Chapter Eighteen
The week passed
like a snail—slow and slimy. Even the Black Soul meeting had been a waste of
my time anticlimactic. I had been looking forward to representing edgy
artists with our branding push, excited about all the possibilities our
marketing team had to offer. Instead, I’d gotten stuffy suits that were more
interested in dollar signs than original content.
Considering the client, Henry was perfect as acting creative director. He pitched to their level, offering overused, dated tactics that wouldn’t do anything for their image, reach or business. Even Ethan’s super cool new logos were debated over, deciding at long last that they would take the logo options to a focus group and see how they tested.
My social media
package went about as well as you can imagine—in that it was a train wreck
didn’t go well at all. There were vague compliments regarding my graphics, but
the majority of the meeting was spent debating the ROI of social media ads and
trying to explain that seventy-one percent of digital minutes were spent on
smartphones—not desktops. Clearly making it pointless, or at least less
relevant, to target desktops alone.
And yet all of my golden nuggets fell on deaf ears.
When we got back to the office, Henry had made us congregate in the conference room for a brand-new strategy meeting. He wanted to start from scratch. We wouldn’t have to throw out all of our graphics, just one hundred percent of our innovative ideas.
The Black Soul project, the project that was supposed to launch me into office-wide notoriety, had been about as successful as my previous projects for the Baptist church and the mowing company. It had done nothing to further my career or cement my standing at STS. I was stuck on the same rung of the corporate ladder I’d started on.
And I hated it. I was no longer satisfied with anonymous background jobs and being the sucker Henry got to sexually harass.
However, there was still work to be done for Black Soul, and maybe not all was lost. We had been told at the meeting that two of their marketing experts were in California for the week. The rumor was that the missing execs were better in tune with what was on trend.
I had to keep trying, right? It wasn’t in me to quit anyway. If my mother had taught me anything in this life it was that you never, ever, no matter how awful or wretched or dangerous, you never quit anything. Or so help me, God.
Other arguments included: Do you want to end up like your father? Where would the world be today if everyone just gave up and quit? Oh my god, you’re turning into your father. And my personal favorite: Quitters quit, Molly. Do you want to be a quitter? Well, do you?
Ahem. Needless to say, I couldn’t actually imagine a scenario in which I walked away from this project. I didn’t want to be a quitter after all. And I really didn’t want to end up like my dad. Or my mom for that matter.
I would continue to come up with original ideas that would blow their socks off and make them jump feet first into this wonderful new technical age. I would continue to pour myself into this project even though it had lost all its luster and made me feel sad for the bands that signed with such a backward-thinking studio. And I would continue to put up with Henry and his silent staring and not so silent accidental touching. Although if his hand landed anywhere near my boob again, my knee was definitely going to find its way to his balls. Chuck Norris style.
It all seemed pointless. I realized it was too late to pass the account off to someone else, but I dreamed about doing that every single day. I had been so looking forward to this account. I’d placed so many hopes and dreams and future shopping purchases on it, but when it had come down to it, this was the account that would end up ruining the façade that I loved what I was doing.
Because I didn’t.
This was nothing like painting. I couldn’t lie to myself for a second longer. Graphic design was the antithesis of having the freedom to create. Because there was no choice in this. There was no open-minded thinking or wide space to invent and process and make. It was all rigid lines and somebody else’s visions. It was people pleasing, mindless yes sirs, and the corporate world disguised in a cool office with a loose dress code. I couldn’t for the life of me remember why I’d wanted to move up in the company so badly. There was no end game to this madness. Only the constant crazy cycle of pleasing stubborn clients and perverted bosses.
When I finally walked into Bianca Saturday morning to work on the mural, I took a deep breath and it felt like the first one all week. Ezra had met me at the front door all easy smiles and sleepy eyes. It wasn’t fair how attracted I was to him. Not even a little bit.
“Molly,” he’d greeted instead of a regular good morning.
“Ezra,” I’d returned, wondering if he was going to kiss me again.
He’d taken my awkward canvas tote that contained all the paint and supplies I’d brought with me. The bag was overpacked with brushes and more brushes— every kind, size and shape in my arsenal. I’d brought them all. Even though I was pretty loyal to my pouncing brush and it was the best choice for what I had in mind. But the truth was I’d never painted an entire mural before so I didn’t really know what I needed. Better safe than sorry.
