by KB Winters
“Wow, that’s really cool,” I replied, feeling out of my depth. I’d never played sports and really knew very little about sports in general. My childhood and teen years had been spent reading, writing, painting, and teaching myself instruments.
As if sensing my awkwardness, he quickly added, “But this, this is what I love. I spend most weekends and really any time I can, going to art shows, museums, galleries. I admire art, and those who create it.” He said the last part like it was a secret, meant only for my ears and his eyes locked with mine, sending a shower of sparks through me.
Before I could even attempt to reply, a loud bang sounded out, and nearly everyone in the room turned at once towards the front doors. I followed their gazes and gasped in horror as Robbie and Phillip barreled through the doors. “There she is! Megs!” Robbie shouted, sharply elbowing Phillip as soon as he spotted me. For a moment, I considered ducking behind Logan, letting his body conceal and hide me.
“Megs! Hey, over here!” Phillip shouted. “We dressed up for your fancy-schmancy party! You like?”
Only then, did my eyes take in the whole scenario. Robbie and Phillip were both wearing t-shirts that were designed to look like tuxedos. Robbie was holding a brightly colored egg that was playing some kind of classic rock song on full blast. “We gotta get this party movin’,” Robbie chimed in, jumping up and down and frantically waving the egg in the air like he was at a rave.
Pressure started in my sore toes and bubbled up inside me, until I was fairly certain there must be steam coming from my ears. My face was red and I stormed across the room like a wrecking ball towards them. “Get out of here, right now,” I hissed, trying to tamp down my voice so that not everyone would hear me telling them off, although, it was pointless since everyone was pressing in around us. My brother’s arrival made us the most interesting thing to observe in the entire gallery and somewhere in the back of my mind, I prayed that the art critic wasn’t in the building to witness the embarrassing show.
“Megs! This is your big day! We gotta sh—celebrato!” Phillip boomed.
They’re drunk.
I took a firm grip on each of their upper arms, pinching my nails into the flesh revealed at the edge of the sleeve of their mocking shirts.
“Ouch! Stop that!” Robbie screamed, trying to slap my hand away. I tighten my hold and marched them towards the door. While I was contending with Robbie, Phillip managed to wriggle free, and started jumping around, hollering in celebration of his freedom.
“What on earth, is going on here, Megan?” The gallery owner, Chandra, rushed through the crowd to inspect the commotion. She eyed both of my brothers with disdain. “Do I need to call security?”
“No, no, that won’t be necessary. They were just leaving,” I replied, shooting my own scathing look at both of them.
Phillip rolled his eyes and took a flask out of his pocket. “No way! We’re here to support our sis. She’s the baby of the family, ya know,” he said, his words still slurring together.
Robbie swept his arms open wide like he was on the front of the Titanic and raced to my sliver of the wall where my three paintings hung. Logan shifted to stand in front of them, like a guard, or a knight. “This is her art. Don’t you all like it?”
The crowd was so quiet that it was like a vacuum had sucked the life right out of the room.
“I said, don’t you all like it!” Robbie roared.
Chandra was still standing next to me and scoffed under her breath. “This is entirely unprofessional. If you thought this was the way to get exposure for your art, I assure you, you’re mistaken.” She paused and gave me a disapproving look, but barreled on before I could begin to defend myself. “I really expected more of you, young lady.”
Without another word, she swept from my side and the crowd parted to let her through, presumably to call a security guard to come and take the two hooligans away. I raced over to my art and tugged Robbie away. Logan reached out to stop him, and I snapped, “I’ve got this,” harsher than I’d intended, but the entire thing was humiliating enough without random—handsome—strangers needing to get involved.
Logan gave a nod and stepped to the side to let me handle things. I wrapped my arms around Robbie’s waist and tugged him back. His six foot frame was unmoving for a moment, but then he jerked back and knocked me down to the floor. My elbow hit the stone floor and I yelped in pain at the contact. “Got it! This one’s mine! Here, Megs, I’ll buy this one, since no one else wants it.” He turned, holding the large piece of art over his head like it was the Stanley Cup, showing it off to the crowd. Logan reached out a hand to help me up, but before I could get upright, Robbie tripped over my flailing legs, and he flew forward.
