Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 134746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
I didn’t want to make things weird, so I just pretended it didn’t happen. But that night when I lay in bed and touched my lips and felt him, plus the lingering thought of his scratchy stubble on my skin . . .
Oh God, did I misbehave.
But I can’t be having those thoughts in front of his aunt.
Especially when I see so much of him in her now, and her mirrored in him.
That refined way of speaking—he got that from her, I think, even if Clara uses the elegant words of a southern lady, while August barks with the cold precision of a ruthless gentleman.
The careful, proper manners.
The kindness she wears like a second skin—while he tries oh so hard to bury his.
It makes me wonder who he was kind to in the past.
And who hurt him? Who made him throw it all away so he wouldn’t get hurt again?
Aren’t you making a lot of assumptions?
Yep. I need to get my mind off August ASAP.
So I pin on a smile for Clara.
“Thank you,” I say. “Seriously, you’ve just made my day. My whole life. You know, they say ‘Never meet your heroes,’ but I’m glad I met you, Clara. I’m just . . . I’m sorry that you feel like you can’t continue Inky.”
Something remote flits across Clara’s face for a split second.
A hint of pain.
She looks away, still holding my letter like it’s a comfort somehow.
“Sometimes things happen. Unexpected things that drain the color from the world, dear,” she says softly. “And I never did paint well in black and white.”
I don’t understand. But maybe I’m not meant to.
Maybe there’s a bigger secret behind why she quit than losing her muse.
I just wish I could do something for her.
Right now, I feel like August hiring me as her assistant is just forcing something on her that could be a burden. But what if she needs a fresh face, a few new ideas?
“What if you weren’t doing it for publication? Inky, I mean,” I ask carefully. “August thought that maybe we could work together and I could help you somehow. Would you be willing to teach me just for the sake of it? Just to draw Inky again?”
Clara’s smile is so kind, but her eyes are misty. “You’re a darling to offer. However, I don’t think I could, even for those reasons.” She shakes her head. “I think it’s time to let go. If that Sullivan girl truly wants the penguin badly enough to fight poor August for it in court, tooth and claw—well, I’m willing to let it go.”
What?
Oh, hell no.
I freeze up.
I’m also deathly afraid I’ve just screwed up royally.
August is going to kill me if he finds out I had anything to do with his aunt throwing in the towel.
I try to find words—any words—to undo the horrible thought I’ve just put in her head, but my lips won’t work.
Clara glances at me again and turns away quickly, evidently hoping she can hide the faint tremor in her lips. She crosses back to the chest to put my letter back inside.
“Could you give me a moment? I regret for you to see me out of sorts like this.”
“Sure!” I manage.
I turn and walk stiffly out the door, and I close it gently behind me.
Then I thud my head against the wall next to it.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I mutter, pinching my eyes shut with a wince before I do a 180 to slide down the wall.
I’m definitely asking for another migraine, which I’d probably deserve this time.
The nausea climbing up my throat isn’t that, though. It’s just me feeling sick to the bone that I’ve just torn my idol’s heart out with careless words and being pushy and—
Crap!
I have to fix this.
Before August finds out and possibly murders me.
But I don’t know how.
So I turn where I always do when I need advice.
Fumbling my phone from my bag, I punch my grandmother’s contact.
She picks up quickly, her pleasant warble instantly comforting. “Hello, my Elle. How’s your first day at work?”
“That’s Elle?” Before I can answer, Lena’s voice echoes in the background.
Gran’s voice pulls away from the phone. “Yes, don’t shout in the house—and don’t trim my English ivy too close!”
“Oh, I know how to trim an ivy, Grandma. Ask Elle if she fucked him yet!”
“I most certainly will not ask my granddaughter that, and you watch your mouth before I wash it out with soap!”
I can’t help a tired laugh.
These two should take their act on the road.
“Lena’s over helping with the houseplants, huh? Good. You shouldn’t be up on that stepladder with your foot. For what it’s worth, the answer is no.”
“Thank you, but I didn’t need to know that.” Grandma clucks her tongue. “Now, you sound sad. Tell me what’s wrong.”
Lena butts in before I can answer.