“Yeah?” My voice is rough and miserable after a night of whiskey and zero sleep.
“Mr. Walker, your taxi is waiting downstairs.”
“I’ll be right there.”
I get up, zip the suitcase, and walk out.
One Month Later.
Chad is in front of me, going on about the new project. Apparently, a cosmetics company wants us to launch a campaign—it’s expensive and long-term. My boss is thrilled, just as thrilled as the day we landed the Property Group account. I can practically see the dollar signs spinning in his pupils.
I watch him pace the office while he talks. Chad thinks better on his feet, but my mind is miles away.
Specifically, at the offices of Property Group.
The last time I saw Luca was that night. According to his brothers, who somehow started treating me decently, Luca went back home, and I haven’t heard from him since.
I miss him. I want to see him, to explain what he heard. But…
"Get out of here, Emma."His clenched jaw, his fists tight and pale from the pressure.
I don’t know if he’s ready to see me. That’s why I haven’t reached out. I haven’t called him, emailed him, texted him.
All I have is the painting in my apartment, his stoic, beautiful face staring at me every day.
Oh! But I haven’t spoken toGargoth. Maybe that’s a good way to reach him again?
“Emma, are you listening to me?”
Shit.
“You caught me, Chad. Sorry, I’ve got a killer headache,” I lie, pressing my fingers to my temples. The truth is, it’s not my head that hurts, it’s my chest.
“Oh, well…we can pick this up tomorrow. Go home.”
“Really?” I smile.
“Yeah, go. I need you fresh. I need your ideas.”
I grab my bag. “Thank you! You’re the best boss ever!”
“That’s what they all say...” he mutters with a smirk. I don’t love the joke, but I laugh anyway—just so I can leave.
When I get home, I open Instagram and snap a photo of the painting.
Hearts start pouring in. Everyone loves the colors, the intensity. More than one person asks how much I’m selling it for. I tell them all the same thing: it’s not for sale.
The hours pass.
But Gargoth says nothing. No cryptic phrases. No cosmic questions.
Just silence.
I crack my knuckles, pacing around the apartment, tidying things up to calm my nerves, cleaning things I’ve been avoiding for weeks.
My phone buzzes.
Gargoth:
