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"Head artist?" Sage let out a dry laugh. "Ty, really? We jumped to head artist this quickly?"
"Oh, wow." Seline tilted her head to the side as she studied Sage. "She speaks in full sentences again. Alert the media."
Sage gave her a look that clearly read, 'not in the mood,' before turning to Tyson for an explanation.
“Impromptu meeting,” he decided, tone earnest and almost pleading—anything to get out of this situation pronto.
“Yay!” Seline clapped with her pretzel bags. “The Waterstone conference room is free. It has all the extra plush toys, just in case someone’s mad enough to throw shit… Not looking at you, Sage.”
“A meeting for head artists and editors,” Sage clarified.
Seline’s shoulders sagged. “God, you’re such a spoilsport.”
“Current head artists and editors.” Sage directed the comment at me but barely looked me in the eye.
“According to my contract, I am a current head artist,” I snapped back. My annoyance trumped my nerves any day.
“Do you have your ID to get into the building yet?” Sage challenged. She finally held my gaze. It wasn’t fair that she was even more beautiful now than she was in college. Her skin was a perfect shade of deep brown, her round eyes daring enough to be considered siren-like and deadly. I couldn’t help but imagine her in my story as a mermaid, a reflex I’d have to fix immediately.
I opened my mouth to shoot back at her before realizing my answer was no. I didn’t have an ID.
“So it’s not official,” Sage said. “Tyson?”
“I’ll be right back,” Tyson said to me with a kind smile. “In the meantime, get settled. Your desk is right over there.”
He pointed toward the desk next to a black one. Seating me next to Sage made sense, but God, I hadn’t even considered I’d be so close to her during the workday.
“Seline will take care of you until I get back,” Tyson promised.
“Will do.” Seline saluted him and gave me a wink. “I’ll show her all the amenities.”
Tyson nodded, grateful, and followed Sage’s lead down the hall. Sage didn't even glance back to make sure he'd followed her. She walked at full height, her shoulders squared and gaze straight ahead, as if daring someone to get in her way.
“I would say she’ll warm up,” Seline said in a sympathetic tone. “But I’d be lying. Best not get your hopes up.”
“Oh, I know.” I nodded while watching Sage stomp away. “Trust me, I know.”
Thankfully, I wasn’t here to warm anyone up. I was here to make Leisah the best comic character Harpy has ever produced. I was here to prove I was one of the best comic artists in the game. Sage could be as cold as she wanted. It didn’t matter, because I was going to take her number one spot once and for all.
Chapter Two
Sage
“You could have given me a warning about Little Miss Pastel,” I said as soon as the conference room door shut behind us.
Tyson reached for one of the plush chairs but didn’t sit. He never sat when talking to people, instead choosing to use the chair’s back as a leaning post. “I emailed everyone on the team this morning, and please, for the love of God, don’t go giving her nicknames yet. Let her settle in first before the christening. She’s not going to get our team’s sense of humor on her first day.”
“I don’t think you have to be on some elevated plane to get our sense of humor. It’s quite juvenile.” I lowered myself into a seat, careful not to spill my coffee. “And you know I don’t check my emails first thing.”
This morning had been perfect. There was minimal traffic on the drive in, no one in my preferred parking spot, and my favorite creamer had been restocked in the break room. All wonderful omens—probably because I didn’t check my email. So, imagine my utter shock when Noah Blue stood outside of my cubicle with her toothy smile and the same wire-framed glasses she wore when we were paying our dues at the Art Center.
“You’re acting like I sprung…” He trailed off when I stretched my legs out on top of the glass table. The twitching in his eye was comical, revealing his need for me to plant my feet back on the ground. I didn’t move my legs, though. I never did, not unless he explicitly requested it.
“You're acting like I sprung this on you. We’ve had multiple meetings,” Tyson finished without putting in a request.
Oh, he was big stressed. I had half a mind to pull my legs down without the request, but where was the fun in that? These days, messing with Tyson was my only reliable source of entertainment. My editor was glass, see-through from every angle. He had to run through at least a hundred emotions a day. As someone who personally only cycled through the same three, I found Tyson to be fascinating, the perfect subject for an artist. I used to think I was in love with him before I realized he was simply a beautiful man who knew how to listen and express his emotions in a sincere, non-threatening way.
“Everyone always brought up bringing in another artist as something we could theoretically do,” I said. “We were doing thought exercises.”
