AllFreeNovel
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It was a mistake. He liked the wrong work. I offered him a car-sized study in all the shades of black that exist, so many more than most people ever notice during the day. It’s studded with orbs of light that allow a further range of tones to celebrate the dark. He didn’t even give me a chance to begin explaining how personal the piece is before pulling out first one, then another of the wrong paintings to crow over instead.
“He said my work is great.”
I make my voice so sparkly and positive that Artemis snorts. “Daisy. Come on.”
“He said it was transcendent. He said it was like nothing he’d ever seen. He wants to arrange a show.” These are all objectively good things, but they make my stomach feel like an empty pit. I don’t want to be celebrated for the art I have no control over. Even if it is the only kind I’ve made for the last few years.
“I knew it! Iknewit! When’s it going to be? In LA, right? I’m flying out.”
“Don’t.” It comes out too fast. I massage my temples with my free hand, willing the pain and panic out of my voice. “I mean—it’s not a sure thing yet. I haven’t given him a date.”
“Why not?”
“Because—” Because if I have an in-person show at a gallery, my entire family is going to come to LA. There won’t be any stopping them. They’ll come to the show, and they’ll see my pieces, and they’ll know.
They’llknow.
“I feel weird about it.”
“Everybody’s going to love your work.” Artemis uses the same confident, reassuring tone she always does. “Wealreadylove your work. Alotof people already love your work.”
Artemis hasn’t seen my work. Not myrealwork. She and the rest of my family have only seen my display pieces. The few I’ve sold. The few I’ve put up for auction, or donated.
Letting them see my real paintings in a bright-white hell gallery would be…uncomfortable.
But not as uncomfortable as letting them see me.
I’m in California for a reason. My family doesn’t need to worry.
“I know you do, I just—”
My phone buzzes.
Shane:Out front. Coming in to get you.
I move toward the gallery exit and exchange fake-brisk nods with him. Shane is ultra-professional, but that doesn’t mean we can’t have a few inside jokes about how weird the idea of a bodyguard is.
“I know,” I tell Artemis as we go out into the night. The heat feels heavy. My head gives a deep, painful throb. Shadows in the corners of my vision say I should’ve left Marie’s show already. “I’ll think about it. It’s not that—”
Shane wraps one arm around me andshoves. My periphery warps again.
“Jesus, Shane, what—”
“Keep your head down,” he barks. Abangrattles my skull, sending a shooting pain through my temples. It’s so strong that my vision goes, my knees wobble, and Shane manhandles me across the sidewalk toward my black SUV. Anotherbangmakes my brain short-circuit. Thathurts. A woman on the sidewalk screams. People run, shadows blurring. Shane shouts over his shoulder. I’m dimly aware of him wrenching open the back door and putting me inside. He climbs in after me, launches himself into the front seat, and drives.
The acceleration knocks me against the seat. My phone skids onto the floor. A muffledthudon my side of the SUV sends me scrambling for the other side. “Shane. What was that? Whatwasthat?”
“A bullet.” The light from the navigation screen hurts, so I cover my eyes. A phone rings over the SUV’s sound system. My heart races in the dark, pain rising and rising. I’m not letting this happen now. Not now.
Deep breaths, I tell myself, as though it’s ever worked before. As though I could get one in through my shaking anyway.
His call connects to the man who heads up my full team. “Report.”
“This is Shane.” His voice is loud and clear and the hurt reverberates like a bell. “I have Daisy in the car. There was a shooter at the art gallery.”
“Injuries?”
“No. She wasn’t hit. But I need backup at the house.”
