"And what are you doing out here when you could be in your studio? The one we designed to your exacting specifications, sir?"
On the other edge of this knoll sat a cluster of yucca and sacred datura. Like anything truly wild, they grew in disorderly clumps. I wanted to explore the ways they attracted and repelled each other and I wanted Miz Malik to follow me. I wanted her to see this because it was real and true and—fuck me—she needed some of that in her life. I couldn't say how I knew that but I did, as well as I knew I wanted her knees stained with grass, and dirt under her nails, and her dress—that proper, boring dress—ripped and wrinkled in the best ways.
As she came to a halt beside me, she announced, "I'd like to speak with you."
Her hands were on her hips and her lips were pulled tight, and goddamn me, I wanted to taste the cove where her neck met her shoulder. I couldn't pretend I'd be satisfied with one taste. Somehow, in the convoluted maze of human consciousness, I was able to find her desirable and aggravating all at once.
I wanted to fuck her and then I wanted to tell her to fuck off.
"Go ahead," I answered, my attention squarely on the yucca. "Speak."
"Would it be too much trouble for you to look at me while I speak?"
With all the impatience in my body, I shifted to face her. "Go on, Miz Malik," I drawled, an eyeroll tossed in for good measure. "You have my full attention."
She nodded in response, piercing me with another sharp stare. "I'm curious, Mr. Guillmand—"
"Gus, please," I interrupted.
"Gus," she repeated with a sigh, her shoulders rising and falling at the concession.
"Why are you so formal? No one else around here insists on the Mister and Ms. business. Should I curtsy too? Is that how you'd like me?"
She offered no reaction beyond a slow blink and that only agitated me further. This woman. She only bit so much of my bait.
"Mr. Gui—I mean, Gus," she said, her eyes fluttering shut as she corrected herself. "From what I hear, you aren't spending much time in your studio. Is there an issue with the space?"
"It's fine. Is there an issue with me spending time outside the studio or am I required to stay at my desk all day like the other worker bees?"
She waved at the open space around us. "By all means, enjoy the grounds."
"But spend more time in the studio," I added, crossing my arms. "Right? That's what you're trying to tell me. I'm on the clock and you want me churning out one masterpiece after another while the citizens of this strange corporate colony watch. You don't want an artist-in-residence, you want a dancing monkey."
"There is nothing further from the truth, Mr. Guillmand," she snapped, slicing her hand through the air as she spoke. "We appreciate and admire your talent. We want you to be comfortable. Even if that means spending most of your time swinging from the branches. My only concern is whether you have everything you need."
"Is that what got you out of the office, Miz Malik? Yourconcernfor me? For myneeds?"
"No, that's not the only thing." She glanced at the wildflowers, regarding them as if she'd never encountered such a sight in the hermetically sealed existence she called life. "I'm curious why you've gone out of your way to leave birds in my office."
I took a step toward her. "Is there a problem?"
She took a step toward me. "Is there a point?"
"Isn't that what I'm supposed to do here?" I stared down into her coffee-dark eyes. "Bring art to the people. Wasn't that the high-level objective of this gig?"
Another slow blink up at me, and then, "You are not required to literally deliver art to individual staff members. I apologize if that was unclear."
I scratched the back of my neck, humming. "Ah. I see. My misunderstanding."
"Very well."
Her gaze was locked on my eyes, but for a split second it flitted to my lips. It was nothing more than a glimpse but it struck me like a challenge—and an opening. Without allowing myself time to examine my actions, I reached out and curled my hand around her elbow. Heat coursed through me, a flash of fire a thousand times more powerful than anything else in the world.
She glanced down at my hold on her arm, up at me. "I'll leave the birds with my assistant. I'll ask him to work with the appropriate teams to get the pieces on display. If you need any help gathering the others—or whatever you've given staff members—we'll allocate someone with extra capacity this week."
She didn't know. She was the only one and she didn't know.
She gazed at my grip on her arm again, then over my shoulder, toward the office buildings. "Now that we've cleared these matters up, I'll be on my way."
