for her phone for the “fudging millionth time.”
The phone was soon discovered sandwiched between folders on her desk, vibrating as Kate called it. Blythe scooped it up and smiled, revealing a charming gap between her two front teeth.
“Hey there. Sorry about that. What’s your name?”
“I’m Amantha Adams. It’s so nice to meet you, Ms. Barlow.”
“Woof! That’s an interesting name. And please, call me Blythe.” Her emerald eyes twinkled.
I chuckled. “Sounds great.”
“So, do you have a resume?”
Stupid Val Russo.
“I did,” I said. “I mean, I do. I can show you on my phone. Sorry for not having a hard copy.” Anymore.
I accessed the document and passed my phone to her.
Blythe rummaged in yet another drawer before Kate lifted a pair of turquoise spectacles from atop the computer and handed them to her.
“A master’s degree?” Blythe squinted. “And you worked for Barbara Gaines?” She let out a low whistle as her eyes pulled back to mine.
“Yes, I did. Barbara was a great mentor, and I learned a lot. I’m sure I could pick up where I left off.”
“Is this date right? You haven’t worked in over ten years?” Blythe raised a tawny eyebrow.
I took a deep breath. I had expected this. “I spent the last decade raising my son. I know it’s been a long time, but I’m confident I still have the ability to—”
Blythe cut me off with a stormy expression. “I don’t think it’s fair to punish women for raising their children at home. Either you have the chops to be my assistant, or you don’t. Talent doesn’t expire.”
I exhaled in relief.
“And by the looks of it, you’ve got more than enough talent.
Before we make anything official, Human Resources wants to ask all new hires something.
” Clasping her hands together, Blythe tipped her head and recited, “If you have any existing or previous relationships with the faculty here, familial or otherwise, it must be disclosed at this time.” Her monotone voice conveyed just how much Blythe actually cared about my relationships.
Oddly enough, Mr. Russo’s scowl flashed through my mind.
That couldn’t be defined as a relationship. Surely that was just an encounter—with the devil. The sadist wouldn’t really prevent me from working at the museum, would he?
“Well,” I shoved an errant lock behind my ear, heat pooling in my cheeks. “This isn’t a relationship by any stretch of the imagination, but I kind of feel like I need to disclose it.”
So I came clean about the interview.
I didn’t like the idea of hiding anything from my potential new boss. Relationships should be founded with honesty, not with skeletons hidden in closets.
“Let me get this straight, Amantha.” Blythe’s green eyes bore into mine. “Not only did you have the guts to stand up to Val, but it will drive him absolutely bananas if you work here?”
“I wouldn’t say I was gutsy, to be honest. Mostly just mad. But, yes. I don’t think he’d appreciate me working here at all.” I glumly stared down at my boring gray dress pants.
“Great.” A devious smile split Blythe’s face. “When can you start?”