I watched in horror, as the painting slipped from his fingers and collided with the glass windows. Everything happened in slow motion, as though I was watching the disaster one freeze frame at a time. The window cracked and then shattered, pieces raining down as my canvas pierced through out onto the sidewalk outside the gallery.
The room exploded with screams and gasps, and one scream went longer and higher than all the others. It took me a few seconds to realize that it was mine. I peeked through my fingers to survey the shattered window, shards of glass sticking out at random angles, and my painting of the bridge laying there staring up at the sky.
As my eyes lifted, tearing away inch by inch, I screamed again at the sight of Grant standing on the outside, his face nearly ashen, with two steaming cups of coffee, one in each hand.
Chapter Seven — Grant
One moment I was walking along the sidewalk, thinking about Megan and wondering how she’d react to me surprising her at the gallery. Our meeting the day before hadn’t exactly gone as expected. I’d expected her to be a little more flattered, and a lot less angry, at the opportunity. Her anger had caught me off guard, but I was determined to set things right before her first day. I’d mentally rehearsed a speech to smooth things over—and the next moment, I was standing on the other side of a shattered window, flinching at the piercing sound. I looked up from the shards on the ground and found myself face to face with her. Had Megan just thrown a painting at me?
Her lips moved, but I couldn’t make out what she’d said. I stepped around the glass as sirens filled the silence that had been left after the shattering. What the hell was going on here? I stepped around the mess and pushed my way inside the door. Megan was berating a young man in a tuxedo t-shirt, “How dare you! Robbie, I never want to see you again! Get Phillip and get out of here, right, fucking, now!”
“Not so fast!” A woman in an eggplant colored wrap dress stepped in between them. “No one is going anywhere. The police are on their way and you will need to speak with them. All three of you!” She shouted the last part, her eyes bouncing between Megan and the young man she was shouting at.
I approached and Megan, as though sensing me, whirled around on her heel. Her hair whipped around behind her before gathering in soft waves around her shoulders. Her eyes were wide and dark making her look like a wild animal. “What the hell are you doing here?” Her voice was accusatory but with an edge of exhaustion.
I extended one of the cups to her. “Bringing you this.”
She looked at the cup in disbelief, before meeting my eyes again. “Grant, as you can plainly see, I’m kinda in the middle of something.”
The sirens wailed closer and before I could speak again, the blue and red lights were flashing around the room. Two uniformed police entered and the woman in eggplant flagged them down and started spilling all the details. I overheard what she was telling them, my eyes still on Megan, watching as she flinched at the more colorful bits of the description.
“—he threw the painting out of the window, and these windows are custom, worth thousands!” The woman railed. “Think of all the business I’ll miss out on while they’re being replaced!”
While that was going on, another young man, in a matching t-shirt to the one that Megan was grabbing onto, made
a run for the front doors and bolted down the street.
The woman speaking with the officers stopped rambling about her custom windows and jumped up and down, pointing at the front door as it swung shut. “Go get him! He’s with this other one!”
One of the cops tore off after him, and seconds later, was dragging him over to the police car parked outside.
“Robbie, no!” Megan jerked on the back of the t-shirt of the young man she’d been yelling at, and it clicked. Robbie was the name of one of her brothers. She’d mentioned him in some of the stories of her childhood that she’d shared with me.
She pressed her eyes closed but they popped open again at my voice. “Megan?” My voice was soft, noticing her tearing up as she watched the cop cuffing the other man outside.
“What?”
“How can I help?”
She looked at me, her dainty features twisted as she weighed my question. The cop finished speaking with the woman, who I gathered to be the shop owner, and started questioning Robbie. Megan released his t-shirt and he spoke with the cop, answering his questions with one syllable answers.
“Megan, what do you need?”
