“Oooh, shocker. In a departure from tradition, Lulu hooks up with an emotionally unavailable man. Wait. No. Situation normal.”
“You do understand the role of the best friend here, don’t you?” I glare at her across my eggs benny, my go-to emotional crisis breakfast. “It’s to be supportive.”
“Being supportive and being an enabler is not the same thing. Look, I get why you don’t want to put yourself out there. Your dad’s heart was broken, and you don’t want it to happen to you.”
“You’re forgetting I did put myself out there once. In college. Remember?” I huff with a glare.
“Damon? The guy you dated for, what, eight weeks?” She all but spits her coffee in disbelief at my reframing of history.
“Who then cheated on me. And lied to me about it.” I push sauce around the plate with a piece of sourdough, dragging up the last of the buttery goodness.
“Don’t try telling me he left you broken-hearted. I was there. I saw the relief on your face. But one day, Lu, you’re going to have to let go and give some guy a chance to get in. And I don’t mean your knickers. For your own sake, if nobody else’s.”
I struggle to think of a suitable reply. “Not this day.” I eventually answer.
“Did you just quote Aragorn at me? Sadly, it’s too early, and I’m too hungover to give that the retort it deserves.”
Ro’s coffee is delivered and, as usual, she ignores the flirty glance of the cute barista. It never ceases to amaze me how oblivious she is to the effect she has on men.
“Honestly, I don’t want to talk about it anymore today. It’s making my head hurt.” I can feel the pout on my face.
“Okay—but one last thing. I was promised details.”
“No. You weren’t. And anyway, I gave you details.”
“Eleventy thousand out of ten is not details.” Ro tips down her sunglasses and gives me a laser-glare.
“Ugh. Okay, it was great. The earth moved. He has the most beautiful penis I’ve ever seen, and he knows what to do with it. Satisfied?”
“Sounds like you were. Which begs the question, why can’t it happen again? He’s hot, smart and emotionally unavailable. Exactly your type. And the sex is great. Why not do it again?”
“Did you miss the part where he said he regretted it?”
“No. I heard you. I’m just not buying it.”
“Well, I’m taking him at his word and staying the hell away. Drama is the last thing I need right now. Although, I did get a pretty good piece of work out of it.” I show her the picture I took of last night’s painting. Ro and I met at art school where, despite our different majors, we bonded over high school trauma. Being a costume designer, she has a great eye and I value her opinion.
“Whoa. That’s some emotion on a canvas right there.” She takes the phone and studies the shot. “I love the colours. They scream pissed off and passion. I hope you’re going to show it to Sebastian?”
“Of course. I’m not sure how it will fit with my other work, but it’s worth showing him, I think.” I push the little voice of doubt in my head aside. Ro and I have talked my imposter syndrome to death. I know if I mention any doubt, she will pounce on me, and I’m not up to dealing with a lecture, no matter how well intentioned, today.
“If sex with Nick the Arsehole can get this sort of work out of you, I think you should definitely do it again.” She laughs as she hands the phone back.
“Hmm. If only it were that simple.”
I take Rosanna’s advice, and after breakfast and the obligatory retail therapy—it’s quite incredible how much a new handbag can perk you up—I call Sebastian Black. Who not-so-subtly invites himself over to look at the paintings I have ready. I prop what I think are my best half-dozen around the walls for him to look at, but he zeros in on the painting I did last night.
“Darling, this is magnificent. The passion simplyleapsoff the canvas. I love it.” His nose is practically pressed against the paint, sharp hazel eyes narrowed.
“Be careful. It might still be a little wet.” I hand him the glass of bubbles he asked for. He takes a turn around the room, the heels of his uber-trendy patent leather shoes clicking on my wooden floors, inspecting each painting in turn.
“More. I need more, more, more of this. Darling, you’re ready. I will have a look at the schedule on Monday and let you know when we can slot you in for a solo exhibition. I’ve got a feeling in my waters that this will be the start of a wonderful relationship. And my waters are never wrong.”
Sebastian pinches my cheek like an elderly uncle, despite the fact he can’t be much more than a handful of years older than me, not to mention several centimetres shorter. He’s a tiny bird of a man with big a style and a big personality, which he uses to camouflage a ruthless business mind. Throwing himself dramatically onto the sofa, he tips back his glass and takes a long drink.
Great. Now I have Nick the Arsehole to thank for the best orgasm of my life and my first solo exhibit.
Will calls me into the CPM offices on Thursday morning to be debriefed, which is much faster than I expected. It’s either bad news and they didn’t like it, or they loved it. I’m pretty confident most of the comments will be positive, but I have no idea what Nick may have said. By the time the lift doors open on reception, I can feel my stomach turning over at the thought of seeing him again. In a blessed stroke of luck, he is nowhere to be seen, and I make it to Will’s office without incident.
