I want to tell her to shove her greeting where the sun doesn’t shine, but instead, I pull my shoulders back and stride past her. “You’re visiting the gallery?” I ask.
She nods and follows me inside with the man on her heels. Unfortunately it would be unbecoming of me to shove the future Luna of Ordan out on her ass, so I have to let her come in. Although I don’t bother holding the door for her.
“I’m here to purchase some artwork,” she says, her heels clicking on the tile floors.
She pulls her sunglasses off once we’re safely inside, and her eyes–gray and cold, like the kind of dirty ice that forms along the
side of the road toward the end of winter–flick over me. “You must work here.”
I want to tell her that I’m an artist myself, but I don’t think it would make a difference. Not that it matters if I had anything to say anyway, because she goes on, “I could really use some coffee before I meet with the artist. They’re a big name in the art world, you know, and I feel a little drowsy after a late night rubbing elbows with the city’s elite. Not something you’d understand, I’m
sure.”
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Chapter 19
I stare at her, not really sure what her hangover has to do with me.
My hesitance seems to make Selina bristle. “Well?” she asks, snapping her fingers–snapping them. “Be a dear and fetch some coffee for the future Luna of Ordan, will you?”
The man goes to say something, but I shake my head and plaster a smile on my face. Despite what I really want to say to Selina, she is an authority figure in this city, where I just so happen to be building a reputation as an artist. I don’t need more bad press right now.
Without another word, I head over to the nearby coffee bar and begin to pour a cup. The coffee must be freshly made, because the dark liquid steams as I prepare it. Behind me, Selina daintily sits at the table and crosses her legs, checking her watch rather impatiently.
“So,” Selina says, tapping her foot, “Iris, what is your position here at the gallery? Docent?”
I bristle a little as I return with her coffee. “I’m an artist,” I reply calmly.
Selina glances up at me, and for a moment, I’m not sure if she believes me. Finally, she retorts, “Ah. I did hear that the gallery provides free arts and crafts classes for kindergarteners on the weekends.”
My lips pinch together and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from retorting before I’ve had a chance to truly consider my words. The coffee cup is still held between us, the hot liquid scalding my hand slightly through the cardboard.
Selina doesn’t take it, but rather flicks her eyes to the empty space on the table.
“Set it there. And add some cream and sugar, will you?”
That’s about the end of my rope. Selina is treating me like a waitress, expecting me to not only brew coffee for her, but to also set it in front of her and prepare it to her liking.
“For the record,” I say bitterly, moving to set it down, “I don’t teach the kindergarteners. I’m the star artist of the month.”
Selina snorts. “Flora? Oh, please. You couldn’t hold a candle to her talent. In fact, I’m purchasing one of her paintings today. We’re going to ask her to endorse us publicly, too, in the light of the controversy that you caused. She’ll accept a tidy sum from us. Something you should have done years ago instead of causing trouble.”
Her words make my hand jerk in surprise–not because of the insult, but because of the implication. She’s the buyer I’ve been so excited to meet?
Without entirely meaning to, I tip the cup a little in my haste to set it down, sending hot coffee splashing onto Selina’s priceless heels. She jumps up with a screech, doing a little dance to get the coffee off. I don’t feel very bad for doing it, even if it was just an accident.
“You little human bitch!” she shrieks, raising her hand as if to slap me.
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Ibrace myself for the slap, but it never comes. The man she’s with has just made a sound, a low rumble in his throat–a warning
That’s when it hits me: this is Arthur’s Beta. I’ve only seen him in pictures since our breakup five years ago.
Selina stiffens, quickly lowering her hand and smoothing down her shirt. A smile is immediately plastered across her face, and I
realize that it’s only because the door behind me has swung open and the gallery curator has come in.
“Oh, I’m so glad you came,” Selina says, hurrying over to the curator. She points at me. “Your employee has just spilled coffee on
me.”
The curator glances at me, then at Selina. “You mean Iris? She’s not an employee, Miss. She’s our star artist. The one you
scheduled to meet.”
Selina’s face goes pale as she turns to me. I feel a smug sense of righteousness coming on when I see the realization dawn on her, but most of all, I just feel angry–angry that a prejudiced woman like Selina would try to buy my star painting, which is steeped in
symbolism
Not only that, but she wants me to back them in public? Fat chance of that happening.
And I’m going to make sure she knows just what I think.
With a deep breath, I lift my chin and say, “Miss Selina, let me make myself perfectly clear: I will not sell my painting to you, will I endorse you. No amount of money in the world will make me do either of those things.”
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