“You should have told me that’s where the money was coming from,” Griff says as he cracks two eggs into a skillet. “I thought it was from that savings account you started a zillion years ago.”

I shake my head, but don’t tell him that Daddy emptied that account out ages ago.

“I’m really sorry,” I say for one more time. “I’ll borrow the money from Nia—it’s weird taking money from a friend, but she understands and—”

“You don’t need to do that.”

“—and I’ll pay her back eventually with—” I look over at him from where I sit at the Formica table, something in his tone catching my attention. “Wait. Why don’t I?”

“I have the money.”

I sit back in my chair. “You have the money?”

“Well, technically no. But I’m officially in the protocol, and I don’t owe a dime.”

“Oh.” I’m very confused. “How?”

“You, apparently.”

Now I’m even more confused, and I tell him so. “So speak slowly and use small words.”

“I guess Stark offered to cover your salary if you were fired, and you said no?”

“Yeah. So?”

“Well, I guess he doesn’t do no well. He asked Wyatt what you were supposed to get paid, and Wyatt told him about the protocol.”

“And?”

“And apparently he owns the company.”

I blink. “Say again?”

“The company that’s doing the trials is a division of Stark International. So he pulled strings. At any rate, I’m in. Because of you. Or because of that bitch Leah,” he says with an evil grin. “But I’d rather thank my big sister.”

“You’re in,” I say, more to myself than him. “That’s—wow.”

Part of me thinks I should call Stark and say that’s really unacceptable. After all, I turned down the salary reimbursement.

But since that would be insane, I don’t make that call. Instead, I hop off my chair and race over to hug my brother. “This is so amazing!”

“I know, but don’t get excited yet. I’m only in. Who knows if it’ll end up doing any good. I may not get any range of motion back.”

But I refuse to be deterred. “It’s fabulous,” I say as I reach for my phone. My hand halts midway to my back pocket though.

I was about to call Wyatt.

Griff’s watching me, and I can tell from his expression he knows exactly what I was doing. “Now you really don’t have to be in the show. You don’t need the money.” He meets my eyes. “Unless there’s something else you need.”

There is, of course. I need to shake off the specter of my father. I know it. And with Wyatt, I’d been managing it.

But then all that progress had been ripped to shreds because of a few stupid pictures. And everything I’d believed I’d fixed in myself unraveled all over again. And in the unraveling, I’d hurt the man I love.

I sigh deeply.

I need to get back on track. I need to kick Karma to the curb.

Most of all, I need Wyatt.

I need him desperately.

But after the way I walked out, why on earth would he want me, too?

I’m about to explain all of that to Griff when my phone rings. I snatch it up, hoping it’s Wyatt—and then I’m absolutely shocked when it is.

“Hi,” I say softly.

“Hi, yourself. You’re not in Valencia.”

I blink and stand up straighter. “You went to my condo?”

“I figured it was the logical place to find you at six-thirty in the morning. I was wrong.”

“Oh. I’m at Griffin’s.”

I can picture him nodding. “I should have guessed.”

“Why did you—”

“I’d rather say this in person, but my trek across Southern California ate up my time, and I have to get back to the studio, because Cass can only shoot from eight to ten today.”

“Cass?”

“She’s stepping in for you. It’s fine,” he adds before I can say anything. “More than fine, because I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do. I love you, Kelsey.”

The words slip out as if he’s said them a thousand times, and my heart flips over in my chest.

“I love you,” he repeats. “And if I have to choose between my perfect vision of the show and you, well, I choose you.”

“Wyatt, I—”

“No,” he interrupts. “Don’t say anything. I’ll call you later. And maybe I can buy you dinner and we can talk. Okay?”

“Okay,” I say, a little shell-shocked.

“Good,” he says. “I love you, Kels.” And then he just hangs up.

“What?” Griff demands, sliding the plate of eggs and toast onto my place at the table. I return to my chair, but just sit there, not eating. Not answering Griff’s question.

I can’t answer. I’m too stunned. Because I love him, too, but I did nothing but run away.

