“Sure thing, Boss lady.”
Suddenly, my phone goes off in my pocket. It’s a text from Ezra.
Ezra Blackwell:I’m sorry I’ve been so distant lately. I’ve been working on some artwork. Would you like to see what has kept me so busy?
I stare down at the message for a second, not sure of how to respond. The dress situation and how Nico reacted has me feeling weird about Ezra. I’m not blind. I know he has been flirty with me. And I won’t lie as if I don’t find the man attractive. However, I didn’t want to give him the wrong idea.
Ezra Blackwell:My apologies if this message is coming off as inappropriate. I assure you I’m not trying to be a problem. I just finished this beautiful piece and wanted to share it with someone I thought would appreciate it.
Feeling guilty, I quickly reply.
Me:Of course, I’d love to see your work.
Just because someone was flirty didn’t mean he would cross the line. Obviously, the man could get anyone he wanted. He’s an attractive and rich artist, he’s probably swimming in women.
My phone dings, alerting me to a new text. I open the message and gasp immediately. The painting is a side portrait of me done in the pop art style. The earth-tone colors used to create my profile make the painting pop. It’s stunning. Nothing like what Ezra usually does. Bankman is known for his graffiti-style work, but this is different.
Me:Wow! It’s beautiful.
Ezra Blackwell:It is only as good as the muse.
For a fleeting second, I get that feeling again, as if I’m treading troubled waters. I quickly shake it off.
Me:It really is stunning, and you are a very talented man.
Ezra Blackwell:Thank you. Now that I have cleared this from my mind, I can finally get back to my usual work that pays me. LOL! Have a great day, Mrs. Basille.
I smile as I slip my phone back into my purse. When I look out the window, I realize we are not anywhere near the market and we should be pulling up by now.
“Jake, where are we going?”
“I need you to do me a favor,” he says in a calm but serious tone. I look back up toward the front, where our gazes briefly connect through the rearview mirror.
“Call your husband and tell him we’re being followed.”
The moment the word followed comes out of his mouth, my heart pounds. I go to turn around, but his voice stops me.
“Don’t,” he warns, causing me to turn back in my seat. “Look at me,” he directs.
I look into his deep-set eyes.
“You’re alright. Call Mr. B.”
I nod and pull my phone back out of my purse. With shaky hands, I press my husband’s name on my phone. He answers on the second ring.
“My love,” he says in greeting. “I’m in a meeting. Can I—"
“Nico,” I whisper his name. He stops talking immediately.
“Tiff, why are you whispering?”
No, really, why the hell am I whispering? Look, it’s my first time being followed. I don’t know the proper protocol.
“I’m with Jake,” I say in my normal tone. “He says someone is following us.”
He’s silent for a moment. “Give me a second,” he says to whoever he’s meeting with. I can tell he’s walking by the sound in the background. A moment later, he’s back on the phone, loud and clear.
“Put me on speaker,” he says.
