one after you graduate,” I tell her.
“That’s easier said than done,” she says with a frown. She goes on to tell me that her parents aren’t exactly thrilled with her program of study and nag at her constantly about changing her major so she can pursue what they call a
real
career.
“Oh,” I say and get a tiny bit pissed off at her parents. “Sorry.”
Then I get a tiny bit sad because I always wanted to have my own gallery but was too much of a chicken to go after my dreams so I went the safe route and became a teacher. But that all changed when Mason bought me this building, which was a gesture that said, “I believe in you,” in a way words never could. That was a pivotal moment in my life, and now here I am, standing in my brand-new studio, with this sweet girl telling me she has the same dream and no one to support her.
I decide to go out on a limb.
“Let me show you something else.” I walk out of my studio and down the balcony corridor until I reach the end of the hall. I open the door and step into a room only a bit smaller than my studio.
“Do you think this would make a nice studio?”
“Yes,” she says, looking around. “Of course.”
“Let’s make a deal, then,” I tell her, and then I start lying. “I could use some part-time help,” I say, thinking instead it would be nice to have some company. “You work for me a few hours a week in the gallery and you can use this space as your studio for as long as you like.”
Avery looks like she’s about to pass out. “Are you kidding me?”
“No, I’m not. You might stay here a couple of weeks and decide this isn’t for you, or you might stay here a couple of weeks and decide that there’s nothing else that makes you happier. Either way, you’ll know a lot more about what you want after you’ve been here for a while.” Avery looks like she’s about to cry. “Where do you keep your stuff?”
“At home. In the attic.”
“Well, go home and start packing,” I say, happy with my spur-of-the-moment decision to become a quasi employer. “When do you go to school?”
“Monday, Wednesday, and Friday from ten until noon and Tuesday and Thursday from eleven until three, so I could work in the gallery Monday, Wednesday, and Friday from one to five, maybe come in and paint some on Tuesday and Thursday, and then what about Saturday?”
“I’m just doing Monday to Friday right now, and we can discuss your hours after you get all moved in—how about that?”
“Oh, okay,” she says. “So when can I move in?”
“How about next Monday?” I answer, thinking that would give me a few days to think up a job description.
“Great,” she says, beaming. “I’ll see you Monday at one, then?”
“Sounds good!”
I follow her down the stairs to the front door, wave good-bye, and watch as she gathers her long skirt and gets into a gorgeous little convertible Audi. As she drives away, I immediately start second-guessing myself. I mean, I don’t know that girl from Adam and I just issued a standing invitation for her to hang out in my gallery as much as she likes.
“Oh well,” I say aloud to my paintings. “At least I’ll have someone to talk to.”
I glance at the clock because I’m ready to go and see that it’s thirty minutes before closing time. I ponder that for a moment, then decide to take off early because I’m in charge of taking dinner to the conference room tonight and it’s not like people are lined up outside the door waiting to get in anyway.
9
“Y ou hired who?” Connor McCall says over a basket of hot wings that I picked up at Credo’s and delivered to the conference room along with baskets for Mason and me, a gallon of sweet tea, and a side salad for Allison.
“Avery Cambre,” I say, looking at Mason, who shrugs and picks up a celery stalk.
“Do you know who her father is?” Connor asks.
“No, I don’t,” I say, getting nervous.
“Her father is Dr. Leo Cambre, a bone doctor who came up
K. Sterling
Jacquie Rogers
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley
Shiloh Walker
Elizabeth Moynihan
Mary Balogh
Tara Fox Hall
Jonathan Maberry
Jane Hunt
James Kakalios