Yet he just sacrificed everything for me. His vision. His work.

And all I’m doing is hiding here inside these four walls—

Well, fuck that. Fuck. That.

I’m through hiding. I’m through being scared.

Most of all, I’m through believing that fate is my enemy. Punish me? How about reward me? I do something bold and scary and wonderful, then maybe the universe should do something nice for me. Or for the people I love.

I look up at Griffin, my eyes wide.

“What?” he demands again.

“Nia was right. My life’s in a box.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“That’s okay. I know the way out myself.” I take a deep breath, and smile. “You’re looking at the featured model for a stunning new art show opening in a couple of weeks.”

“Am I?”

“Daddy will never let me hear the end of this.” I say the words, but this time—for the first time—they’re missing the usual dread.

“Dad’s in Georgia. And you’re here. And the last time I checked, it’s your life.”

I smile at him. “And I’m going to go start living it.”

I’m pacing the studio when he bursts through the alley door. “Sorry, sorry. I got stuck in traffic, and—Kelsey?”

I lift my fingers in a little wave. “Hi.”

He hurries to me, his expression a mix of concern and joy. “Are you okay? Where are Cass and Siobhan?”

“I sent them away.”

He runs his fingers through his hair, and now his expression looks as if he’s trying for patience.

“Baby, I’m thrilled to see you, but I have to get these shots done. I’m down to the wire here, and Cass has a full plate at the tattoo parlor. She’s squeezing me in around clients.”

“No, she’s not.”

He takes a step back, then looks me up and down. “What’s going on?”

“It’s just that you’re not really that slammed. You’ve got at least two-thirds of the images, and the dance is already choreographed.”

I watch as he swallows. “Kelsey—baby. Don’t tease me.”

“I’m doing the show, Wyatt. Me. The pictures. The stage. Nobody’s taking my place.”

He shakes his head slowly. “We’ve been over this. It’s okay. You don’t have to.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Why?”

“Because I love you, too. Because I’m the girl. The inspiration. I’m your muse, Wyatt. You told me so twelve years ago. And nobody is pulling that out from under me. Not even you.”

I take a step closer. “And I’m doing it because it’s right. Your photos—it’s like you said. They show a progression. And that’s what I need. A path from the old Kelsey to the new. So I’m going to walk the corridor in the exhibit, and I’m going to see my face looking back at me, and I’m going to dance on that stage.

“And the universe won’t fall apart,” I add. “And nothing bad will happen. I know, because your show is amazing and it deserves all the good things. And I know because my father’s theory is bullshit hocus pocus and I’m out from under that spell.”

I lift a shoulder. “I mean, so long as that’s all right with you.”

He bursts out laughing. “Are you through?”

I think about it. “Yeah, I pretty much covered everything.”

“Good.” And he tugs me to him, and I don’t even have time to cry out his name before his mouth is pressed against mine, hot and demanding and so deep it goes on and on, seeping deeper into my body. Keeping me warm. Keeping me safe.

“I love you,” I say, when we break the kiss.

“I should get points for saying it first,” he teases.

“Fine by me,” I say casually. “I don’t want points. I just want you.”

For immediate release:

After fourteen months as a permanent exhibit at the Stark Center for the Visual Arts, the critically acclaimed photographic exhibition, A Woman In Mind, will begin touring the United States and Europe.

The brainchild of W. Royce (aka Wyatt Segel), A Woman In Mind presents a provocative view of sensuality that has both delighted and fascinated members of the general public as well as the critics.

Royce and his fiancée, dancer Kelsey Draper, will tour with the exhibit to limited locations. Though eight of the exhibit’s photos show an “anonymous” woman as a representation of “every woman,” Royce and Draper have made no secret that Draper is the “It Girl” at the center of the show, as well as the performer of the live dance component of the exhibit.

Draper will begin filming The Far Side of Jupiter, an adaptation of the Tony Award Winning musical, in the fall.

The Stark Center is pleased to be hosting Royce’s upcoming untitled exhibit in the spring.