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“Everyone’s for sale. Some people just cost cookies.”
“He needs something only you can give him.” Gerri let the pronoun sit there.
Romily caught the pronoun. Gerri knew exactly what she’d done with it.
Jessa’s whole face went off like a firework. “Oh, we are so signing this.”
“Nobody’s talking to you.”
“I don’t need to be talked to. I have eyes.”
“Great. Very helpful. Very relevant to the contract negotiation currently happening.”
“I’m negotiating in spirit.”
“Who’s ‘he’?” Romily asked, over Jessa’s head.
“The client.” Gerri didn’t blink. “You’ll meet him soon enough.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s a great answer. You’re just not appreciating it yet.”
“Is he old?”
“Everyone’s a little old, sweetheart, once you get to know them.”
“That’s not a real answer either.”
“None of my answers are real answers. That’s how you know they’re honest.”
“I’d appreciate it more with a name.”
“You could have the name. But then I’d miss your face the first time you actually see him.” Gerri patted the table like that settled it. It kind of did.
Romily had spent enough time near PDA circles to know what kind of agency had let itself into her studio without knocking. She’d stood three feet from a guy at Lila’s last gallery opening whose smile went on four teeth too long. She bought her coffee, most mornings, from a bartender two blocks over whose hands stayed warm no matter the weather, and she’d never asked why, because some questions were better left alone. He also made a truly excellent oat milk latte, for what it was worth.
No matter who this stranger turned out to be, “not entirely human” wasn’t going to be the plot twist. It was the whole premise. She’d learned that lesson two years back, at a mixer Lila dragged her to, after complimenting a man’s cologne and being informed, with total sincerity, that it was pheromones. She still thought about that sometimes. Mostly at two in the morning, for no reason, unprompted, like a haunting. Lila still brought it up whenever she wanted to watch Romily’s soul leave her body in real time. It worked every single time. It was working a little right now, purely from the memory.
“What flavor is he,” she asked, because if she was doing this, she wanted one piece of information in the file that wasn’t a phone number.
“Is he hot?” Jessa called from the office doorway, folder still in hand. “That’s the real question. Somebody ask if he’s hot.”
“Nobody’s asking that.”
“I’m asking.”
“You’ll know it when you see it, sweetheart.” Not an answer. It still sounded true anyway.
“Great. Very reassuring.”
“You’ll thank me.” Gerri stood, smoothed her skirt, and glanced around the studio — furnace, tools, the shelf of finished pieces — like she was confirming a hunch she’d already had. “This place has a pulse. Rare, in my line of work.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“It’s an observation. I save the compliments for people who’ve actually signed the contract.”
Gerri was already halfway to the door before Romily could insist on who “he” was, how Gerri had found the studio in the first place, or why the paper bag on the worktable was still warm — impressive logistics, or deeply alarming, possibly both.
