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She shakes her head, braids flying. “All for an inheritance? That’s the part I don’t understand. You’ve told me time and time again how rich this bosshole of yours is. Why would he go through all this trouble?”
“That’s what I don’t understand either. If it wasn’t St. Clair, I’d think all of this was a practical joke.”
“He’s not just pulling your leg, then.”
“He looked dead serious.” I compose my face into a poor imitation of his, staring at my best friend with eyes I’m trying to make smolder. “Nadine,” I say. “You already trade your time for money, working as my assistant. Trading your name for a year should be an easy decision.”
She blinks twice before breaking into laughter. “The man is a sociopath. Or a psychopath. I can never remember the difference.”
“He defies all labeling,” I say. “Perhaps he can get his own disorder.”
“No, that would probably please him too much. Having something named after him.” Nadine shakes her head and leans back on my couch, stretching out her leg so it rests against mine. “Did he at least offer you anything in return?”
“All kinds of things. An apartment. Money. A year of travel. And, listen to this, a new wardrobe.”
Nadine chuckles. “Right, because if money or an apartment wouldn’t sway you, some new designer dresses sure would.”
“Of course. I am but a simple woman, after all.”
“Men,” she sighs. “Maybe you can milk this for a few days. Let him buy you an expensive purse before you turn him down. This is your chance to squeeze the bastard for all he’s worth.”
“That’s you,” I say. “You can do that sort of thing. You know I can’t.”
She rolls her eyes. “You can, Cece. Stand up for yourself. This man has been nothing but demanding for over a year. He’s had you work overtime, on weekends, on holidays. He’s specified and respecified his lunch order fourteen thousand times. He’s made you cry! But when he had you planning the funeral for his grandfather? You didn’t see him shed a single tear.”
“I don’t think he’s capable of emotion.”
“Wouldn’t it feel great to skim some money off the top? Leave him behind with lighter pockets?”
I knock her knee with mine. “You’re the devil on my shoulder, huh?”
She grins back. “Always. But level with me. Are you considering it?”
“Of course not. No way.”
She reaches for a bottle of bright blue nail polish. “Did he say how much he was offering? I might be interested.”
I groan. “Be serious.”
She laughs, unscrewing the top, and starts to lazily paint her pinky. “I’m a struggling artist. He could finance all of it. Imagine the kind of studios I’d be able to show at! I’d trade my last name for that.”
“You, the least traditional person I’ve ever met.”
Nadine winks at me. “I have to keep you on your toes.”
“Well, mission accomplished.” I reach for a pale pink nail polish. “I didn’t think you’d go for the blue.”
She stretches out her hand and admires her nails. “I’m working onCharityright now, for my seven virtues series. It’s turning into an abstract seascape. This is almost the exact color I’m using.”
“How’s it going?” I ask. She’s been sending her portfolio to art galleries across the city. After a decade of slowly, painfully building a name for herself, Nadine’s finally at the point where she could exhibit.
But so are a lot of other artists.
She sighs. “It’s going terribly. Most galleries don’t respond. Some are interested, but not inthisparticular series. It’s like trying to win the lottery.”
I unscrew the top to my nail polish. “At least you have your classes at the art center, right?”
“Yes, but teaching kids to collage is onlyjustenough to pay the bills, and definitely not enough to host an exhibition.” She shakes her head, admiring the nails of her left hand. “But one thing at a time. Hey, speaking of difficult topics. When are you finally quitting your job to start your own company?”
