A Baby for the Boss(53)

“You jerk,” the other artist countered. “If you knew anything about shadows and highlighting, you’d know how to make that white hair stand out. It’s supposed to be otherworldly, not like a photo shoot for a fashion magazine.”

“What you know about art,” he shouted, “could be printed on a business card with room left over for a Chinese menu.”

“I know enough to do what I’ve been contracted to do,” she said.

Jenny’s head ached. They’d had the same problems with Tony while finishing the mural in the dining room. He wanted things done his way—too bad for him, he wasn’t in charge. Holding her hands up for quiet, Jenny felt as if she were refereeing a fight between second-graders. “That’s it. Lena, thanks, you’re doing a great job. Just get back to it, okay?”

With muttered agreement, the woman did go back to work, throwing one last fulminating glare at the man smirking at her.

Jenny lowered her voice when she spoke again. There was no need to humiliate the man, but she wasn’t going to be ignored, either. “Tony, you agreed when you signed on to this project to follow the planned art designs.”

“Yes, but—”

“And,” Jenny said, a little more loudly, “whatever you think of video games, the guests who will be coming to this hotel know these games like the backs of their hands.”

Tony sighed heavily again. “If you’ll only let me show you what I mean—”

“So,” she said, overriding him again, “you will either do what you agreed to do, or you can pack up your paints and leave.”

Insulted, he jerked his head back and glared at her. “You can’t fire me.”

“Oh, yes,” a deep voice sounded from behind her. “She can.”

Jenny looked over her shoulder, unsurprised to see Mike coming up behind her. The man was always close at hand these days.

“Mr. Ryan...”

Mike shook his head and continued speaking to the artist. “But allow me to repeat it so you’ll understand. Either follow the planned design, or leave and we’ll send you your last check.”

“I’m an artist,” Tony said hotly, lifting his chin with its wispy goatee. “If all you want is someone to fill in the lines with color, you don’t need an artist. You need a child with a box of crayons.”

“Your choice,” Mike said. “Thanks for your time.”

Clearly outraged, the man flushed darkly, then spun around to pack up his supplies, muttering all the while. From the corner of her eye, Jenny saw Lena do a little hip-shaking happy dance at the other artist’s exit and she smiled.

“Well, that was fun.” Jenny looked up at Mike. “I was handling it, you know.”

“I saw and you were doing a great job.” He smiled at her and Jenny’s foolish heart gave a hard thump in response. “Any reason why I shouldn’t help out when I can?”

“I suppose not,” she said, but inside, she whispered that it wasn’t a good idea for her to learn to depend on his help. Because it wouldn’t always be there.

“Lena, are you all right here on your own?” Jenny asked.

“Are you kidding?” She laughed. “With Tony gone, it’ll be like a vacation.”

“Great. I’ll send Christa up to help you when she finishes in the dining room.”

“Fab, thanks. Oh, boss?”

Jenny and Mike both answered, “Yes?” Then Mike waved one hand as if telling Jenny to take it.

“I had an idea I wanted to run by you.”

“Shoot.”

Another grin from Lena. “I was thinking, what if I drew out one or two of the banshees so that their arms are stretched across the door—you know, so their clawed hands look like they’re reaching for the guest opening their door...” She bit her lip and waited for a decision. She didn’t have to wait long.

“That’s a great idea,” Jenny said and glanced at Mike. “What do you think?”

Nodding, he said, “I love it. Good thinking, Lena.”

“Thanks.”

“And your banshees look like they stepped right out of the game, I appreciate that,” Mike added.

“Hey,” Lena said, “I love that game!” When she turned to go back to work, humming to herself, Jenny and Mike headed back down the hall.

“The elevators are turned off, so we have to take the stairs.”

“Yeah,” Mike said, “I know. But I don’t like you climbing up and down those stairs every day. What if you tripped and fell?”

“What am I, ninety?” Jenny shook her head and laughed to herself. “You’re being ridiculous, Mike.”