Chapter 8
eight
AMANTHA
Two weeks later, I crouched by the museum copy machine in my navy pencil skirt and glowered into the opening. The mock-up pamphlet about Felix Andreas had wrinkled, effectively staunching my prints. I maneuvered my fingers around the offender and tugged over and over again.
“I. Do. Not. Have. Time. For. This!”
On the last tug, the piece of paper tore in two. One jagged edge taunted me as its partner in crime stayed put. I huffed a strand of hair off my face. Blythe needed the mock-up for our meeting in less than twenty minutes.
The museum planned to celebrate the opening of Felix Andreas’ exhibition with a gala. Donors, patrons, and even social media influencers had been invited. Press from the Chicago Tribune would also be attending, covering the event for the paper.
If I wanted to get the mock-up before the meeting, I had to come up with a solution fast. I leaned against the machine and tried to think. Easier said than done when my brain still had PTSD from the conference in San Francisco.
Truth be told, the conference itself was wonderful. Being surrounded with the crackling energy of like-minded, passionate people had been rejuvenating, and I had learned so much.
What I couldn’t shake was the walking wet blanket that attended every seminar with me. After the nasty things we’d said to each other on the plane, Val and I had spoken only when necessary.
I was still angry and hurt, but to top it all off, I was also embarrassed about how I acted toward him. Even though I was done being a doormat, I didn’t have the right to say mean things like that.
At home, I always preached to Anthony about kindness and empathy. Even though he wasn’t here, I vowed to be an example. I would be the bigger person.
I chewed the inside of my cheek and checked my watch. I might have just enough time to use the printer in marketing before—
“Are you finished yet?”
A rough voice startled me from the doorway. Val glared at me over a stack of sapphire paper in his arms. At that glint in his eyes, any altruistic notions I had about being the bigger person vanished faster than a sleeve of my favorite Girl Scout cookies.
“Hang on.” I pretended to panic, patting down the length of each of my arms. Looking down in mock surprise, I exclaimed, “Oh no! My invisibility wore off!”
“Ha. Ha.” Val’s deep voice dripped with sarcasm. He crossed to the machine while shooting me a dirty look. “Unfortunately, this is an emergency. So? Are you done?” He slapped the papers on the machine.
I gathered my things, dipped into a mocking curtsy, and said, “The machine is all yours.” After sweeping out of the copy room, I stifled a laugh at Val’s curses as he realized the machine was jammed.
Twenty minutes later, I entered Blythe’s office with the freshly printed mock-up from the marketing department.
Blythe was in the middle of a phone call, her unruly hair standing on end as she gestured for me to come in.
Kate walked in a few seconds later, dark eyes alight with amusement at Blythe’s frenzy.
Kate mouthed, “What is she doing?”
I shrugged, also giggling and enjoying my boss’s antics. Kate and I sank into our usual chairs, waiting for the call to wrap up. Through the glass wall, I saw someone leaving Val’s office. I tapped a light finger on Kate’s shoulder and nodded toward the stranger.
“Who is that?” I whispered. In my five months at the museum, I hadn’t seen her before.
Kate surveyed the person. “Probably another applicant for Mr. Russo’s assistant position. I have no clue why he keeps interviewing, since he never hires anyone.” Kate sucked in a breath between clenched teeth. “She does not look happy.”
Been there. I felt bad for anyone who had to experience Val for the first time.
“Okay!” Blythe said. “So wonderful to hear! We’ll talk soon!” She hung up, spinning around. Her mouth flapped like she had either forgotten all words, or she was trying to use all of them at once.
She paused, took a long breath, then said, “Ladies, that was Lance Stirling’s agent.”
Kate and I exchanged confused glances. Not deterred one bit, Blythe tried again.
“Lance Stirling? The new artist that’s gone viral?”
“Wait, is he the one that made the sculpture of Lil Swagga?” Kate’s jaw popped open.
“Yes! I reached out to his agent a while back. Turns out, he hasn’t held any physical exhibitions of his work.
He’s only shown his art online. Before he goes the gallery route, Stirling has publicly announced he wants to ‘make history by joining history first.’” Blythe shrugged.
“His words, not mine. No idea what that even means. But…”
She indulged in a makeshift drum roll with two pencils. “Stirling wants to meet us to decide if the museum would be a good fit for his public debut!”
