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Mya
The last three weeks had been magical with Alex, and as I stepped into the office on Monday morning, I felt like I had a thundercloud over my head that was ready to unleash hell’s fury.
I would have chalked it up to not sleeping well, but I had slept great. Ever since Alex had I started spending so much time together, I drifted off to sleep every night with a smile on my face and woke up ready to sing and dance.
I knew it sounded silly, but that’s how I felt. I knew I was in love with Alex, and while neither of us had said anything about our feelings, I knew that he cared deeply for me too. I could see it in his eyes when he looked at me, feel it in his touch. I even heard it in his voice when he whispered my name or called me Angel.
I promised myself that I wouldn’t say anything to him until after his divorce hearing. If all went well, the judge would finalize the horror of that relationship, and he could move on with his life—we could move on with our lives
I was determined that we would have a life, too. Alex was more to me than just a good time. I saw the future with him. I wanted to be by his side and help him with his dreams. I loved that he wanted to do work with the orphanage, and I even thought about the possibility of one day, maybe when we were married, we could foster a child or even adopt one. What would he think of that?
I was dwelling over that, daydreaming of a future with Alex as I set my stuff down in my office. Rebecca poked her head in and said “Milt wants to see us.”
“Okay, I’ll be right there.”
“He seems a bit pissed, not sure what’s up, but I wanted to let you know.”
I nodded. Well, that explained why I felt there was a dark cloud over my head today. I sighed, grabbed my notebook, project folder, coffee, and phone, and trudged over to his office.
He was duck pecking at his keyboard as if he was trying to kill rabid ants. Rebecca and I glanced at each other. What the hell was up with him?
He read what he had written, then clicked his mouse before pushing his keyboard away and glaring at us. “Were neither of you able to figure out a good way to connect this guy with other people?”
“His social media is building nicely,” Rebecca replied immediately. “Much better than most. He started off with seventy-eight followers on his Instagram account. He has almost half a million now.”
“That’s great, but that’s not what I’m talking about. We need a way to make the guy look more human. Yeah, women think he’s hot, and you two look sexy in your pictures, but why should they buy his work? We have a lot invested in this guy. We need to see a good return. We have to give them something that makes people want to buy the paintings.”
“I would think people would buy them because they are good,” Rebecca said, and I gnawed on my bottom lip. The words were ready to jump out, but I wasn’t sure I should say anything. No, I couldn’t say anything.
“That’s not enough, damn it. We need to put something else out there. He has some interest, but not enough. I need to find a way to bring in more interested people.” He stared over our heads for a moment and then snapped his gaze to mine. “Is he involved with any charity?”
“Um,” I squirmed in my seat.
“He is! Which one? Maybe we can find a way to tie that in.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Mya, this guy is good, but unless he had a reason behind his paintings, he’s not going to touch people. You know that, and I know that. Obviously, you have been too busy fucking the guy to figure out what his why is for doing what he’s doing.”
I ground my teeth. “I know his why.”
“Then share it with me. Let me figure out a way to work this in.”
I shook my head, staring at my notebook. “I don’t think he wants anyone to know. He’s a private person, Milt.”
“Fuck private! This guy could be a millionaire if we had a way to tie him to a why. People need to feel more than what’s in a painting.”
I sighed. “He plans on donating most of his earnings.”
“What? Like ten percent, fifteen?”
I shook my head. “No, probably at least half.”
His brows popped, and he leaned back in his seat. “What is he donating it to?”
“An orphanage.”
“An orphanage,” he echoed back. “What orphanage?”
