Page 17 of Break Me Beautifully
"I'm not sure," I say from far away. "I've never made a proper collection."
He looks over my shoulder at Min who's arrived with a tray of sky blue teacups. "I'll have Min send Marshall the details. He can help arrange the supplies and timeline. Breathe, Leona."
I blink, then take a shuddering inhale. "Sorry, I'm just shocked. This is happening so fast."
"Welcome to New York City," he says with a wry grin. Sipping the tea, he checks his watch. "I've got to go. There's a gala on Friday. Will I see you there?" I blank out at the question, but he's already walking away.
Min hands me a steaming cup. "Drink," she says sweetly. "You look like you're about to pass out."
Taking the fragile cup, I put it to my lips, sipping without tasting the tea. I'm barely in my own body.What just happened?
As I watch, the woman carries the tray over to Marshall, who takes the cup with a nod. He's looking at his phone, typing with his thumb. There's a faint scowl on his lips, and when he sees me staring, he forces a smile, burying his phone in his pocket. One finger crooks at me.
My knees wobble walking over to him. "Well?" he asks.
"He said he wants to host a show for me," I say in disbelief.
"Good. I thought he would." Drinking the tea, he watches me over the rim. "You look like you don't believe it."
"Because I don't."
"Better change that attitude, and fast. You've got art to create. How many does he want?"
"Ten or something? He said Min would send you the information." The brown-haired girl is nowhere to be seen in the room. I wonder if she went outside or followed Bradford into the side door. "Marshall, I just want to say thank you."
"For what?"
I motion with my arm so hard tea spills on my shoe. "Everything! I didn't know who Bradford was until you told me his name. He would never have seen my work if you hadn't convinced him to check it out. I'm just ... this is really happening. Right? It's not a dream?"
Marshall tosses his head back as he laughs. It's the same way he laughed when he sat across from me on his plane after I'd asked if he'd called me beautiful. He swings forward, hair dusting across his forehead, but he keeps going until his lips are next to my ear, his hand clutching my shoulder. "You're not a great actress, Leona."
I stiffen, staring straight ahead so I don't have to look at his jaw where it nearly caresses mine. There's a painting in front of me on the wall. Purple, blue, a splash of red as wild as my heartbeat. "What do you mean?"
He whispers, "You wear your emotions on your sleeve. Like last night." His grip tightens. "You're the genuine article. That untainted innocence could get a man hooked. I might already be."
There's an undertone of distaste in his realization. It makes my hair stand on end even as my thighs squeeze together. "That's too bad, you're not getting anything from me."
"We'll see." Marshall pulls away so he can look me in the eye. I jut my chin out, challenging his inquisitive stare. I wish I could fake bravery or indifference or any number of things at the drop of a hat. But I can't. And I hate that he can use it against me.
His eyebrows lower, some of the distrust leaves his eyes. "You're not what I expected."
"What?" I blurt, startled by this new turn of the wheel. Marshall is silent for a beat, like he might say more, but chooses not to. His hard heels clack on the floor when he turns and makes a quick walk towards the exit. "Marshall! Wait!"
How am I not what he expected?
How could he expect anything when we only just met yesterday?
It's still cold outside, the air soothing me, but not clearing my head. Marshall is handing off his teacup to Min who is waiting beside the car. She looks at me, lips crinkled, eyes uncertain. Did she sense something was wrong with Marshall?
"It was nice to meet you," she says, taking my cup from me as I pass.
"Yes, same, and thank Bradford for me. He's doing way more for me than he should." I start to follow Marshall into the car, but Min puts her hand up, stopping me.
"Don't overthink it," she tells me flatly.
"I ... sorry?"
"Bradford." She glances at the car, lowering her voice. "Whatever you make, he'll be happy. Don't get stressed over it."
