Christina sighed as she hung up the phone and started to type an email. At his age, Mr. Emery really should be handing the business to his daughter. She understood this world much better than he did. Unfortunately for him, part of his misunderstanding was that women were not capable of running a company.

Even though his daughter was far smarter, with a degree in business and another in accounting, her dad didn’t trust her with anything. He wouldn’t even let her answer phone calls for him, in case she “got ideas” about her place in the company.

He’d said she would only have a role to play in the company when she was married. Then her husband could take over the business and make sure she ran things correctly when Mr. Emery was no longer around to manage the place. If only he knew a little more about social media and the internet, perhaps he’d have known that Gracie Emery was a lesbian.

At least it meant Christina had work. Unlike other women, she was a trusted business partner for Mr. Emery. She was different in his eyes, though. She was calm and collected. She never wore her hair down or showed her knees under her dress. She didn't blush or giggle or even slap when she was hit on at work. She was bitter, snarky, and mechanical. As far as Mr. Emery was concerned, she wasn’t a man, but she wasn’t far off either. More like a robot, which he seemed to rank above women in terms of their ability to reason.

It was ridiculous thinking like this that got her most of her work. When she’d started out she’d wanted to just be herself. To be professional, of course, but also to be able to go for after-work drinks, joke around, and dress however she wanted. Make friends and just be normal. She’d learned fast because that was her strongest skill set. Adapting to her surroundings. Most of the people she made friends with in order to succeed at her job were like Mr. Emery—older men, from privileged backgrounds, with antiquated attitudes.

Smiling at them was flirting. Wearing something too bright or too low-cut was unprofessional. Going out for drinks was a date, even if there were ten other people there. There was nothing she could do that wouldn’t be misinterpreted. There was no way she could carry herself that wouldn’t ruin her career prospects. The best she could do was be cold, cruel, and hope they forgot about her quickly.

In fact, most of her employers no longer considered her a woman. The worst part was, she didn’t really mind. They’d just give her work and let her focus.

Her entire childhood she’d been ashamed if she wasn’t warm and friendly. But what had that got her? Condescension and oversight. The “bitch” always got the promotions. The “bitch” got respect. The “bitch” got a life. She was happy to star in the role of “The Bitch.”

But now, with Mr. Spencer, that understanding had been turned on its head. He made her want to be a woman. Want to be vulnerable and sweet and kind. Not necessarily all the time, or at the expense of her identity and her work. Just sometimes. Whenever she damn well pleased.

She wanted to stop being a machine now and become human again. For him. She wanted to relax and just be herself. Not spend all day trying to avoid being judged. She wanted to be as natural and wild as he was. She wanted to let loose, and be a sweet girl or a bitch, maybe even a combination—to find her own identity as naturally as he’d found his paint in that chaotic room.

She knew he was against marriage. She knew that he was cold and detached from most people. She knew that he went through girlfriends like a teenage rugby player went through pizza at a buffet. There was no hope that he would change. Men like that never did. They just kept going—burning through girlfriends, having fun with whomever they wanted, and casting aside anyone who ruined their fun.

Christina could try and lie to herself that Matty Spencer was able to change. That she could change him, but it went against all her experience. He had an amazing life. He wouldn't just become a different person because she still held onto the hope of marriage, against all the odds.

But he was the most amazing man she’d ever met in her life. He was the most handsome, powerful, and natural person she’d ever been around. She never thought she could meet a client she liked, let alone fall in love with.

Especially him. When she’d researched him and his company, she was almost certain that she would hate him. He was the mind and the wallet behind Mia, the automated system that’d ruined so many of her clients' lives. He was the reason that perfectly decent people lost their businesses, or had to completely remodel their houses, all while he got richer.

But she was wrong. She couldn’t even dislike him. He wasn’t a broken monster. Seeing him in that studio was like watching a caveman. That was how people were meant to be. He wasn’t some complete asshole, with his disorder, lack of punctuality, and poor filing systems.

She wanted nothing more than him. She wanted him to have her completely. And she wanted to surrender herself to him. She wanted to fall back to her primitive self and just be.

Everything else she did, from dressing that morning to sending Mr. Emery's final email, felt like a hollow attempt to extract meaning from a meaningless society. What was the point of any of it, if it didn’t make her happy?