After he’d placed my things on a cloth-covered table set aside just for me, he started digging around in my tote. “There are so many brushes.” He looked up at me. “I had no idea there were so many to choose from.”
I shrugged, basking in the excitement I felt because he was interested. “They all serve different purposes.”
He looked doubtful. “If you say so.”
“How many different kinds of forks are there? Or spoons? How many serving spoons or spatulas, different kinds of whisks, pans, dishes? Knives?” I pointed at my brushes. “Same concept.”
His smile stretched wide. “You’ve explained this before.”
“Once or twice. I can provide the same comparison using bike gears, aerodynamic wheels, and tools if you’d like.”
Taking a step toward me, his hand slipped around my waist. “No need.”
I looked up at him, amazed that he had initiated physical contact. We’d exchanged work emails and fun texts during the week, but there was nothing said that indicated whether our kiss was a blooper or a prologue.
I’d tried to focus
on work instead of obsess think about what this was with Ezra, but let’s
be real. Obviously, I was only human. And obviously, Ezra was more than human.
Although I couldn’t tell you exactly what he was yet, I was positive it was
along the lines of a Greek god or superhero, or maybe even a sparkly vampire.
It didn’t really matter, because I was none of those things and it was hard to
believe that our kiss had meant anything to him.
He probably had epic kisses all the time. Like he was so sick of being kissed until the point of orgasm that he was like, Yuck, stop kissing me all you beautiful women!
Me on the other hand? The last time I had been kissed so thoroughly that my eyes crossed and my toes tingled was… well… Okay, fine, I couldn’t remember ever being kissed like that. And now I had to live with the very real possibility that I might never be kissed like that again. Ever. Which was a giant, ugly, bitter tasting pill to swallow.
Just when I’d decided I couldn’t stand being this psychotic over one minor makeout, his expression flattened abruptly and he asked, “When you said bike gears, was that in reference to Vera’s brother?”
“Mmmhmmm. Vann.”
He rocked back on his heels, but his hand didn’t leave my hip. “Should I have made sure you were single before I kissed you?”
“Do you mean Vann?” I couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. “No, no, no. No. I’m sorry, but no. We’re just friends. He’s like my big brother. I’ve known him all my life.”
He didn’t seem convinced. “There’s nothing between you?”
“Would you date Dillon?”
His face scrunched up reflexively. “No. Never. But she really is my sister. Half. By blood.”
“Maybe Vann and I don’t share DNA, but he’s my brother in every sense of the word. He’s overprotective and annoying and wonderful all at once. There will never, ever, ever be anything between us. Ever.”
He thought over my answer and then upped the ante. “What about Wyatt? Is there something going on between you two?”
My pulse pounded at my wrists, nervous and uneasy. “Maybe you should just ask what you want to ask.”
“Are you seeing anyone, Molly? Interested in anyone?”
My heart kicked and my thoughts jumbled together all at once. He wanted to know if I was interested in anyone? I suddenly felt like we were back in fifth grade and I was being forced to face my crush during a tragic game of spin the bottle.
“You,” I said
tentatively, with my heart in my throat and my contingency plan to move to
Mexico in place in my head in case he shot me down. Head’s up, step one of the
plan is me crashing through one of Bianca’s windows and stealing Ezra’s Alfa
a car. “Ezra there’s no one else.”
His entire body relaxed, melting into me as he swooped down to capture my mouth in an immediate kiss. I sucked in a sharp breath of surprise, giving him all the incentive he needed to tangle my tongue fully with his. His lips pressed against mine, not gently, not tenderly, but with hunger, purpose and wicked heat.
We picked up right
where we’d left off. Our mouths moved together with familiarity, learning each
other’s curves and tastes and needs. I clutched his polo with two fists,
desperate to have more of this man that had driven me crazy for months and was
currently driving me crazy in an entirely better new way.
But all good things must stupidly come to an end. Our kiss was sensual and sexy, and way too short. When a chef walked out of the kitchen, spotted us and then walked right back into the kitchen, Ezra pulled back, ending the bliss we’d only just begun to explore. Although, he didn’t go too far.
