“I want to do a collaboration. For social media.”
He leans forward, placing his elbows on the table. “What do you have in mind?”
“In the entryway of your house, there’s a photo of a hand with a fistful of sand slipping through its fingers. Since it’s so good, I’m assuming you took it, and I’d really like to paint a rendition of it. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since I saw it. So, I figured, if you’d let me, it’d have the potential to benefit both of us.”
The glint in Zayne’s eyes shifts, typically mischievous, but now something else entirely, completely unreadable to me.
Franco nudges my arm, whispering, “You did it, newbie.”
“Did what?” I ask, voice low.
He jerks his head toward Zayne. “Got his respect.”
“What are you whispering about?” Zayne asks, eyes now narrowed in suspicion.
Franco chuckles. “Oh, nothing that would interest you.”
“So, is that a yes?” I ask Zayne, ignoring Franco.
Zayne bobs his chin, a lopsided bend to his mouth as he says, “Yeah, okay.”
“Great. Can I come by tonight to get started on it?”
Zayne clears his throat, pulling out his phone from his back pocket to check his calendar. “Shit. I have a date tonight at seven.”
I don’t miss the harsh scowl Emmy shoots him, even though Zayne seems to.
“That’s all right,” I reassure him. “I prefer privacy while I work anyway.”
He nods again.
“Ugh, I’m so jealous,” Emmy whines, shifting her body away from Zayne. “I wish I would’ve come up with an idea like that.”
“We can collaborate on the next project,” I offer quickly.
“No, no.” She waves an unperturbed hand, but her discontentment is clear as day. “I need to come up with my own brilliant ideas.”
“And your next idea will be,” Iris encourages.
Emmy smiles weakly. “Thanks.”
“All right,” I say as I rise from the table. “I’ve got like a million print orders to package for shipping. Zayne, I’ll be over around six.”
“Sounds good.”
As I walk away, my mind is filled with thoughts of composition elements, grains of sand, and the most elusive thing known to humankind—time.
“I have to admit, I’m surprised––and more than a little impressed,” Zayne remarks as I walk past him and into the entryway. The space where the painting had hung on the wall just last weekend is bare.
“Where is it?” I ask, suddenly panicked.
“Don’t worry,” Zayne says with a small chuckle. “I just moved it to a better spot for you. You’d probably be uncomfortable painting it in here. It’s drafty and you’d get a kink in your neck from staring up at it.”
“That’s thoughtful of you,” I murmur, surprised. Zayne’s not a thoughtful guy. Or at least, I thought he wasn’t. Maybe what Franco said about him at the party is true after all. At the time, I had had such a hard time believing him.
“Come on. This way.” He gestures with a sweep of his arm for me to ascend the main staircase before he takes my painting tote and canvas from me.
As we climb the stairs, I ask, “Why are you surprised?”
