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“Andhe’s still your boss? A relationship that he very much would need to trust you with?”
I blinked, staring at her. She blinked back pointedly. “Shit,” I breathed.
“Retrograde,” she said firmly. “Definitely retrograde.”
I tried not to think about the unlikely possibility that Amos would find out about the V-card thing. I tried to pretend, on the outside, that her words hadn’t affected me. I listened to music and let my hand soar on the wind outside my window as we passed through Star Valley. I chatted and listened to details about Katherine’s upcoming fair appearances for her palm reading.
On the inside, I panicked. I should have known better. Brady had said he didn’t like to mix his personal life and his work life, but we had thrown the two together in a blender, and it might as well have been poison for me to down. Even if Brady didn’t find out that I’d lied to him, what if things went south? What if things were awkward now? Why hadn’t I even considered the possibility that this was going to ruin my whole job?
I had to get my mind off it. I had to find something to distract myself. I pulled up my mural client’s number, which he’d given me so I could text him, and asked if he would mind if I started the mural tonight. I had my pencils, charcoal, and chalk. I could start the sketch, at least, and that might take my mind off the litany of bad outcomes my brain was producing.
Archer texted me back and said that he’d love to have me start early. He gave me his address, and I copied it into my map app after asking Katherine if she’d drop me off there. I could probably afford a rideshare from an app to take me home if it wasn’t too far away.
Archer’s house ended up being a fair distance from mine—Salt Lake City was a vast, sprawling metropolis with suburbs carved into the mountains and trailing down the valley. Archer lived in one of the mountain homes amongst multi-million-dollar estates and glittering mansions.
As we drove up to his address, Katherine and I stared in mute wonder before she stopped just outside the black metal gate. The house had been made, most likely custom, to resemble storybook architecture. On either side, rounded mini turrets bracketed steeply pitched roofs and alcoves, arched, diamond-paned windows, and curving balconies. The lawn was expertly manicured and dotted with natural stone features like a curving staircase up to the front door and fairy circles lined with bright flowers.
“Holy sheep,” Katherine whispered. “Who do you think their contractor was? The Seven Dwarves?”
More like a fairy godmother. Only magic could have conjured an estate that enchanting. I texted Archer to let him know I was there, and then I gathered my art supplies in my beat-up tote bag that had seen better days. I was only sketching, so thankfully, I wouldn’t need to worry about paint just yet.
The gates opened, and Katherine gave me an exaggerated bounce of her eyebrows. “Good luck, I guess. Do you need a ride back home?”
“No, I’ll call a ride,” I said, opening the door and trying not to look as gobsmacked as I felt. “Thanks for the ride. Oh,” I reached a hand around the front seat to grab the blue daypack I’d tossed on her back seat. “Almost forgot my meds. Can I get the rest of my stuff out of your car tomorrow after work?”
“Sure thing,” she said, shooing me from the car.
I waved, walking briskly through the double gates, and then followed a river stone path to the slab stairway that curved gently up to the alcove above their front door. When I knocked on the rustic, thick-slatted front door, it only took two raps before Archer opened it for me.
Middle-aged and attractive in a Toby McGuire way-past-his-prime kind of way, Archer stood aside to let me into the foyer. He was wearing a pair of crisp, white tennis shoes with socks that reached his calves, and he had tucked a striped polo into khaki shorts. Forrest Gump couldn’t have chosen a better ensemble. “Hi, June!” he said brightly. “I’m so glad you could make it.”
I held out a hand as I stepped over his threshold. “Hey, Archer. It’s my pleasure. I’m just glad you liked my work.”
He shook my hand firmly, his too-large, blue eyes crinkling with his smile. “Oh man, are you kidding me? We’re in love with your work. My wife had to have you.”
Thank God there was a wife. Katherine knew where I was, but part of me had balked at going to some guy’s house on my own. A larger part of me should probably have balked harder, but hey, he had a wife. Something about that put me at ease.
I hooked my thumbs in the open sides of my overall shorts and looked around the foyer. It had a rustic, French country feel that used creams, muted golds, and opulent fixtures to decorate the space. A little settee that had probably never held a single butt in its life had been placed to my right, and to the left, an arched alcove curved over a distressed white vanity table with meaningless, decorative knickknacks on its surface.
As Archer left the foyer, explaining that his daughter was staying at a friend’s house, I took in their main living space with enormous eyes. If a castle courtyard could have been made into an open-concept main floor, then this would be it. There were pillars that circled a middle area, which was huge and filled with over-stuffed sofas, polished wood end tables and coffee tables, and a gigantic double-sided hearth. The kitchen, which was Gordon Ramsey-worthy, had been built to the left, and a second living space that looked more like a media room had been built to the right. We passed a dining area as Archer took me down a hallway toward the bedrooms.
“Meg, my wife, loves fairytales,” Archer explained as we went down a storybook hallway decorated with twigs, vines, and fairy lights. “So, of course, we had to make my daughter an enchanted forest bedroom.”
I silently wondered what the daughter liked. Maybe she was into steampunk or weirdcore. I hadn’t even asked how old she was.
“And Bridget loves fairytales too, of course,” Archer said, as if that were a given. Bridget, I assumed, was the daughter in question. I took a new look at this man with speculative eyes. Even if his wife liked fairytales, did he also like them? Why was everything—and I mean everything—in her style?
We reached the bedroom Archer wanted me to paint, and I had to touch my chin to make sure my jaw hadn’t hit the floor. If there was a romantic, renaissance era detail you could add to a room, this one had it. Fireplace? Check. Gabled ceiling? Check. Lush, intricately woven and definitely custom carpet? Check. The windows were diamond-patterned and Gothic style, and although it was devoid of furniture, the light fixtures and wall decor were enough to fill the space with claustrophobic decadence.
Archer pointed to a free wall that adjoined the Gothic-style windows. “Here’s where we were thinking of putting her mural. This will be her art and reading nook.
“Nook,” was a loose term. The space was palatial, and the wall where they wanted me to paint the mural was massive. I took it in with fear clutching my heart. Then I slapped it away because this was an amazing opportunity. Taking a breath and approaching the wall, I asked, “Well, do you have a ladder?”
Archer laughed. “We definitely do. What do you think? Can you make it work?”
“Of course,” I said automatically. “I’ll have to modify the sketch I sent you.”
“We trust you,” he said easily.
