“It’s a popular tactic, making a backdrop for an event or a city, then using it as a checkpoint for guests or tourists. It’s kind of like the Hollywood sign or the Walk of Fame. People go just to take their pictures.” I nod, understanding, and scroll endlessly.“Then people see it on their feeds and get it stuck in their mind that theyhaveto go next year.”
“It’s smart,” I say, handing her phone back.
“You know, that would be a really good idea for Daytrip,” she says absentmindedly, now sending photos to her friends. My attention shifts back to the mural, watching as another group of girls stand in one spot and smile. There’s a small line now winding along the art installation, people lined up for their shot. “A photo op. Or two, maybe?”
“Oh?” I ask, turning to her, intrigued.
“Yeah, imagine, a mural on the exterior of the building. You could have one inside, exclusive to guests, then another outside, maybe along the side of the building on the beach? Nearby, you could have some signage about more photo locations inside and pamphlets displaying the amenities, making it so people would want to grab a day pass to enjoy a luxurious beach day, and have the fun photos to share on socials.” She bites her lip, lost in her thoughts as she stares off down the shoreline. “A temporary one would be perfect for the social media influencers. Or maybe a permanent one and then a seasonal one that changes, so there are reasons to come over and over?”
She looks a bit uncertain, but it makes perfect sense to me, though there’s only one person I would trust with the project.
‘Would you do it for me?” I ask. That gets her full attention, her head snapping to me with confusion written clearly across it.
“I’m sorry?”
“The murals. Would you paint them for me?”
Her face goes soft, apologetic almost.
“Oh, Graham, I didn’t mean…I don’t?—”
“I’ve seen what you can do. If we commissioned someone, I would only want you to do it.”
She shakes her head.
“You don’t have to do this just because we’re friends, Graham.”
“This isn’t because we’re friends,” I say, serious, but she’s already flipped the switch, trying to deflect, a smile on her lips. I never know just what she’s going to say when she gets like this, desperate to shift the attention off of her and her talent.
“Because we’re more than friends?” she asks, and my brain short-circuits.
”June—”
“I’m just picking on you, Graham,” she says, pushing my shoulder playfully. “Unless…” I wonder if it’s being away from the office or the sun that has her wiggling her eyebrows at me suggestively, but either way, I don’t know how to respond. After a moment, her head tips back, and a laugh leaves her lips, full and joy-filled, completely entertained.
She’s joking with me.
I don’t know if I should be relieved or disappointed, and that might be the most concerning part of all.
“Jesus, June–”
“Sorry, sorry, I’m out of the confines of the office, so I feel the need to pushallof your buttons,” she says, and I wonder if she knows just how much sheconstantlypushes my buttons, even when she’s just sitting at her desk, chewing on the end of a pen, lost in her work.
“I’m serious,” I say, after a moment. “I want you to think about it. Doing murals for Daytrip.”
“Graham—”
“Just sit on it. We’re not here for work, but on Monday, I’ll be asking again.” She pauses for a moment, but must see the firm look on my face, the fact that I absolutely will bug her about this next week, because she sighs and rolls her eyes dramatically.
“Next week, we’ll talk about it.”
I spend the rest of the afternoon successfully keeping a reasonable distance from her, making sure my skin never brushes against hers, and our conversation stays light and neutral. We see a ton of musical acts, which thankfully eats up any conversation time, but it also means I get to watch her dance around, carefree and happy—something that might be worse than talking with her.
By nine, we’re almost home free, with just one more act to see before I can go to my separate hotel room and jack off while I think about her to relieve myself of this tension. Unfortunately, I didn’t consider that June wouldn’t want to simply watch from the available VIP balcony section. Instead, she wants to go to the VIP pit, to watch the show against the barricade in a sea of bodies, with very little space between us.
That’s when I realized this entire scheme was a horrible fucking idea.
How the hell am I supposed to remain neutral and keep my shit together and not give in to the utter desire to make her mine? Every five seconds, her body sways to the loud music playing over the speakers while we wait for the band to come on, brushing against me while I stand behind her, trying to keep everyone else away from her.
