Page 28 of Fresh Canvas
What I couldn’t shake was the walking wet blanket that attended every seminar with me. After the nasty things we’d said to each other on the plane, Val and I had spoken only when necessary.
I was still angry and hurt, but to top it all off, I was also embarrassed about how I acted toward him. Even though I was done being a doormat, I didn’t have the right to say mean things like that.
At home, I always preached to Anthony about kindness and empathy. Even though he wasn’t here, I vowed to be an example. Iwouldbe the bigger person.
I chewed the inside of my cheek and checked my watch.I might have just enough time to use the printer in marketing before?—
“Are you finished yet?”
A rough voice startled me from the doorway. Val glared at me over a stack of sapphire paper in his arms. At that glint in his eyes, any altruistic notions I had about being the bigger person vanished faster than a sleeve of my favorite Girl Scout cookies.
“Hang on.” I pretended to panic, patting down the length of each of my arms. Looking down in mock surprise, I exclaimed, “Oh no! My invisibility wore off!”
“Ha. Ha.” Val’s deep voice dripped with sarcasm. He crossed to the machine while shooting me a dirty look. “Unfortunately, this is an emergency. So? Are you done?” He slapped the papers on the machine.
I gathered my things, dipped into a mocking curtsy, and said, “The machine is all yours.” After sweeping out of the copy room, I stifled a laugh at Val’s curses as he realized the machine was jammed.
Twenty minutes later, I entered Blythe’s office with the freshly printed mock-up from the marketing department. Blythe was in the middle of a phone call, her unruly hair standing on end as she gestured for me to come in. Kate walked in a fewseconds later, dark eyes alight with amusement at Blythe’s frenzy.
Kate mouthed, “What is she doing?”
I shrugged, also giggling and enjoying my boss’s antics. Kate and I sank into our usual chairs, waiting for the call to wrap up. Through the glass wall, I saw someone leaving Val’s office. I tapped a light finger on Kate’s shoulder and nodded toward the stranger.
“Who is that?” I whispered. In my five months at the museum, I hadn’t seen her before.
Kate surveyed the person. “Probably another applicant for Mr. Russo’s assistant position. I have no clue why he keeps interviewing, since he never hires anyone.” Kate sucked in a breath between clenched teeth. “She does not look happy.”
Been there. I felt bad for anyone who had to experience Val for the first time.
“Okay!” Blythe said. “So wonderful to hear! We’ll talk soon!” She hung up, spinning around. Her mouth flapped like she had either forgotten all words, or she was trying to use all of them at once.
She paused, took a long breath, then said, “Ladies, that was Lance Stirling’s agent.”
Kate and I exchanged confused glances. Not deterred one bit, Blythe tried again.
“Lance Stirling? The new artist that’s gone viral?”
“Wait, is he the one that made the sculpture of Lil Swagga?” Kate’s jaw popped open.
“Yes! I reached out to his agent a while back. Turns out, he hasn’t held any physical exhibitions of his work. He’s only shown his art online. Before he goes the gallery route, Stirling has publicly announced he wants to ‘make history by joining history first.’” Blythe shrugged. “His words, not mine. No idea what that even means. But…”
She indulged in a makeshift drum roll with two pencils. “Stirling wants to meetus to decide if the museum would be a good fit for his public debut!”
Excitement thrummed in my stomach. “That’s incredible!”
Kate exclaimed, “This could be huge! He’d attract an entirely younger demographic!”
Blythe nodded. “Other curators are likely talking with him as well, butI want the credit for bringing him to the museum. Not Russo.” She glowered at his office next door. “After the Felix Andreas exhibition is over, we could focus on creating Stirling’s. I signed the three of us up for his non-profit pottery class tonight to lay some groundwork.”
The chance to boost my resumeandbeat Russo? Count me in.
The evening summer breeze skimmed my bare arms as I strode down the sidewalk. Stirling’s pop-up pottery class was starting in less than ten minutes. The setting sun cast an orange glow over the industrial district of Chicago.
It’s gonna be a late drive home tonight.
I sighed and glanced down at my fitted jeans and oversized, paint-splattered t-shirt. The remnants of Anthony’s paintball birthday party from last year still refused to be washed out. A twinge of pain stole my breath.
Anthony had left for Europe only yesterday. Even with the iron-clad agreements that Ryan had signed, anxiety had latched onto my heart like a leech, draining me of both optimism and energy.