“Sorry,” he murmured with an annoyed glance over his shoulder. When he turned back to me, he said, “I’ve been wanting to do that all week.”
That made me grin like an idiot. I rested my cheek on his chest to hide my red cheeks and silly smile, listening to his sprinting heart and feeling satisfaction at how quickly it beat. Because I was the reason it pounded so frantically. “So there’s no one else for you either? Girlfriends? Friends with benefits? Escorts you need to settle your bill with?”
His chuckle vibrated through his entire body, rumbling against my cheek. I closed my eyes and savored the sensation.
“There’s no one else, Molly. Not even a casual hookup. I’ve been single for over a year. Maybe longer. You’ve had a string of bad dates, but I’ve had a very long string of very bad relationships. I haven’t been interested in getting involved with a woman since… after Sarita opened.”
I needed to see the truth in his eyes, so I tipped my head back and let my gaze meet his. “Really?”
“What can I say? It took a feisty graphic designer biting my head off in my own, very successful restaurant to catch my eye.”
“You’re lying,” I accused him because I was terrified that he wasn’t. “You have not been interested in me for that long.”
“Intrigued,” he amended. “Absolutely. From the second I met you, I was intrigued. Although I kept my distance out of respect for Killian and Vera. I wasn’t interested in anything serious and I didn’t know you well enough to feel you out. I couldn’t hurt you and then expect everything to stay chill with Killian. I’ve been attracted to you since the second I met you, but it wasn’t till later that I was willing to risk pissing him off to chase you.”
Chase me. Had he
been chasing me? I closed my eyes briefly and imagined his car rides and emails
and hiring me for every possible thing in his life. Oh, my god, Ezra Baptiste had been chasing me! And I had been completely
dense totally oblivious! Could I get a life do-over to go back and savor
that time??? “When did that change?”
He lifted one shoulder and stepped closer. “I don’t know. I can’t pinpoint one exact moment, only that my interest marinated slowly until I saw you in the kitchen with Wyatt before the engagement party. I hated myself for letting other people’s potential opinions get in the way. I hated Wyatt for making you smile and laugh, and for inviting you into my space. I hated you for not seeming to notice me or be able to tolerate me. From that moment, it was my mission to get your attention, to get you to notice me.” He smiled that gentle, unassuming smile again, the one that made me all melty inside. “Although I’m not sure how well it worked. I used Meg to try to impress you, but you had the party handled without her. I tried to wow you with my wine cellar. You weren’t interested. I showed you my car. Again, you didn’t care. I’ve about exhausted my resources, Maverick. And I think you’ve given me a complex.”
Well, I just died. I was dead. This had to be death. Because Ezra could not have said what he just did. “I was already impressed by you! That’s why I didn’t react to anything else. Did you not notice I was a basket case around you? And I assumed you were just showing off to be a douche!”
The high planes of his cheeks heated and his smile was both embarrassed and adorable. “That does not bode well for my reputation.”
I laughed, and maybe it was a little hysterical, but he was talking crazy and my rational mind could not wrap around the words that he was speaking. “It worked,” I promised him. “Whatever you did, worked.”
Something clattered in the kitchen, jolting us with the violence of it. He groaned and dropped his forehead to mine. “That sounded expensive. I should probably go check on it.”
Holding back a smile, I told him, “Go. But don’t terrorize them too much.”
Standing up to his full height he asked, “Do you have everything you need? Can I get you something?”
A curling fear of dread interrupted the most exciting forty-five minutes of my dating life and I nearly winced from the sharpness of it. “Was hiring me to do this mural part of your seduction?”
He shook his head—it looked like he was trying to recover from my conversational whiplash. “What?”
“Did you only hire me to do this job because you want to get in my pants?”
A slow, promising smirk lifted one corner of his mouth. If I hadn’t been so panicked, I would have spontaneously combusted from it.
“Is getting in your pants an option?” he asked.
“That absolutely depends on your answer,” I countered. “And I’ll be able to tell if you’re lying.” He raised one eyebrow. “You’re very transparent,” I explained. Which wasn’t at all true, but it was better to let him think I had the upper hand. Maybe then he would believe it.
