Page 41 of For the Love of Art

“You alright?”

“Fine,” I replied, a little more breathy than I wanted.

Nathan nodded, then moved his eyes between Dori and me. “Keep up the good work, ladies.” Then, he walked away.

The front door opened, and an older couple walked in, the woman gasping as she looked around. Dori walked to greet them while I tried to figure out why the hell I had that reaction to a piece of fabric barely grazing my skin.

Satisfied that Dori could handle the couple, I headed to my office, where I immediately fell back into my chair.

What is happening to me?

Why do I keep reacting to Nathan fucking Manning like this?

This must be how he got all the women back to his penthouse— his weird charm instantly made it hard to think around him.

My office phone rang. It was Dori.

“Hello?”

“Hey. Sorry to bother you, but something arrived that needs your signature.”

“Be right there.”

I hung up, took a deep breath, and returned to the main floor.

A young man wearing a bike helmet stood by the front desk, a large envelope in hand.

“I heard you were looking for me.”

“Are you Isla Watts?”

I fought the urge to cringe at the mention of my married name and nodded. “Yes.”

He held out a clipboard and showed me where to sign. I did, then exchanged his clipboard for a thick manila envelope.

I turned it over and undid the string that held the envelope closed. I pulled out the bright white papers, and the words, Petition for Divorce, were in bold. A sting hit the backs of my eyes, and I blinked back the tears that threatened to fall.

“What do you have there?”

I slammed the papers back into the envelope, giving myself a paper cut in the process. “Nothing.” I put my bleeding finger in my mouth.

Nathan must not have gone back to his office.

Nathan’s eyes narrowed. “Your finger okay?”

“Mhm.” I nodded quickly.

“Okay,” he sounded unconvinced.

“Okay.” I took a step back, then said, “I should get back to work.”

“I was wondering something,” Nathan said, then dug his teeth into his lower lip.

I waited for him to continue, but when he didn’t, I asked, “What’s that?”

“Do you think I could use your art eye?”

“Isn’t that what you’re paying me for?”