She nodded politely at Mr. Emery as she handed him two pieces of paper. An invoice and a report of everything she’d done. He seemed relieved and carefully read both sheets before signing the invoice at the bottom. He promised her a check in the mail as soon as he had a moment to write one out.

“Thank you so much.” He stood from his chair.

“You’re welcome.”

It was odd. Normally it felt good to finish a job. Great, even. It was like her world was in balance, everything in its place—she’d created a little bit of order out of a clusterfuck.

But now she was like Sisyphus pushing his boulder up the mountain. What did it matter that she’d managed to keep Mr. Emery's website from collapsing? In a week or two it would fall apart again, and she’d be back in his office all over again.

It reminded her of what Mr. Spencer had said about the dust in his studio. That fine chalky powder which came from dry, smashed clay. It would creep, every single day, no matter what he did. It would take him most of the day, or a lot of money, to keep it from building up in the room.

Christina would’ve fought against it the entire time she was there. But Mr. Spencer didn’t. He could produce one work a day, if he was inspired. And he’d lived in that house for fifteen years, according to her research. That was a theoretical five and a half thousand pieces he could’ve made. From what she’d seen there weren’t nearly that many.

But it was still far more than she could’ve made. While she was spending her life fighting the natural disorder of the universe, Mr. Spencer had embraced it, and in doing so he’d created amazing beauty.

Christina left and drove home. Her flat was a world apart from the mansions and penthouses that her clients lived in. It was a small apartment with a tiny bathroom and a small kitchen area at the back. The medium-sized windows down one side of the room overlooked a quiet little alley.

It wasn’t big, or grand, or full of expensive and interesting items. But it was clean, it was tidy, and it was home.

Picking up the mail, she realized she’d missed two days' worth. The morning before seeing Mr. Spencer, she’d left before it’d arrived. Since then, she’d only been home to change for dinner. She paused and sighed, looked around. It was early evening. She couldn’t afford to wait much longer to go through the letters or she’d be no better than her clients.

The chaos constantly crept up on her. She could do whatever she liked to try and push back against it, but at the end of the day, it would always win. She opened a couple of bills and pinned them to her oversized calendar, specially made for her to organize everything. She threw a couple of fast food advertisements into the shredder, holding onto one for a kebab shop. A kebab would be nice for dinner after the day she’d had. Not healthy, or amazing. But tasty and cheap and there’d be no dishes to wash.

Her phone rang while she looked through the rest of the letters.

She recognized the number from America and knew it could only be from one person—her father. He lived in Lexington, Kentucky. She leaned back against the wall. “Hello?”

“Miss Smith?”

“Yes.”

“It’s Doctor Stein.”

Christina’s heart dropped into her stomach. Her father had cancer, but it’d been in remission. “How may I help you?”

“I hate to say this, but your father asked me to call. He’s not doing so well.”

Christina blew out a sigh of relief, not at the fact her father was sick again, but she’d feared the worst. “I see. How’s it looking?”

“Not good. I’m sorry.”

“Tell him I’m on my way.”

“Yes, Ma’am. There’s one other thing while I have you.”

“Yes?”

“I apologize, but there are problems with his insurance. We’ll need to discuss that when you get here.”

What in the hell? He shouldn’t have any problems with insurance. She didn’t have time to deal with that at the moment. She needed to be on the first flight out. “Okay. See you shortly.”

Christina stood there in shock. It felt so surreal. The cancer had been in remission after an operation and radiation, and had shown no signs of spreading. He’d been well when he’d called her last weekend. Normal even.

Her heart was a hard lump in her throat. They’d been warned this could happen at any time, of course. She knew it could return. But, it wasn't supposed to happen to her, or her family. It was something that happened to other people.

She logged onto an airline website and booked the first ticket back to Lexington. Back home. She hadn't been home since Christmas two years ago. She moved to the UK years ago to study, and fell in love with the place, adopting their customs, and tastes. America was like a foreign land to the young expat.

She typed out an email to all her clients and booked herself a cab to Heathrow, then she threw her laptop, charger, and a change of clothes into a bag and walked out the door. All she wanted to do was cry, but she had to hold it together. She needed to be there for her dad. She could deal with herself later.