“After today, I definitely do,” I said, realizing there was no point in lying.
I watched her walk around to her side and hop into the driver’s seat. Leaning forward, she handed me a cup of coffee.
“Thank you.”
I warmed my cold hands against the cup containing the hot liquid, then took a tentative sip. After being outside in the cold for hours, the warmth soothed me from the inside, and I savored the flavor of coffee, sugar, and whipped cream, reminding me that I was still alive and living.
“Don’t worry. I’ll persuade Grayson to give you a job, but first—” Her eyes brushed over my clothes in thought before she pointed to the cluttered mess on her back seat, “—we need to get you out of that. I have countless dresses I bought before my self-imposed shopping ban. There should be one that fits you. My motto is, ‘If you look good, you feel good.’ So...” She shrugged and paused, hesitation written all over her face, as though she wasn’t sure why she was about to divulge such information “Whenever I have a bad day, I dress up. It makes the world a better place, at least for a while.”
At that moment, Thalia officially sounded like Sylvie. I decided to like her; after all, anyone who resembled my friend Sylvie had to be a good person. In fact, I figured most human beings on the planet were better than Jett and his sick family. Compared to them, Thalia was a God-sent angel, and through her, for the first time in my life, I saw a way out, a way to escape my debts.
“I don’t know why you’re doing it, but thank you for helping,” I whispered.
Staring out the car window, various emotions washed over me as thoughts kept spinning in my mind. The job was an option. An option I could accept, but didn’t have to. Still, the more I thought back to my college days, eating ramen noodles day in and day out, working my ass off to avoid amassing a fortune in loans, the more I was convinced I was doing the right thing. And I really didn’t care what I had to do, as long as I was in control of my own life. And control I was seeking.
Finally, there was a light at the end of the tunnel, an escape from a precarious financial situation that I had thought would keep me enchained for the rest of my life. My best friend had always told me that if I wanted something, I had to work hard to achieve it. I had done that, but as it turned out, working hard was not enough, and it was certainly not always the fastest way to solve a problem. So I had always poured everything I had into my career, but now, a shortcut was necessary.
Taking this job could be my shortcut. I was willing to adapt, to change, to try something new, and to take on challenges I hadn’t faced before.
Whatever it takes. It was time to write my own destiny.
As silently as I could, I switched off my cell phone, so no one could reach me.
The streets were busier than usual, and the car seemed to stop at every corner. We had been driving for at least forty minutes when we finally reached an area close to the Williamsburg Bridge. The car came to a screeching halt in front of a red, three-story building, and I got out. From the outside, in the dark, it seemed rather ordinary, if not even a bit run-down. If I hadn’t known any better, I wouldn’t have had a clue that it was actually the studio of a successful photographer slash artist. There was certainly no sign indicating the opportunity of a promising job.
A cold wind whipped my hair into my face, and I wrapped my coat tighter around me. Shivering near the entrance, I watched Thalia change her sneakers for a pair of high heels. She tossed the athletic shoes onto the back seat and retrieved an oversized training bag, which I assumed contained her outfit for the job.
“Is he famous?” I asked as she locked up the car.
“Who?”
“Grayson.”
“I wouldn’t say that, but he is well established and known for his exquisite taste and expensive art collection.” She turned to shoot me a strange look, then glanced up at the windows. “Whatever he shows you, keep any remarks to yourself. His art takes a while to get used to, if you ask me, but he takes it very personally when someone doesn’t like it.”
“Is it that bad?”
She laughed. “See for yourself. As they say, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I’ve never understood his taste, but I’m not exactly a creative genius. Maybe it’ll appeal to you. Who knows?”
She slung the bag over her shoulder and let herself in, motioning for me to follow her up a narrow staircase. Her cryptic words had left me eager to find out what she had meant by “exquisite taste.” Was this Grayson renowned for his taste in selecting just the right model for the job, or did his art cater to the strange and bizarre? The countless questions floating in my mind kept me intrigued and focused and not just as a distraction that helped me forget my relationship drama. As far as impressions went, Grayson was a big, blurry question mark. I knew next to nothing about him, and the sudden realization of the unknown made me nervous.