I swipe over to my messages and send Beck a quick welcome home text before going back to my desk and trying to focus on my work. There is not much of it, but I want everything perfect for his return. All I can think about is how I felt in his arms, not about the copies I know I should be organizing and meeting minutes I should file in the proper folders for Beck. My personal checklist for the week mocks me from its corner on my desk. I marked everything off before ten, and now as the clock nears one, it begs for my attention to reassure myself I’ve done all I can for the show.
I wasn’t this worried about my first public show at my own gallery, not even about my senior exhibit. Those were done with a sense of purpose and the excitement of “Look what I can do!” This one is proof that I haven’t wasted years of my life: proof to myself, to my Dad and Jean, and to Beck. He believes in me, and I want to prove to him that his faith in me is warranted.
There is a soft chime as the elevator opens down the hall, and I realize just how quiet it is during lunch when no one else is on the floor. I listen for footsteps, and I hear heels clicking against the flooring, nearing my door. I buzz the entrance for Jean as she sweeps into the lobby with a cartoon villainess smile and sashay of her hips. She only needs a fur coat and cigarette holder to complete the look.
“Here’s your pizza, Lia.” She sets down the box on my desk with a slight wrinkle of her nose. The garlic smells amazing to me. “They were out of to-go cups for your soda; sorry. Your dad sends his love and a promise that he’ll be back from work in time to make an appearance tonight.” In her words is the unspoken declaration that she won’t be there. I don’t mind; in fact, I’m happy she won’t have a chance to cast a shadow on my night. It’s one more chance at perfection.
“Thanks, Jean. I appreciate it.” I invite her to sit down, but she is already headed for the door. “And, Jean, thank you for getting me this job.” It was Beck who hired me, who asked for me, but it doesn’t hurt to stay on my step-mom’s less bad side. I’m still not convinced she has a good side.
“Anytime, Lia. And maybe we can have lunch together sometime this week. I can bring my food up here if you need me to…”
My cheeks ache as I fake a smile, and I know I probably look ready to puke instead of actually agreeing, but I try. “I’ll let you know what my schedule is once Mr. Huntsworth is back in the office. Things will probably be pretty busy as he catches up.”
Speaking of the devil, Beck’s text tone sounds from my drawer, and it’s an effort not to reach for it immediately. I wait until I see Jean disappear into the elevator before grabbing my phone. “You can welcome me properly tonight.” His texted words are followed by a wink, and my stomach tightens with lust and worry. It’s not altogether an unpleasant sensation, but I don’t know if I can make it through my art show while trying not to make Beck and me part of the presentation. I don’t reply to his text; there aren’t simple words for all that I feel. He’s going to make indifference hard to maintain.
My skirt hem tickles the back of my knee with each step, and only the coffee I’m holding keeps me from reaching down to scratch for the seventh time since I came into the room. The gallery owner is playing hostess like she has waited her entire life for this show. Honestly, I didn’t know there were this many people in town who would come on a Thursday night. The place is packed.
I know at least three pieces have sold: two paintings and a metal shadow sculpture that is meant for being part of a light show. The promise to help the purchaser set it up was part of the purchase price. Even after the gallery’s cut on the sales, I should clear enough to pay back the rest of Dad’s loan. Within two months, I might even be out on my own again. In six, maybe I’ll have enough to rent studio space. I know better than to over extend my resources this time. If I don’t have at least three months’ worth of studio rent in the bank, I can’t consider the venture. Given how it turned out last time…
Besides, could I really leave Huntsworth Industries? Even just one day with Beck followed by five weeks of taking messages and keeping things organized left me not only with a pleasant bank account, but with a sense that I’m part of a place that makes a difference in the world. Beck has created a company that truly does good. As long as I can make art in my spare time, I can continue being his secretary.