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“So I was the part of your job you didn’t like.”
“Yes,” I admit. “Not always. I learned a lot from you. But you weren’t easy to please or to predict.”
Even so, a certain part of me had been proud to be his assistant because of that very fact.Look at me wrangle this beast.I had access to the man who regularly bit his employees’ heads off, and I hadn’t been fired.
Seeing him in front of me now, shirtsleeves rolled up and dark blue eyes serious on mine, is like having double-vision. The image of him in his own home now, talking to me, superimposed over the image of him behind his desk telling me toget it right the next time or else.Same man. And yet.
The two are blurring, both softening around the edges, and I realize I’m not afraid of him anymore. I haven’t been for quite some time.
“Noted,” he says, as if I’ve spoken the realization aloud. “I know it’s too late, but for what it’s worth, you were excellent at your job. I hope you saw that reflected in your compensation.”
Pride at his words makes my chest swell. Yes, he had compensated me handsomely, and I know I’m luckier than most with my savings account.
But he’d never said the words.
“Thank you,” I say.
He nods again, like we’re done with this topic, but doesn’t rise from the table. Neither of us is eating anymore.
I reach for the wineglass. “Are you excited about tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow,” he repeats. “Ah. Nadine’s exhibition opens.”
“Yes.”
“I had Brad call a few art magazines and tell them about the gallery opening.”
“You did?”
He crosses his arms over his chest, as if he’s unsure of how to act. But he nods. “Yes. Should bring some more photographers there. They’ll want to photograph us together.”
“That’s okay.”
“We’ll buy a few pieces for appearance’s sake as well.”
I grin. “Gosh, this is perfect. Thank you, Victor. For doing that.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m so excited for her,” I say. “She’s worked so hard to get to this moment, you know. The gallery is perfect for her and the owners have already hinted they want some of her pieces permanently exhibited.” I laugh, then, remembering her words. “But even at something as momentous as this, her first gallery opening, she’s still trying to set me up with someone.”
Victor lowers his wineglass. “To set you up with someone.”
“Yes. Apparently one of the curators is, and I’m quoting her,a man I could organize a closet for.”
“I have no idea what that means.”
“Me neither,” I say. “But it’s Nadine for someone I’d match well with in a relationship.”
“How would she know that?”
“She knows me very well. I don’t think there’s a man I’ve dated that she hasn’t met.”
Victor’s voice is cool. “Do you only date men who are unable to keep their own closets in order?”
I shake my head. Why did I bring this up? “No. It’s her version of a compatibility test, I suppose. She thinks I need to be with someone who balances out my organizational side.”
“Ah,” he says.
