Chapter Twelve
Maisie
“I need you to focus,” I scold as Macallan once again breaks into laughter at the inkblot image I’m holding up. “What do you see?”
“It’s a fucking blob, Mais. What do you want me to see?”
I blow out a sigh of frustration. We’ve been at this for nearly half an hour, and I feel like we’ve made zero progress.
“Look closer.”
He squints as if that will somehow help him focus better on the image.
“Nope, still a blob,” he announces after a few long seconds.
“You’re impossible.” I mutter a curse under my breath as I shove the image back into my folder and retrieve a new one. “Let’s try this one.”
“I have a better idea.” Macallan snatches theimage from my hand, examining it for a moment. “Why don’t you tell me whatyousee.”
“You’re the one who’s supposed to be assessing the images,” I remind him.
“Humor me.” He flips the paper around.
I stare at the image that looks more like melted ice cream than anything else, but knowing that’s not a sufficient answer, I look harder.
“A night sky.”
He flips the image back around, his forehead scrunching as he tries to see what I’m seeing in the image.
“How in the hell do you get night sky out of this?”
“Look.” I snatch the paper out of his hand and lay it face up on the table between us. “See the specs of white?”
“Yes.”
“If you hone in on just the black spot and not the white paper it’s printed on, it looks like a cloudy night sky with only the brightest stars able to break through and be seen.”
“Hmph.” He makes a noncommittal noise as he stares down at the paper. “A night sky.”
“Do you see it?”
“Not really,” he admits with a smirk. “But I get whyyousee it.” He flips the page face down. “Let’s try another.”
“Okay.” I pull out another page, flipping it face up on the table. “What do you see?”
“I’m more interested in what you see.”
“You know you will have to do at least a few of these.” I give him an exasperated look.
“I know.” His smirk turns to a pout as he juts out his bottom lip. “One more. Please.”
“What are you, five?” I try and fail to fight the smile that slides across my mouth.
“Whatdo you see?” He taps his index finger against the paper.
“Last one.” I give him a stern look, waiting until he nods before turning my attention to the page.
It’s hard to concentrate when I can feel his eyes on me, watching me, but I refuse to let him distract me, so I press on, focusing once again on the ink blot image.
