Page 22 of The Truth of Our Secrets

“I told her I really hope her grandmother is okay and asked which hospital to send flowers.” There’s a cringe in her voice. “I was trying to call her bluff, but she didn’t even blink.”

“Madyson.” I bite my tongue and decide to talk to her in person about setting expectations. “Don’t leave the gallery. Is the door locked?”

“Yes, I still have to cash the day out. Why?”

“Just promise me you won’t leave.” I board the train, anxious about her being alone.

“Emmet—” The line goes dead.

Two people are scheduled to close for a reason. It’s a safety concern.

The gallery’s two stops away, but it seems I could crawl there faster.

Taking the stairs two at a time, I reach the street and run to the gallery, confused about why my body’s in panic mode. She’s fine. She locked the door, and she’s probably been alone in the gallery before. But images of her defenseless flash in my head and I’m dodging angry people yelling obscenities at me.

I reach the gallery and can see Madyson through the huge plate-glass window at a checkout counter on a computer. I bend, resting my hands on my knees to catch my breath. She’s fine.

Once my breathing is under control, I call her.

“Hey, I’m outside. Come out when you’re done and I’ll make sure you get home safely.”

Her head snaps up, searching for me, and she walks toward the door. I hold a hand up. “I’ll wait here. You finish up.”

“It’s cold. Come in for a minute.” The huge smile on her face captivates me.

“Then you risk me spending hours looking at all your cool shit. We could be here all night, and I don’t think that’s a good idea.”My laugh is hollow. I honestly don’t trust myself to be alone with her. I don’t care if someone sees us.

Thankfully, she agrees. “I’m staying on the phone with you while I finish up.”

“Aww, are you afraid I’ll get mugged and you want to be my protector?” I joke.

“You’re such a smartass.” Her grin takes over her entire face, and she’s breathtaking.

“Guilty as charged.” I position myself in the alcove so I’m out of the wind and have a great vantage point to watch her.

“You don’t have to wait. I can get an Uber home.” She’s focused on her computer screen and has set her phone next to her.

She’s right. I don’t have any real justification for insisting on getting her home. So I ignore the comment. “You know you have to confront your assistant, right?”

She grimaces but doesn’t say anything.

“How often does she flake on her responsibilities?”

Madyson glances over, blushing. “Probably forty percent of the time. But before, she wasn’t being paid. All the artists volunteer their time for the use of the workshop and tools. I thought if I paid her, she would take it seriously.”

“If you don’t talk about it or give her consequences, you are teaching her how to take advantage of you. She’ll never change unless you force her to.”

The computer screen goes dark, and she faces me. “How did you get so smart?”

I shrug. “I had this really great teacher who helped me try to put myself first.”

“Really?” She gathers her stuff and starts turning the lights off. “Teachers are amazing. They have good advice.”

“Yeah, but this one was super hot. I stuck around to check her out.” I’m going to hell and I don’t even care.

Her face turns as red as her hair. She exits the gallery and moves into my space. I should back up and give her room, but I don’t. I deserve a fucking medal for not going inside her gallery. It’s more incredible in person. I really would spend hours in there. Obsessing over her work and figuring out how to save enough money to purchase something.

I almost groan out loud, thinking of having something she made. To have it in my space. Fuck, I’m a stupid bastard. She didn’t respond to my flirting, so I need to lock that shit down.

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