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"Wow." I chuckled in disbelief. "Okay, I didn't realize art wasn't the main concern at a comic company."
"I'm not saying you need to change," he assured me quickly. "I hate the game too. Maybe it can be different because of you. All I'm saying is, keep giving this your all. Every artist here wants a pitch, and Noah really stands out among you all, especially when it comes to her enthusiasm about the company outside of the art."
My forehead wrinkled. "Does she know you want us to do the talk and appearances together?" My presence would zap all excitement out of her, that was for sure.
"She insisted."
"Huh." I nodded slowly. Noah was so focused on my so-called plays that she started making up some of her own. "That so?"
Tyson sighed, seeing where I was getting. "There's no ulterior motive, Sage. She's trying to create buzz around Leisah. She knows you'll be integral to that buzz. Stop reading into it."
"I'm not reading into anything," I said, even though I was already on the tenth chapter, deep into the footnotes. “Send me the dates and times, and I'll be the shiny queer artist you can market to sell units."
"Why must you make everything sound so insincere?" he grumbled as he took a seat at his desk and woke his computer.
"Because the only sincerity in existence is on the page," I reminded him.
"Is that why you've been nose-deep into work?" he asked, and then held up his hand before I could answer. "Never mind, don't answer that. I told myself I wouldn't push. As long as it doesn't interfere with your work, I won't push."
I nodded, even though there was a twist in my stomach at his words, at the indication he was giving up. "Great, we'll both finally have peace, then."
"Fingers crossed," he agreed and turned his attention to his computer.
I walked out of his cubicle and did my best to refill the hollow in my chest by focusing on work.
Chapter Nine
Noah
As soon as I woke, I reached for my phone to open the Inkmic app.
"Come on, please," I prayed, my nail between my teeth as I waited for the page to load. "Please."
As predicted—due to Sage's unabashed bragging—my initial rankings had been less than stellar…like, in the thousands. I'd hunkered down the past couple weeks, pulling all-nighters to finish both my Leisah work and Inkmic comic.
My drawing sessions consisted of plenty of meltdowns induced by sudden panic attacks over everything from my storytelling skills to the way I drew eyes—people always complained about my eyes for some reason.
Amaya was eventually able to calm me down and graciously offered to sit for me last night. Her eyes were the definition of gorgeous, and I'd convinced myself if I could embody them in all my work, then the complaints would stop.
"How's your hand?" she'd asked, eyes half-closed.
"Wonderful." There was only a distant throbbing, barely noticeable amidst my rapid movements.
She raised a brow at the perkiness in my tone. "How many energy drinks have you had?"
"None. What you're witnessing is pure, raw energy gained from love for my craft."
"I'm closing my eyes for good tonight if you keep lying," she threatened.
"I swear to God, none. I want this to work, and I'm putting the time in." I had to focus hard on keeping my knee still because it wanted to bump up and down. If Amaya saw my twitching, she'd call me out, convinced if I wasn't high on caffeine, I was high on something else.
There was a time when she would have been right. Back in university, I went down a dark, depressing hole trying to prove myself. There weren't enough hours in the day to become the best, so I decided to steal some from the night. Getting a fake prescription is scarily easy when you know the right kind of people—or the wrong kind, depending on your perspective.
"Let's call it for tonight," I'd decided with a firm close of my sketchbook. I'd grown enough to know when I was on a slippery slope. "You seem tired."
"Oh, and here I thought I was playing it off so well," Amaya said around a yawn.
I laughed. "Rest those eyes. I need 'em bright and clear tomorrow."