“The mural had nothing to do with us,” he answered sincerely. “And everything to do with your talent. I’m definitely interested in you, Molly, but I’m also a businessman. I wouldn’t have hired you to change the entire interior of my struggling restaurant if I didn’t think you would be able to make a seriously positive change.”
My fears abated and I sucked in a steadying breath. “Sorry, I freaked out at you. I just didn’t want this to be a pity painting.”
His lips twitched at my description. “It’s anything but. I’m anxious to see what you come up with.”
“What about the marketing account?” I demanded, half hoping he would tell me that was just a ploy to spend more time with me and that I sucked at design. Because then I would have a reason to quit STS and start over. I could pursue painting or basket weaving or beekeeping. Anything would be better than working with Henry at this point.
My argument was foolproof. Foolproof-ish.
“Again, Molly, I’m worried you don’t see how talented you are. Since I’ve hired you, I’ve learned more about the ins and outs of advertising than the last firm taught me in the entire three years I employed them. You know your stuff. I’m truly lucky to have you working for the restaurants.”
That was not the answer I was looking for, because it was leagues better. Those weren’t the kind of criticisms that ended careers, those were the kinds of compliments that reignited the deep and abiding love for my job.
I hated the politics of STS and my bosses, and okay, fine, my clients too. But I loved the design part of it. I loved that creating graphics was the opposite of painting, and that was okay, because I enjoyed the details and the hours of perfecting a meaningful project. I hated the company I worked for, but damn I loved the grind.
Which probably made
me insane different than the rest of the world.
“Fine,” I groaned. “You win. I like you. A lot.”
He chuckled again, and the sound was rich and chocolatey. I felt it all the way to my toes. He kissed my forehead. “That does make me a winner.” He stepped back for real this time. “Holler if you need anything.”
“Sure thing.”
I watched him walk into the kitchen without moving. This was crazy. Right?
And if it wasn’t crazy, what was it? What were we?
We hadn’t even been on a date yet. We’d done nothing but kiss and confess feelings. I hadn’t even had time to process this long enough to decide what I wanted from Ezra.
Besides more kisses obviously.
So maybe I didn’t need to put a label on us yet. Or any kind of pressure to figure it out. I wasn’t going to obsess over him or us or this. I was just going to let it happen. Because it was anybody’s guess right now where we’d end up.
I was just Molly, remember? And he was Ezra F-something Baptiste.
I was just a girl trying to figure out what the hell I was doing with my life. And he was everything smooth and successful. He’d already figured out life. He’d already accomplished what he’d set out to do.
Oh my god. We were too different. This would never work.
It couldn’t.
I was in so far over my head, I was already drowning and we’d only just put our feet in the water.
Spinning around to face the white wall, I tried to stay the panic rising up inside me like a tidal wave. My chest hurt as I struggled to even out my breathing. My hands started shaking and I reflexively reached for a paintbrush.
There, that feels better.
When my heartbeat didn’t slow, I grabbed my palette too. I’d asked Ezra to repaint this wall before I started my mural, so a fresh coat of white gleamed back at me, like a lighthouse in the middle of a storm. A beacon calling me to safer waters.
I couldn’t analyze Ezra right now without freaking out. I couldn’t wrap my head around our conversation or his kisses or anything that had to do with him having feelings for me.
I pushed my rampant thoughts out of my head and turned them into an endless flow of inspiration instead. His dark hair, those endless eyes, his mysterious smile that made my soul move in a way that nothing else ever had turned into a relentless vision that I couldn’t wait to chase.
After I’d sketched a rough outline with pencil, I returned to my palette. Reaching for the acrylics I’d bought just for this project, I spread them out on my palette and began mixing the right shades. When I finally reached for my paintbrush, something significant settled inside me, lessening my fears and strengthening my spirit.
Painting became the protective cocoon that rescued me from the trembling fear I only just kept at bay. Ezra stopped by later to ask if I wanted to eat lunch with him, but I couldn’t give up painting. I told him I was in the zone, but I would take a raincheck.
The truth was I’d only bought myself time. I had no idea if I would take a raincheck. I had no idea what I was doing at all with my life. Except for this mural, my life suddenly felt very much like it was careening out of control.
I needed to do something about that. Later. When I could think and obsess and freak out in private.
For now, I was going to paint.