Page 166 of The Right Kind of Wrong

“I’m not doing more shows with you, Sylvia.”

Sylvia blinked, having been cut off from whatever she’d been saying. Monroe hadn’t been listening, so she wasn’t sure what she’d missed.

Sylvia’s catlike eyes focused on her. “Of course you’re going to do more shows, Monroe. This industry requires consistency to stay relevant. A few years out of the game, and you’ll be as good as the next Killian Vahey.”

“Who?”

“Exactly,” Sylvia said triumphantly. “I expect that your show in November will be a massive success.” She clapped her hands together, like she was holding them in prayer. “I’m thinking that we should wait until it launches, just to ensure that we can command the best deal for your next one. We don’t want to leave a better opportunity on the table; a bigger fish will very likely bite after they see the attention that you’re receiving.”

Sylvia really, truly didn’t get it.

“I think you’re misunderstanding me, Sylvia.”

Cocking her head to the side, Sylvia looked at her again. “Fine, Monroe. If you’d feel more comfortable being able to start working immediately, I can make a few calls. We can have something scheduled to debut in another year.” She turned toward the paintings again, studying them. “You should plan to be in New York for all of November. At least. Through the new year would be best. There’s the release party, of course, but there will very likely be serious buyers who would benefit from meeting you and hearing more about the work. Plus, we can have meetings with other galleries for future projects.”

Monroe had already been in discussion with Natalia and her Austin gallery. She would happily host Monroe for her own exhibition, or she’d sell pieces on commission as Monroe created them. The second option would free up Monroe’s time to have a better schedule, to more easily account for Maisie’s evolving needs.

If she’d learned anything from the parents at dance, soon other activities would be peppered into their schedule. Playdates. Teaching Maisie to ride a bike without her training wheels. Monroe hadn’t even considered before now that she’d have to figure out things like making Christmas magical and the whole tooth fairy business and, yeah, she’d definitely need to wrangle Blake into helping her cook a turkey properly.

The life that she was looking forward to rushed so strongly through her mind that her words came easily. Steadily. “No, Sylvia. This is our last show together. I’m going to be moving on after this. And I truly am grateful for the support that you’ve given me, but I’m in a different place now, and this is the right decision for me and my family.”

Her family. Maisie. Blake. Denny. Hell, even Holland some days.

She’d built a life here, brick by brick. Tear by tear. And she wasn’t going to spend even a second longer letting Sylvia think she could dismantle it with a few authoritative words.

Sylvia turned quickly then, a look of utter contempt in her eyes. “I’m going to pretend like you did not just say that, Monroe. I have poured years and hundreds of thousands of dollars into your career. And right when you’re on the precipice, you think that you’re going to cut me out? I won’t stand for it.”

Once they’d broken up, Sylvia had come to her with the request that Monroe sign a contract, agreeing that Sylvia was a representative of Monroe’s creative body of work.

Monroe’s only stipulation had been that she refused to sign for more than one show at a time. One creative body of work. Nothing that she created independently, outside of the shows that Sylvia helped secure. And no promise that future shows would come.

Sylvia had been so confident that, like her, Monroe aspired to fame and success and notoriety. It was impossible for her to imagine that a bigger, more prestigious show wasn’t what Monroe would want, too.

Plus, Sylvia hadn’t wanted any money. Any other agent would have taken their cut, which had also made her sure of the value that she was bringing to the table.

But they wanted different things now. And no amount of browbeating from Sylvia was going to change that.

Monroe extended her arm toward the door. “I’ll be at the show’s opening, but no longer than the weekend, unless it fits in with Maisie’s school schedule. Let me walk you out.”

Sylvia shot her another daggered look but luckily started walking. “This is so incredibly stupid, Monroe. You’re throwing your dream away. so that you can play Mommy to some snot-nosed kid who’s probably just going to grow up to hate you anyway.”

Monroe shook her head, trailing Sylvia down the hallway. She didn’t respond until they’d made it to the front door, which Monroe held open. “No, Sylvia. I’m throwing your dream away. And don’t you ever, ever speak about Maisie like that again. That’s not a place you want to go to.”

She shut the door, but only so that she could end the conversation with Sylvia, whom she hoped wouldn’t loiter in front of her house.

Monroe was already looking for her keys; she had somewhere else to be.

Fifteen minutes later, Monroe was striding into Gumby’s Auto Body Shop, waving at Mary Ann on her way.

She had to go pick up Maisie from school soon, but the idea of not seeing Blake had felt unbearable. Especially after feeling like, finally, she was free of Sylvia.

Sure, she’d have to see her at the show’s opening, but that would, blessedly, be the last time they ever had to occupy the same space.

Monroe stepped into Blake’s office, shutting the door behind her.

“Monroe,” Blake said, a smile already on her face when she looked up. She spun her chair around so that she was facing her. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Monroe felt that melty, gooey feeling that was all too common whenever she was near Blake. Or when she thought about her. Or when she remembered how all of her edges had been softened just by getting to know Blake.