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“I’m not in a good mood. To be quite honest, I feel like I may puke. If you have something to say, say it. If not, I’m going to go to the bathroom,” I said in a soft yet stern tone.
Mr. Weinburg placed his hand on my shoulder and stepped between Mr. Greene and I, “Do you have any idea who he is?”
“I don’t care,” I whispered.
He cupped his hand to my ear, “Greene Street Studio in New York City, Karter. He owns it. He’s considering buying all of your art. Everything. Not consignment, he wants to purchase it.”
“Well, sell it to him. I feel sick, I’m sorry. And I’m not in the mood to be toyed with. I’m sick and fucking tired of this place and of everyone in it,” I complained.
“Karter, you’re a talented artist, but you’re a poor business woman. He wants to speak to you.”
I pulled my face away from his cupped hand and shook my head, “Tell him to follow me to the bathroom. He can watch me take a shit for the fourth time today while we negotiate.”
I nodded and smiled toward Mr. Greene and turned toward the elevator. The only thing which would even come close to making me happy would be to either see or hear from Jak. The weekend separated from each other was the worst idea to have ever crossed my mind. As I walked down the hallway, I swore I’d never leave Jak again for any reason.
I love you, Jak.
I need you to pick me up.
And let my legs dangle.
