Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 75783 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75783 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
I carefully go through and craft kind, apologetic emails to all of the clients he decided to bail on and email those to Dawson for his approval. The sooner we get those rescheduled, the better.
My phone rings, and I pick it up without looking at the caller, naturally assuming it’s Dawson. With the exception of the occasional call from another employee at work, Dawson is the only one who calls me. God forbid my mom called to check in to see how I’m doing with this indentured servitude she willingly signed me up for.
“Hello?” I answer in a cheery, professional voice that I know Dawson likes.
“Is this Harper?” An unfamiliar voices says. I sit upright and raise my eyebrows, not quite able to place where I know this voice from. “This is Malik. Do you remember me?”
My heart beats faster, not from my desire to sit here and talk to him, mind you. How the hell did he get this number? What is he calling me for?
“Oh, hi Malik! Of course I remember who you are.” I do my best to sound professional and charming, and I’m aware that it might come across as a little flirty. This is how Dawson trained me to act around his clients.
I’m immediately reminded of the night at the club where Dawson thought I was flirting with Malik, and how he lashed out at me in the limo after. It’s a good thing he’s not here to see this now, because he might react harshly again.
“Dawson is actually out at the moment, but I can give him a message to let him know you called,” I continue. I tap my finger nervously on the desk, hoping that’s all he wants. He did send me that bouquet of flowers, and I don’t know what I did to give him any signal that I wanted him to send me flowers, but I need to nip that in the bud quickly.
“Actually, you’re just the person I was hoping to talk to,” Malik says with a light laugh that makes my skin crawl. “I was calling to check in because you missed your appointment.”
“My appointment?” I echo like some kind of parrot. I have no idea what he’s talking about. I don’t have any appointments that I know about, and even if I needed an appointment, I wouldn’t have time in my schedule to pencil anything in.
I realize it must be some kind of meeting with Dawson. He ran us both out of town so quickly that a lot of meetings slipped through the cracks, and Malik must have been a casualty of that. At least, that’s what makes sense to me. What business would he possibly have with me that I would miss a meeting with him?
“Dawson had some last-minute business out of town, and we had to fly away,” I explain, hoping I can soothe the situation in some way. “Just let me know when you’re next available, and I can schedule you in. I’ll make sure you’re well taken care of since this was such an inconvenience.”
“Trust me, I know that you will,” Malik says with another laugh that makes my skin crawl. “What have you been working on with your art?”
I’m a little taken aback by the question. It’s relatively harmless, but I don’t recall ever telling him anything about my skills. He never asked me about my interests or what I wanted to do when I went to school. The only thing Malik asked me about was boyfriends.
“I hardly have time to work on anything right now,” I say with a dismissive laugh, looking around the room nervously. I need to get off the phone with Malik because the moment Dawson walks in and sees me talking to him, he’s going to flip out. He’s already been gone long enough, he’s due back any minute now. “But I mostly just draw creatures from folklore and the occasional portraits. It’s nothing too fancy.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. I know you’re very talented,” Malik says with a confidence that makes me think this isn’t just the thing you say to someone trying to be bashful. “You have a lot of skill that most people train for decades for and can’t master.”
“I didn’t realize you’d seen any of my work.” My throat goes dry, and it feels like all of the air has been sucked out of the room. How the hell has he seen my drawings? I know Henry and my mom are friends with him, but I don’t have any drawings just lying around where they could show him. All of my drawings are in my personal sketch pad.
“Oh yes, I think it’s very admirable how you are planning to go to art school to better yourself too,” Malik continues. Yet another thing I haven’t told him, though this is a logical assumption given that he knows about my art. “But an art school out of state is going to be a big change, yes? When was the last time you left California?”