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What an absolute jackass,I thought acidly.Is this his fetish or something? I bet his browser history is real “artsy.”
Even as I rose too high for him to reach, his eyes followed my every movement. I wanted to scream. How long was he going to do that?
I balanced the tray of pink, white, and lavender paint on the top of the ladder, dipped my brush in the viscous liquid, and tried to turn my mind to the project. As my brush worked in sweeping “X” shapes, dipping into each color in varying hue strengths, I crafted a sunrise sky so soft and feminine, I could almost smell the peony and lavender in its colors. I got lost in the work, manipulating the colors just right so they practically glowed.
“God, that looks amazing,” Archer said suddenly from below me.
I jumped, nearly dropping the paint tray. I’d forgotten he was there. I looked down at him and found him standing with his hands in his pockets and his eyes feverishly bright. They were fixed not on my face, but on my breasts. My cleavage had wiggled partially out of the low curve of my sundress, and I resisted the urge to fix them, which would draw more unwanted attention to them. “Thanks,” I said, my voice thin.Focus, June. So, he’s looking. Whatever. Instagram. New followers. Moolah.
“You really are fantastic,” Archer pressed on. “I’ll bet you have all the boys drooling.”
He had devolved from talking about my art completely and was getting bolder. That did it. I needed to leave and come back with someone who could buffer his crazy. It absolutely rankled my pride to admit that Amos had been right, but there was something off about Archer. I gave an awkward laugh. “Nah.”
“Oh, no boyfriend?” he asked with interest.
“He’s a doctor actually,” I said suddenly. “My boyfriend.”June, you twit. That is completely untrue. Right?
Archer chuckled like he’d caught a six-year-old telling a fib. “Ah, I see. Okay.”
I gnawed on my lip.I wonder how gracefully I can bow out of this circus. Probably “tripping over clown shoes” gracefully. If this wack job would just leave, I could slip out.
Like I’d cast a magic spell, Archer sighed deeply. “Well, I’d better get back to it. I work from home,” he added, like I’d give a fuck. “I’ll come check on you in a bit.” He pointed with a warning finger like he was joking. “You’d better have a lot done, pretty lady.”
Nausea slithered down my esophagus.
He left, and I stared at my paintbrush. It was shaking in my hand, and I felt frozen by indecision and revulsion. Behind me, Meg’s voice said to her husband, “I left you a snack, sweetie. It’s on your desk.”
“Thank you, baby,” Archer said, and I heard them kiss loudly.
I swallowed bile. Gross. Just gross. What was with these two? Suddenly, Meg appeared below me, and she leaned against the wall, not even bothering to look at my painting. I still stood on the very top rung of the ladder, and even then, I had to reach above my head to reach the edges of the wall. I let my brush fall to the paint tray as Meg said, “You know, it’s funny. You’d think I would learn.”
I stared down at her, my mind already so rubbed raw with apprehension, I didn’t have any polite phrases left.
“I’mthe one who loves this decor,” she said, lifting a gold-bangled arm to gesture around the room. “And yet, Archer, bless him, manages to make the most out of the hired help. I should hire them on my own and vet them ahead of time, but I just,” she paused, shaking her scarf-draped head. “I think I have a hard time taking away his toys, you know? It makes him so happy.”
I stared down at her in horror. Was she saying what I thought she was saying? Was she calling their contractors “toys?”
Meg glanced back up at me, her heavily lined eyes clouded with pure spite. “Relax, June. I’m not going to let you join the ranks.” She pulled a face like she’d smelled something disgusting. “I’m not in the mood today.”
So, this was a game for them. Hire a painter, harass her a little, and get their rocks off on infidelity with a splash of fetishized abuse.
I should have known that my art wouldn’t be good enough on its own. They didn’t want an artist. They wanted a plaything. And I’d been stupid enough to think that my talent had presented me with an opportunity.
Way to go, June. You suck.
“The worst part,” Meg said with a mirthless laugh, “is I actually really love what you’re doing here.” She sighed. “Shame.”
I swallowed hard, finally finding my voice. “Do you want me to go?”
She scowled, snapping a look back up to me. “Hell no. If you go, he’ll know I sent you away.”
My mouth went dry.
Meg gave me a sympathetic look devoid of any true warmth. “I’m just sorry to hurt you. You could have been fun.” She pushed away from the wall, and with strength I didn’t see coming, she kicked the ladder out from under me.
Twenty
Amos
