Page 25 of The Tomorrows After You
My stomach growled right before it did a little flip.
“Okay. Business discussion it is,”I said, squaring my shoulders to him. A twitch of amusement crossed Riot’s face.As we turned to leave, I was viscerally aware of the gentle hand that brushed my upper back, guiding me out of the kitchen.
8
Riot
My chest thrummed with regret before I even thought it through.
Nicolette made me uneasy. Beyond being a bratty city girl, she was areporter.A crop of people whom I’d spent years fighting off. I thought a decade in prison would have made me“old news”but still at least a dozen showed up, unannounced at all hours, wanting to“tell my side of the story”. It set Brennan off into a tailspin each time. I’d been more aggressive toward them than necessary, but I needed it clear around the media circuit that Riot Asher was not someone willing to speak.
I bought Nicolette’s story the first time about working late at the library and falling asleep in her car. I didn’t buy it quite so quickly the second time. I found it bizarre when I spotted her walking in the direction of the valley instead of her uncle’s, but I told myself she was busy making those“stops”she had referenced.
Nothing surprised me more than finding her sleeping on a cot at the Center. Surprise was quickly replaced by remorse, watching her wake up and sink her head into her hands, her straight blonde hair disheveled and wrapped around her face like it was the only shield she had left.
She didn’t belong there. It was bizarre to see her against the backdrop of all the addicts, homeless, and downtrodden, and for whatever reason, I didn’t like the way it sat with me.
“I was thinking about what you said,”I said through bites of breakfast burrito, still accustomed to having to wolf down food.
Nicolette was being polite, trying to restrain herself from scarfing down the frittata she’d ordered. I could tell she washungry and the fact that she’d turned the offer down from Jeremy fucking Blackwell while her stomach audibly growled gave me this weird mix of satisfaction and sadness. She ordered a half portion of the diner’s frittata. When she slipped into the bathroom, I asked the waitress to make it a full order, feigning surprise when the massive plate was put in front of her.
“Hm?”She raised her eyebrows at me, her wide gray eyes now filled with notably more life. Color had returned to her high cheekbones and a slight flush rose up her neck and down toward the top of her shirt, which was just low cut enough to reveal the rounded tops of her—
I brought my eyes back up to her face, clearing my throat.
“About selling my work.”I steered myself back on track.“I can’t do it myself.” I wiped my mouth and squared my gaze. “There’s a farmer’s market on the edge of town every Saturday during the summer. It’s big but everyone still knows everyone. IfIset up at the farmer’s market, no one will buy anything. They won’t even approach the booth. If anyone knows this work is mine, it’ll never see the light of day.”
Clasping my hands together, I closed my mouth and stared at her, daring her to make a snide comment, or worse, try to deny that it was true.
She put her fork down, took a long sip of coffee, and met my gaze. There was a softness in her eyes that made my heart do a quick skip. It wasn’t pity like half of the town or terror like the other half. No, it was something more empathetic, like understanding.
“You want to hire me to man your booth and sell your artwork?”She nodded, considering, and I watched her silky neck swallow a small bite of her breakfast.“What’s the wage?”
“Nothing,”I clipped. She rose higher in the booth, about to raise her voice before I put a hand up.“And in exchange, you canrentout my lanai. It’s not much, but it’s got its own entrance and a full bathroom with hot, running water inside the sliding glass door.”
At my words, her eyes widened a little and my chest constricted. When was the last time she’d gotten to take a shower? The image of her in the shower flashed in my mind. What shade of blonde would her hair takeon when she was wet? Blinking away the disgraceful thoughts, I shifted in the vinyl booth, hoping my body wouldn’t betray me.
“You want me to live with you and work for you... But you don’tcare to know me,” she said flatly.
“I’m offering you room and board in exchange for half a day’s work on Saturdays. I’d say that’s pretty fair.”I raised an eyebrow, ignoring the last part of her sentence. I could tell in her face she knew it was more than fair.
God, I hope I don’t regret this.
“What if nothing sells?”She stirred her ice water with the plastic straw.“Then you don’t make any money and I wouldn’t be holding up my end of the bargain.”
I almost laughed but let out a humorous grunt instead.“It’ll sell.”
She narrowed her eyes.“You seem pretty co—”She paused, reevaluating her word choice. “You seemconfident.” I smirked at her, knowing my arrogance would get a rise out of her and bring back that red flush to her smooth collarbone.
Nope, nope, nope. Don’t go there.
“The art will sell.”I took a long sip of coffee.“If it doesn’t, it’s just a matter of finding the kind that does and letting word spread. It’s lawn art, after all. It advertises itself.”I flashed her a phony grin, and she startled at the expression.
I braced myself for indignation, expecting her to accuse me of making her a charity case.
Instead, for the second time today, she surprised me by extending her hand across the table.
“You’ve got yourself a deal, Riot Asher.”