“Nothing, Grant. You might as well go. I’ll see you Monday at the office.” As she spoke, a man in a grey t-shirt and a pair of jeans stepped to her side and squeezed her shoulder. The simple gesture sent a hot poker ripping through my insides, setting everything on fire.
“Who the hell is this?” I demanded, my voice terse, my eyes blazing as I stared down the intruder.
“This is Logan,” Megan answered, flinging her eyes up to meet the stranger’s.
The man nodded and stepped closer to her. “I’m here with Megan.”
With Megan? My eyes narrowed as I glared at Megan, waiting for her to dispel his words, but she remained silent. “Megan, what the hell is going on? Who is this guy?”
She sighed. “Grant, please, just go away. I know you think that everything in my life is yours to control, but this has nothing to do with you. All right?”
My teeth clenched at her words. The man next to her had released her arm, but was still standing too close. “Monday, then.”
I hated the words as they left my lips, but I knew there was nothing else to do. I took a step backwards, my eyes still on Megan, waiting for her confirmation, when the cop that was talking to Robbie tapped on Megan’s shoulder and she turned away without another word.
I left the gallery, but paused on the street to look back and saw Megan crying as she spoke to the cop. My heart clenched in my chest, and my feet planted in the middle of the road, momentarily wavering between going forward or back to her. Before I could make a decision, Logan stepped in closer and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
* * * *
If a question could really burn a hole, I’d be covered in them. As it was, the carpet in my condo had taken the brunt of it, suffering hours of pacing as I’d stalked around the house, railing against Megan, myself, and especially the mysterious Logan as I tried to piece together what the hell had happened.
By Monday, I had narrowed in my frustrations and sat behind my desk absently rolling a pen between my fingers, with one burning question on my mind.
Why the fuck does any of this matter?
It was the crux of all my frustration. Why did it matter what Megan thought of me interfering with her internship? I needed her to do a job, and I’d done what it had taken to get her. So, why did it matter to me that she wasn’t happy about it? That she’d told me it wasn’t my place? Why did it matter what had happened at the art gallery? It had nothing to do with me. And as long as it didn’t impact her work performance, why should I care? And why did it matter that there was another man there to comfort her in that moment of crisis?
Megan isn’t mine.
But that was the problem. Wasn’t it? She needed to be.
A knock on my door took me out of my musings and I expected to see Cara pop her head around, knowing she was the only one who’d be at the office so early. When I looked up, a bolt of lightning hit me as I saw Megan enter the room. Her eyes were locked on me, but I couldn’t hold her gaze, my eyes roamed her body, hungry for the sight of her like a lion that’d gone too long without a kill. My eyes needed to inspect every curve that was wrapped so perfectly in a black suit I’d never seen before. It wasn’t like anything I’d seen her wear before. It was too still, too polished, too new for Megan. Everything I’d ever seen her wear had appeared to have been pulled from some bin at a vintage consignment shop. This suit was slick and crisp, and while it fit her body like a glove, it was unnerving at the same time.
Something was wrong.
“You’re here early,” I said, setting down my pen.
She crossed the room and sat down in the chair across from me. “My morning class was canceled, so I thought I’d come and serve my time. Get it out of the way.”
My lip curled at the way she said it, like being in my presence was a fucking prison sentence. “How lucky for me,” I replied, my voice dry and void of emotion. I wouldn’t let her see my slow boiling frustration. “Not too tired from the weekend then?” My mind burning with the image of her wrapped in Logan’s arm as I’d last seen her.
She shook her head, silently refusing to give any further details.
“Everything sorted out then, at the gallery?” I asked, keeping my voice casual.
“More or less.” She avoiding my eyes and pulled her hair back and twirled it loosely into a ponytail over her left shoulder, before dropping it. I watched the silky strands fall apart and my fingers ached to touch them, to gather a handful, weave through the roots and tug her head back, letting me have the perfect access point to her delicate neck. “Someone called and offered the owner a settlement to not press charges.”