Excitement thrummed in my stomach. “That’s incredible!”
Kate exclaimed, “This could be huge! He’d attract an entirely younger demographic!”
Blythe nodded. “Other curators are likely talking with him as well, but I want the credit for bringing him to the museum. Not Russo.” She glowered at his office next door.
“After the Felix Andreas exhibition is over, we could focus on creating Stirling’s.
I signed the three of us up for his non-profit pottery class tonight to lay some groundwork. ”
The chance to boost my resume and beat Russo? Count me in.
The evening summer breeze skimmed my bare arms as I strode down the sidewalk. Stirling’s pop-up pottery class was starting in less than ten minutes. The setting sun cast an orange glow over the industrial district of Chicago.
It’s gonna be a late drive home tonight.
I sighed and glanced down at my fitted jeans and oversized, paint-splattered t-shirt. The remnants of Anthony’s paintball birthday party from last year still refused to be washed out. A twinge of pain stole my breath.
Anthony had left for Europe only yesterday. Even with the iron-clad agreements that Ryan had signed, anxiety had latched onto my heart like a leech, draining me of both optimism and energy.
Dropping Anthony off at Ryan’s, luggage in hand, was one of the hardest things I had ever done. It was wild how the earth continued to spin this morning, even as my heart broke. I would cling to the memory of his sweet, shy wave until he was back. For now, work served as my main distraction.
My phone vibrated in the pocket of my jeans.
KATE: Blythe and I aren’t going to make it! We ran out of gas and we won’t be there before the class is over. You can do this! Go get us Stirling!
I clapped a hand to my forehead. Of course Blythe would forget to put gas in her car. And now, I was on my own.
The gravity of the situation pressed down on my shoulders.
I couldn’t screw this up.
We needed Stirling.
And I didn’t want to give them any reason to fire me, just like I didn’t want to give the judge any reason to reconsider joint custody with Ryan. Taking a deep breath, I rolled my shoulders back and held my head high.
The door to the venue was heavy, made of thick wood planks and metal screws.
The large warehouse-turned-event space looked modern, but full of character.
Rustic wood paneled the walls. Pottery wheels were scattered across the cement floor, each station harboring its own materials.
A stage spanned the front of the building.
Among the milling crowd, I spotted a tall, handsome man wearing a tailored navy suit and a sour expression. Val leaned against the back concrete wall, avoiding anyone and everyone.
Irritation flared in my chest. How had he known about the class?
Ignoring Val felt tempting, but something about him made me irrational.
While I dreamed of ruthlessly avenging myself for our plane conversation, my new being-the-bigger-person rule meant I’d have to settle for merely annoying him.
So, I slinked around the crowd until I was close enough to smell the fresh, masculine scent that seemed to emanate off him.
“You know that pottery is made from clay, right?”
Val jumped and spun toward me. His dark glittering eyes narrowed.
“You.”
I smirked. “Me.”
“I’m well aware of how pottery is made,” he growled. “Why?”
“Oh.” I lifted and dropped my already paint-splattered shoulders. “I just can’t wait to see your expensive suit covered in it, that’s all.”
Resuming his position against the wall, Val fiddled with his sleek cuffs. When he spoke again, he sounded bored.
“I’ll have you know I have no intention of participating in this class.” He trained his gaze forward. “Did you really think your psycho boss would be the only curator after Stirling? Or that an artist like him might need a curator with more than one brain cell?”
While he droned on, listing all the ways Blythe and I would screw up, I tuned him out and studied him instead.
Russo obviously took pride in his appearance. He had an impeccable, albeit stuffy, sense of style. Everything he wore fit perfectly. His muscles looked like they abused a gym membership on a regular basis. Only the slight lines edging his eyes betrayed his age. Thirty-five? Thirty-six maybe?
Fine.
Val was super hot. I could admit that, but it seemed like such a waste. If only he could get a personality transplant. Or a full lobotomy.
“What?”
This time, I jumped. I hadn’t registered the end of his rant. He was now watching me watch him. A cocky, knowing smile curled the corner of his lip, a rogue eyebrow peaking.
“Can I help you?”
Anger and embarrassment flushed my cheeks.
“Get over yourself, Russo.” Storming away, I flung myself down at one of the pottery stations. My neck prickled with the sensation of his following eyes.