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“Much better. Just a passing stomach thing, but my mother-in-law panicked.” Tasha shakes her head, sending her soft brown spiral curls swaying against the coffee-and-cream smoothness of her cheeks. “It’s been a long time since Inez has taken care of a four-month-old and Zoe tends to fuss. But I know she’s in good hands. Plus, it doesn’t hurt that Inez is free child care now that she’s living with us.”
I smile, hearing the relief in her voice. “I’m glad everything’s okay.”
“Yeah, me too. FYI, you’ve got paint on your chin.”
“I do? Dammit.” I rub my face, then fish for the compact mirror in my purse. The smudge of dark plum acrylic stains my chin like a fading bruise. “I’m almost finished with one of my pieces,” I tell her as I scrub the paint smear with the pad of my thumb. “It’s not perfect yet, but I’m working on it. I want to have it ready to show Margot soon.”
“Margot from the gallery?”
I nod, unable to hold back my grin. “She’s supposed to call me tonight with some news. Her voicemail this morning said she wanted to tell me personally.”
“Holy shit.” Tasha’s eyes widen. “Avery, that’s awesome. You must’ve sold another painting.”
She says it as if my art sells with some kind of regularity. It doesn’t. Aside from one painting that sold almost immediately after Margot got me placed at Dominion more than a year ago, it’s been a long, arid dry spell ever since.
Maybe that first sale was a fluke. I’ve often wondered. Dreaded it, really. People have told me I have talent. God knows, I love painting more than anything. It’s always been my outlet, my refuge. But maybe passion isn’t enough. Maybe I should’ve stayed in the hometown and saved my money to finish art school instead of running away to the biggest city I could think of as soon as I had the chance to break free and chase my dreams.
The truth is, I wanted to escape. I wanted to disappear. I wanted to become someone new. Someone different from me.
Someone better.
I wanted to live. For me, not for my mom or all the things she wants for me. Not even for my grandma, whom I’d looked after back home until her death from emphysema two years ago.
If I fail now, I’ll be letting everyone down.
Fuck, who am I kidding? I’m already failing, and unless Margot calls to tell me she’s sold my entire portfolio, the odds are I’ll be back on the bus to Scranton before the month is out.
I stow my purse in an employee locker, then start gathering my blond hair into a long ponytail at the back of my neck, finger-combing the damp tangles into some semblance of order.
“You better go,” I tell Tasha. “I have to clock in and you need to get behind the bar before Joel docks both of us.”
She makes a face. “Right. Meet you out there.” She starts to leave the coatroom, then swings back to point at me. “The second you hear from the gallery, I want to know. The very second, got me?”
“Yeah, of course.” I nod, and now my smile seems forced as doubt crowds in to diffuse the hope I’d been carrying with me most of the day. “I’ll be right behind you.”
She leaves and I can hear her greeting one of the customers on the floor outside with her bubbly, easygoing warmth. I lean against the lockers and take out my phone to type a text to Margot.
Please call as soon as you can. I’m dying here. I need to know what’s going on.
I hit SEND before I can change my mind and delete the desperate sounding message. I hate appearing weak or out of control, and the realization that I am both right now puts a sick feeling in my stomach.
I push the feeling away and slide my phone back into my pocket.
Then I step outside to the bustling restaurant to begin my shift, my mask of confidence held rigidly in place.
Chapter 2
We’re so slammed at the bar that nearly an hour passes before I can even think about the fact that I still haven’t heard from Margot. I pour a glass of Pinot noir for a well-dressed strawberry-blonde at the far end of the bar and walk it over to her. Despite being model gorgeous, she’s seated alone and has been preoccupied with texting and making phone calls since she arrived fifteen minutes ago.
I place the red wine in front of her without comment. She glances up then and meets my gaze, her elegant brows pinched.
“Can I get you anything else right now?” I offer.
“No, thank you.” With a frustrated sounding sigh, she sets her cell on the bar and shakes her head. “I’m supposed to be meeting a friend here before I have to leave to catch a flight.” She checks the sleek watch on her left wrist and frowns. “Evidently, she’s running late.”
“Okay. I’ll check back in a few minutes,” I tell her, even though I doubt she’s listening. Before the words are out of my mouth, she picks up her phone again and starts frantically tapping out another text.
I pivot away to take drink orders from a trio of thirty-something suits who’ve just swooped in to grab newly vacated seats at the other end of the bar. They request single malt Scotch, then make half-assed attempts to flirt with me as I retrieve the bottle and set up three neats of the twelve-year Macallan.
