Emily

Saturday mornings should be for sleeping in. Especially the Saturday after Thanksgiving.

I left Ethan sleeping in his bed and trudged downstairs to make some coffee. I’d remembered to bring my Death Wish from home, thank goodness, because I was definitely going to need the extra jolt of caffeine.

Dammit lifted his head from inside his carrier but didn’t bother to get up. Even he was exhausted after the last forty-eight hours. Poor little guy. So much excitement. He’d made a lot of new friends, and much to Ethan’s chagrin, seemed to favor Lennox over the others. I wasn’t surprised since we’d already established how much the two of them had in common.

Both Dammit and Ethan were still knocked out when I made my way quietly out the door, and I couldn’t wait to return to them.

I gave serious thought to feigning an illness to get off early, but I knew Arthur would be stuck picking up my slack, and I just couldn’t do that to him.

The day dragged on at a snail’s pace, and the gallery was a virtual ghost town. I couldn’t understand why Niko insisted on keeping regular hours in November and December. Nothing ever happened—there were no showings, no big events to prepare for.

The rest of the staff members weren’t salaried like Arthur and me and worked only when events were booked, so it was just the two of us most of the time. The gallery being so small, I often wondered if Niko even needed me, but he assured me running the gallery alone would be too much for Arthur.

I wasn’t so sure, but let it go because only an idiot would talk herself right out of her dream job.

It was mid-afternoon when Niko called, and I knew as soon as Arthur passed me the phone that there was bullshit coming down the pipeline.

Lately, that’s all there ever was.

Bullshit.

Random, cryptic comments made during pointless phone conversations. At least he’d stopped coming into the gallery. I’d hoped he would retreat to somewhere with a climate he found more palatable, but he was sticking to New York lately, and I suspected I knew why.

Ethan.

Or rather, Conspicuous.

“Hello, Nikolai.”

“Emily, so nice to hear your voice. How was your holiday?”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, you know the drill…gobble ’til you wobble and all that stuff.”

“Indeed.” He chuckled hollowly. “I must say, you didn’t appear to be wobbling in the photos I saw.”

Shit. Here we go again. Which personality will come out this time, I wonder?

“Beg pardon?”

“I was scrolling MSN and saw a photo of you with Mr. Chase’s band doing some charity work in the wee hours of the morning yesterday. You looked to be enjoying yourself.”

“Of course, I was. It was an amazing thing to see, such selflessness and compassion. With all that’s going on in the world, gestures like that give me hope.”

“Absolutely. It was wonderful. And I noticed you seemed to be quite friendly with the group—I take that to mean you’re making headway with regard to the contract?”

Ah, The Pimp has made an appearance. But for how long?

I’d taken to naming Niko’s various mood swings. Sometimes he was The Pimp, who all but threw me at Ethan as bait to get him to book another exhibition. Then there was The Prude, who gave me judgy looks when he visited or clucked his tongue into the phone while reminding me what an amazing professional opportunity this was.

There was also The Prick, who snipped at me for no apparent reason even with no mention of Conspicuous. That had happened a few times, but I bit my tongue in an effort to retain my job. I loved the job, the art and artists I dealt with every day. It was my dream.

Still, something had to give because I didn’t trust myself not to snap at him in a big way if things continued on this path.

“As I said, the contracts are forthcoming. It’s the holiday season, Niko. And the end of the year, lots of things going on at once. If Conspicuous says he’s going to do something, he follows through.” I was being curt, probably more than was advisable, but he was getting on my nerves. “I’m concerned that constantly pressuring him to commit to something before he’s ready would convey a sign of mistrust on our part. Or would you prefer me to tell him that you’re concerned and give him your number?”

There was an extended pause, during which I picked at my nails and grinned to myself. I hadn’t technically threatened to tell Ethan he was nagging, but the possibility hung in the air just the same.

Eventually, he blew out a breath. “No, you’re right. I apologize. I’ve been…overzealous. I’ll not mention it again in the near future.”

Not exactly a complete shutdown, but I’d take it.

“Thank you. I really don’t think you should worry. He’s a man of his word. You can trust him.”

“Do you trust him, Emily?” His tone had shifted, and I sighed as I realized The Prude was making an appearance.

“Unequivocally.”

He was quiet again, and I let him have however long he needed to get his attitude in order, to let him think about what he was about to say before he opened his mouth— not that he tended to do that in recent weeks.

He spoke carefully. “I’m proud of my gallery. I want it to succeed. And I want it to only be seen in the best possible light.”

“As do I.” There was an edge to my voice that I hoped he would understand.

“That’s good to hear, Emily.”

I stood, ready to get this shit over with and go home to Ethan. “Was there something else?”

“No. I just wanted to check in.”

“Okay, great. I need to go finish up my work. Glad I could set your mind at ease. Have a good day, Nikolai.”

“You as well, Emily.”

I hung up, wanting to break something. Or throw something. Preferably at his head.

Such a pain in my ass.