For now, it’s as close as she can realistically get to doing art that pays a living wage.
The web design fee is a fraction of what I’m used to making. But that’s the real world, not the cotton candy Heron wonderland where I can make two hundred thousand smackers annually, all while flirting with a certain hot, arrogant boss who’s too good at ripping hearts out.
Fortunately, the web project helps keep my mind off Maggot.
Kind of.
He still crosses my mind like a thousand times a day, but at least instead of focusing on my pulverized heart, I can pour my energy into making kids’ smiles on a cultural outreach thing look even prettier online.
Then the raw image of us looking out on the Chicago skyline from his office snaps into my head. It was back when I started. He told me that even the slightest puff of marketing hocus pocus helps dreams come true.
Yep, that’s marketing in a nutshell. But Heron Communications focuses on making billion-dollar corporations more billions, rather than bringing dreams to life.
Honestly, I like helping these grinning kids and curators show off their sculptures more than helping rich shareholders of name brands get richer.
Oof.
I also decide that when I finish this, I’m going to overhaul my mom’s site. Her sales have been shockingly decent since Maggot’s last big purchase, and a high quality web presence might push her along. It’s the least I can do.
“Did you see my text?” Paige asks.
Her voice makes me jump.
“Oh!” I look over my shoulder and find her in my doorway. “Uh, no, my phone’s kinda...I had to turn it off.”
“He’s still obsessing?” Her eyebrows scrunch down.
I shrug. “Not sure if I’d call it obsessing. More like desperation. His inbox is full, he can’t find an EA, and he doesn’t know what to do about lying to Jordan, so he needs me.”
“I’m proud of you for not giving in,” she says with a smile. “Give him a deep freeze worthy of a penguin.”
“He said he misses me,” I whisper, wishing I shared her pride.
“Did you respond?”
I shake my head.
“Good girl.”
“Anyway, what’s in this text you came to ask about?”
“Our apartment building needs some work—”
“That’s not news,” I tell her, glancing at the miserable A/C unit that’ll be straining against a baking Chicago summer soon.
She sighs. “Well, they’re coming for repairs. The water’s going to be off for the next two days.”
“Ugh. What’s the plan?”
“I’ll probably go to my parents for a day, but I really don’t want to be home for two whole days. It puts a cramp in my style.” She strikes a silly glam girl pose.
I laugh. “Your parents give you everything you want. How could that be a bad thing?”
“They’re too up in my business, and if Mom gets started on meeting a good guy, watch out. Ever since that thing with Austin...” She trails off, looking down sadly.
“Say no more,” I whisper, flashing a sympathetic look.
The fact that there’s a part of my best friend reeling from a sour college relationship that ended years ago scares me.
Will I be her in a couple years?
Dating in a void, grieving a man who tore me to shreds, even if I deny it?
“Yeah, blech. Forget I said the name.” Her expression brightens again. “You want to come with me, Brina?”
A knock at the front door stops me from answering.
“Can you get it? I’m trying to wrap up that web design for you.”
“Sure!” she says.
The door’s old hinges squeak as it opens.
“Is Sabrina here?”
Oh, God. That voice.
I’m gripping the edge of my seat for support. Hearing Mag sends needles down my spine.
“I’m not sure. I just came home.” Paige’s voice is frigid. “Let me go check her room.”
The door slams shut.
I don’t get up. It would be too easy to talk to him if I move.
“That’s a good color scheme.” Paige stands behind me, her eyes dark with worry.
I look up. “Thanks?”
“Oh, and a certain Maggot is at our door with flowers...want me to tell him you’re not here?”
Flowers? Is she joking?
I blink back a hot rush of tears.
He’s totally mad if he thinks I’ll be wooed back by him sacrificing a few pretty plants. “Tell him I’m busy giving my new boyfriend a BJ.”
“Nice!” Paige snickers, covering her mouth. “Are you serious? I’m so down for messing with this idiot.”
“I don’t know. It might be easier,” I say. “Also, I don’t want the flowers. Tell him to drop them off at a retirement home. They need pretty things more than I do.”
“I already slammed the door in his face. With any luck, he’s gone, but let me handle this.” She walks out of the room.
I stop what I’m doing, my senses glued to what’s happening in the front room.
The door creaks open.
I wait, listening intently. He’s probably gone. He’s a busy jackass with places to go, people to see, hearts to shred. I’ve never been more to him than a convenience.