I nodded, I already knew that, since I’d been the one to call and smooth the situation over with Chandra, the gallery owner, hours after leaving the scene.
“Truthfully, it was an accident that the window was damaged, but I guess she could have asked for Robbie and Phillip to be arrested for drunk and disorderly conduct or something.”
I resisted the urge to tell her it was me, to get back on her good side, knowing that confession would likely only add fuel to her fire. She would only see it as another point of my unwanted interference. “I’m glad it worked out.”
She looked up from the desk and met my eyes. There was a flicker of a question but then she blinked and it vanished.
“Was your painting ruined?” I asked. My anger with her was starting to melt away. There were dark circles under her eyes, and although she looked put together and polished, I could tell by the look in her eyes and the slump to her posture, that she was exhausted. As frustrated and conflicted as I was, I no longer felt the need to punish her and make her pay for her irritation and frostiness with me at the gallery.
Unless the punishment consists of her sprawled out across my desk with her ass in the air—waiting for a steady hand.
She bit back her lip and her eyes glossed over like she was fighting the urge to cry. My heart twisted and I locked my hands together in my lap to keep from reaching for her. “The canvas tore. I’ll try to repair it, but I’ll never sell it. Although, I guess, all things considered, I should just be grateful that Chandra is even letting me keep anything at the gallery. Such a nightmare.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thanks,” she said quietly, as she wiped at her eyes. “Anyways, enough about all that, let’s get started. What do you need me to do?”
I considered her for a moment, there was a lot of work to be done, but I didn’t want to make her day harder by loading her down. She looked ready to break as it was. “Megan, you know what, go home and get some rest.”
Her eyes popped open wide. “What?”
I exhaled and brought my hands back to the desktop. “You had a crazy weekend, you need some rest. I’m doing interviews today, so why don’t you take it off.”
“Grant, I’m fine. Seriously.”<
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“Megan, you don’t have to be so tough, let me help you.”
Her eyes clouded over again. “You can help me, by letting me stay and work. As you can imagine, things at home aren’t exactly wonderful right now, so please, let me do something to keep busy.”
I wanted to insist, but she blinked back her tears, squared her shoulders, and folded her hands in her lap. “All right.”
I stood from behind the desk and she followed, standing too. “I have a bunch of interviews to do and I’m putting together an open interview exclusive for marketing students at the campus. I didn’t see any stand out talent while I was there, but symposium day is always nerve wracking, so I’m willing to let people have a second attempt. While I’m doing that, I’ll need you to go through the feedback from the first week of Shock Watches. I’ve had the customer support department tag all comments, posts, and emails and forwarded the links to you. So, today, see how much of that you can plow through so we can get an idea of tweaks and changes that we need to make on both the marketing and product side.”
She nodded, taking her marching orders without question. We paused by the door, my hand on the silver knob, staring down at her. We were close enough that the heat between our bodies filled the space, and I planted my feet, unwilling to step back to open the door. I reached for her with my free hand, grazing her waist before she jumped back, out of my reach.
She brought her hand up and stilled it against my chest, creating a barrier between us. I stopped and dropped my hand from her waist, but she kept her hand frozen in place, and if it weren’t for my thick suit jacket, I was sure she would feel it ricocheting around my chest. “Grant,” she whispered. “I can’t.”
“I understand,” I lied.
Chapter Eight — Megan
My body and mind were more tired than I could ever remember, but somehow, I managed to plow through the emails that Grant had set aside for me. I’d filled a notebook page with notes and ideas, and went back to Grant’s office to check in with him, a buzz of excitement replacing the feeling of dread I’d had that morning when I’d first knocked on his door. Cara, his assistant, told me he was on a conference call, and I let her know I had to get to class. She nodded and offered a warm smile before I left. As I went down to the underground parking lot, I tried to ignore the sting of disappointment that had pricked me when she’d told me he was unavailable. I told myself that the disappointment was from not getting to go over my ideas, and had nothing to do with not seeing him again, but that rationalization only went so far.
