“You—you did. Okay. Wow.” He ran one nervously through his hair, sweeping it out of his eyes for once. Audrey was suddenlystruck by the nonchalance of it, the practiced motion, and she realized that while Theo was thinking about Lightm4st3r, he must have been acting the way he did before his accident. She’d never seen himuncover his face so easily.
He usually tried harder to hide it.
“I’m on a call right now, but uh…just come with me, and I’ll finish up so we can talk. All right?” He held out his hand, his expression pleading, and Audrey slid hers into it slowly.
Theo guided her to the room tucked beneath the stairs and pushed open a door to reveal a well-lit office. It was the place where he’d hidden his motorcycle helmet after she’d found it on the shelf, and it was nestled carefully into a corner next to a huge motorized sit-stand desk outfitted with three monitors, a massive high-end drawing tablet, a very expensive Herman Miller desk chair, and a high-definition webcam. A stern-looking woman with short blond hair was pursing scarlet-painted lips up on one of the monitors, and she shook her head when they entered.
“Who is this?” She had a light British accent and a voice just as stern as her expression. “Theo, we’re having a private call. You know? The whole attorney-client privilege thing? Things that are privileged should probably stay…” She waved a sardonic hand. “Privileged?Private?!” From what Audrey could see of the office behind her, it was furnished in mahogany shelves lined with leather-bound books.
It looked fancy.
Theo gave Audrey an encouraging squeeze on her arm before stooping and whispering in her ear, “I’ll just be a second. Do you mind hanging here?” She shook her head and he limped back over to the desk, slumping tiredly in the chair.
“Imogen, that’s my girlfriend, Audrey. She’s fine.”
“ ‘Fine’?!” The lawyer groaned in resignation before rubbing at her temples. “Theo, I swear—”
“We’re not discussing anything I wouldn’t tell her anyway.”
“They’reyourbillable hours, so it’s no skin off my nose if you want to involve other ears in our conversations. Do what you like with your money.”
“I always do,” he responded before picking up a pen and scribbling something in his little battered leather notebook. “Anyway, as I was saying, you can tell her assistant no. I’ve told her no before, and my answer remains the same.”
“You know she’s not going to take that lightly.”
“It doesn’t matter how she takes it, only that she does. I think it’s ridiculous she’s even asking, especially now.” His gaze darkened. “And especially because she had herassistantdo it.”
“That’s because you’re not answering her phone calls.”
“And I’m going to continue not answering them. No means no.”
“All right then.” The scratching of a fountain pen came through the computer’s speakers as the attorney made some sort of note. “I’ll tell her that. Again.”
Audrey busied herself with looking at all the things hanging on the walls in his office while they went back and forth on whatever someone was asking Theo to do. There were a few framed sketches and paintings all done in various styles and colors mixed in with photographs of people she didn’t know but who mostly looked vaguely like Theo’s relatives. One was a photo of him and Diego, both younger and skinnier, clad in familiar Columbia Lacrosse T-shirts. Theo’s wide grin stretched from massive ear to massive ear, which jutted out adorably from the sides of his head. She glanced over her shoulder at the current version of those ears, poking up through his dark waves in the light streaming from the monitor.
He’d grown into them.
She looked at the photo again. Ears aside, the most remarkable thing about it was that this was the first time she’d ever seen arecognizable picture of adult Theo without his scar. It was almost uncanny—she couldn’t imagine him without it.
Frankly, he wasn’t any less handsome now.
It oddly suited him.
Besides the photos and the artwork, there was a collection of clippings and articles. The walls were covered with write-ups fromThe New York Times, printouts of posts from the BBC, screenshots from a segment onGood Morning America, photos from Page Six, even a framed exposé carefully cut out of aTimemagazine—all of them featuring the art of and speculation around the mysterious Lightm4st3r.
All of this, Theo’s secret alter ego, had been tucked away in a small room under his stairs, right next to where they’d cuddled on the couch.
And the deeply introverted artist himself sat right across from her, clad in sweaty workout clothes while arguing with his lawyer.
When her eyes landed next on a wall of diplomas, they widened. Theodore H. R. Sullivan had not only a BFA in visual arts from Columbia University but also a BS in chemistry, both dating from the same year and both designated summa cum laude. A dual degree, with highest honors. Next to those two frames was a larger one, an MFA in studio art from NYU, and, perhaps most shockingly, a valid and recent license as a master electrician. Theo hadn’t ever mentioned trade school, but he’d apparently gone there as well.
Were there any degrees hedidn’thave?
“Yeah, thanks, Imogen. We’ll talk again soon.”
“Take care, Theo. Be careful with the socials. My phone’s ringing off the hook, so please warn me next time you’re going to post something.”
“I will.” The Zoom call ended and Theo spun back around in his chair, pressing heavily up from it and stumbling to his feet. He limped over to Audrey and stood next to her, closing his eyes andrubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry about that. Imogen Phillips is my creative attorney. She’s kind of like my agent, but better. Manages all the complicated handoffs of art pieces, negotiates charity contracts, brokers press deals, basically does all kinds of things on my behalf.”
