"Is that what this painting is about?"
"Yeah. It's a break from my usual style. Do you get any sense of emotion from this?"
"It's not very cheery." Not very cheery? That's an understatement.
"Do you get heartache? Anguish?"
"Yes, I'm absolutely feeling those things."
"The feeling of being used?"
"No, there's none of that. That situation definitely doesn't exist." He squeezes my hand to emphasis his point. I want to lean into him, to let him hold me while I digest everything that's happened.
"I thought this was an interview for the article."
Lawson smirks. "Don't give me your sarcasm."
Our eyes lock, and I don't respond. I can't. Not now that his eyes are holding me, their warmth comforting me so completely.
"Fine. How does it make you feel to see your creations displayed in our hotel lobby?"
"Shocked. It shocked me to see them."
"But it must make you happy, or proud, or something?"
"All of that. But the real thing that makes me happy and proud is hearing about all the hotel customers who stop to admire them."
"And try to buy them."
"Yes, that too. Especially that." That makes me more than happy. It makes my insides do backflips with relief and elation. People notice me. I am good. I must be, or my paintings would simply fade into the background. Chasing my dream might've been the right decision after all.
"You're smiling, sunshine."
"It's a relief. Like a confirmation that I'm an okay artist."
"You're not an okay artist, you're an amazing artist. You must see that now."
"I used to think I was good, but it took so long for anybody to notice me. And when I finally did get noticed, it was for the wrong reason."
"Wrong reason?" he asks, his eyebrow arched.
"Not for my art."
"More for your ass in that tight waitress uniform, but followed quickly by both your personality and that picture you drew."
"You found that sexy?"
"I thought that talent was pretty damn sexy. I'm still eagerly anticipating the self portrait of your sexy tits."
An easy laugh flows from me. "I can't believe you just said that."
"I'll do whatever it takes to hear that laugh."
"Like keep getting me fired?"
"Fucking hell, I thought we got past that." The breeziness vanished from his voice. Instead there's anger. I don't want to push him away - the thought scares me. But he hasn't given me time, and I need to decompress. Now I'm scared I'll push him away just to get the time I need.
"I don't want to have this conversation now."
He closes his eyes and says, "Then let's talk about something else. Let's talk about the Dodgers, or the latest Marvel movie, or the fucking weather, but for God's sake, let's keep talking."
Lawson runs his fingers over my palm, and a tear trickles down my cheek.
Going to Voicemail
(Lawson)
Fucking hell. Time. Why does Skye need time? Isn't it obvious to her how much I care about her? How much I need her in my life?
Doesn't she see she didn't need the job with Kelso?
I want to touch more than her hand. Can I? Or will that just piss her off?
It's killing me having her this close to me, close enough I can smell her flowery shampoo. I want to pull her into me and bury my face in her hair.
Maybe if I kiss her, she'll understand how I feel. I don't know how to make her understand the way I feel about her. But it's a risk too big even for me, if it pissed her off, I'd lose her for good. Whereas right now, it seems like I have a chance.
I just have to keep her from leaving. To keep her talking. And I'm not letting go of her hand for anything.
It seems like she's shut down. I stop talking, ready to start again if she makes a motion to leave. Her face isn't giving away any hints of what she's thinking. I'd hate to play a game of poker against her. Although whatever it is we're doing now has higher stakes than any poker game I've ever played.
"I know your head's swimming right now, but I really am running that article."
Skye's eyes widen.
"You are?" Her voice is dull, its normal spark missing.
"I am. But I think I'll run it in the magazine for my new company instead of this one."
"New company?"
"Yesterday I changed my mind about Kelso. I'm tired of fucking around with him. I've already instructed Julie to fuck him as long and as hard in the courts as we can. It's going to take years. In the meantime I'm starting a separate company. It'll be great. All boutique hotels, in business and exotic locations that'll attract a fiercely loyal following." My throat burns as I speak.
I'm thinking on my feet here. She'd better not think I'm fucking babbling. "I'm going to feature you in that magazine. Hell, I'll put you in both. Do you want to be in both? No, wait. The new hotels are going to need lots of original artwork in them." I take a deep breath, hoping this works. I need it to sound professional for her. "The company would like to commission you to create artwork for each of the new hotels. And to make prints of the pieces to use in the bedrooms."
The color has returned to her face, the shine back in her eyes. It encourages me to continue. "We can negotiate the number and cost, you don't even have to deal with me. Everything can go through my head of procurement."
Skye smiles. "Maybe I want to deal with you."
It's music to my fucking ears. Do I consider that acceptance? Hell yes. I stand, ready to pull her into my arms until the end of time, when her phone rings.
"You should get that," I say. I take a quick glance at my watch and smile.
By the time she roots around in her purse and pulls out the phone, the ringing had ended.
"Missed it," she says, shrugging.
"Is there voicemail? It might be important," I say.
"I'll check."
Watching the delicate way her fingers tap the screen makes me long for them to touch me.
She holds the phone to her ear. As she listens, her hand flies to her mouth and tears wet her cheeks. Finally her hand moves from her ear and she lets the phone drop onto the table.
"Everything okay?" I ask, moving to her side. From her reaction, I assume her mother has followed through on her promise to me.
Skye looks up at me with fresh tears in her eyes, and says, "That was my mom. She said she was interviewed for an article this morning and that she's proud of me."
As soon as the words are out, Skye bursts into tears. I purse my lips as I pull out of the chair and draw her tight against me, removing any air between us.
"I, um." I pause, suddenly worried that what I did might make her angry. "I phoned her this morning to get a quote to use in the article and might've suggested that she grovel for your forgiveness."
Her body shakes with her sobs, and I hold her tighter.
"I can't believe she called me. When I left, she said I was dead to her."
"Sometimes people say things they don't mean."
"Thank you. I don't know how to thank you."
"Don't. You know I'd do anything to give you your parents back, anything."
For the first time since the call, Skye looks up and makes eye contact with me. Her eyes are glassy from tears, but behind the tears, the spark is back. No, it's not just back, it's blazing brighter that it has since I met her.
I palm her cheek, drying the tears with my thumb. Her lips curl into a smile, a slight part between them.
Nothing's stopping me now. I press my lips against hers, forcing them wider apart. Skye does nothing to resist me, and I deepen the kiss before breaking it.
With her cheek still cupped, I say, "I would do anything for you. Don't ever doubt me or doubt my feelings about you again."
"Never. I'm sorry."
"I don't need sorries."
Her soft lips quiver, and I give them a quick kiss.
"You promise to stop resisting me?"
"I promise."
"So you'll do the tit drawing?"
"Stop it," she says, laughing.
"Fine. I like them better in person anyhow." I slide my hand from her back, up her side, between our bodies, and cup her breast.
"I'm sorry I ever doubted you. I can't believe everything you've done for me."
"What did I tell you about sorries?"
"Okay, this isn't a sorry but I need to say it out loud: You promoted my art, you've offered me the most amazing commission ever, and you've given me my parents back. Thank you. That's what this is, a thank you."
"The only thanks I want is you."
Her eyes flitter around in exasperation, moving from her body to mine, my arm around her waist, my other hand on her breast.
She smiles and says, "It looks like you have that, from where I'm standing."
"You don't hate me because I'm rich?" I give her a quick kiss.
"No chance."
"And you see how much you belong in my world?"
"Uh-huh." I give her another quick kiss.
"Good, because you are my world." It's true. With Skye, I've felt complete for the first time in my life. Before her, I didn't know what being in love was. When she turned on me, ripping that feeling away, it left me hurting more because I knew what I've been missing.
Skye's chin quivers, and for a moment I worry she's going to start crying again.
She swallows and says, "Do you know you're the only thing ever that's more powerful in my life than my paintings?"
"What?"