Choose Me (The Me Novellas) (8 page)

“Okaayyy.” He waited.

“I don’t know,” I repeated. “It’s a huge decision, you know?”

“I know.”

The silence was thick, like a blanket smothering me.

“I made an offer on the house today,” he said suddenly, changing the subject. “The owner accepted it.”

“That’s great,” I said.

“It needs a ton of work but I can do it with the tenants there. And when it’s finished, it’s a house we can consider. For us.”

My heart skipped a beat. Another milestone. His.

“That’s really great,” I said again. I didn’t have anything else to say.

He sighed. “Is there anything I can do?” he asked. “You know, to help you figure things out?”

I ran my fingers along the comforter, my nails catching in the satin fabric. “I don’t think so.”

I wasn’t trying to be uncommunicative. And I wasn’t trying to blow off his offer to help. More than anything, I was paralyzed by the choice.

“OK,” he said. “I’ll let you figure it out on your own, then.”

He said a quick I love you and the phone went dead before I could respond.

There was a knock at the door.

“Everything OK?” Lance asked from the hallway.

I sat up and straightened the comforter. “Yeah, fine.”

He pushed the door open and peeked inside. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

I raised my eyebrows. “Uh, I’m alone.”

He nodded at my phone. “Only as alone as you’ll let yourself be.” He grinned. “You can do some kinky things with cell phones these days. Trust me, I’ve written about them.”

I tried to fight back a smile but it was useless. “You’re terrible.”

“You have no idea,” he said. He plopped down on the bed next to me. “How did it go at the gallery?”

For some reason, it was easier to tell Lance.

He settled back on the bed as he listened, legs crossed, his elbows propped behind his head.

He let out a low whistle when I finished. “So she wants you to be her artistic, indentured servant?”

“What?”

“You know, pay you for service. Six months of painting. Five paintings. And then she’ll release you.”

Put that way, it sounded horrific. “Essentially, yes.”

He nodded. “For a hundred grand, though? Right? It’s not based on quality, just quantity. You produce five paintings. Period.”

I nodded.

He closed his eyes, thinking. “That’s a shitload of money, Meg. More than I make in six months. Even writing porn.”

“I know it is,” I said. “But
…
”

“But what?” he asked, opening his eyes. “Six months and you’ve made more than most people make in a year. Oh, and it’s doing something you like to do. Not like she’s asking you to swim with sharks or clean prison toilets.”

“I know, I know.” I rolled my eyes. “But there’s something you’re forgetting.”

“What? That you don’t like money as much as I do?”

“No,” I said. “Something else.”

“What?”

“Andy.”

TWELVE

Lance considered this. “Yeah, that’s sort of a problem.”

“Yes. It is.” I shifted on the bed, focusing my gaze on the photos mounted on his walls. I wondered what had happened to the dark-haired guy in the pictures. Lance hadn't mentioned a significant other.

“And you two are serious, right?”

I turned to stare at him. “We’ve been together for two years. We share a house. Yes, it’s serious.”

“Like long-term-commitment-possibly-marriage serious?”

I nodded. I knew we were close, closer than we’d ever been to making the commitment. And part of that was because of the steps I’d just taken in the last week, with the art show in Minneapolis and then coming to DC. Hitting those milestones. And the step Andy had just taken. Buying the house.

“OK,” he said. He thought for a minute. “So maybe he can move out here? For six months. You’ll have enough to support both of you, especially if she pays you up front.”

I pictured the check Katya had slid across the desk. I was getting every last penny up front if I agreed to the arrangement.

“It’s not that simple, though,” I said.

“Why not?”

I explained what Andy did. Managing properties wasn’t a job he could telecommute to.

“And he just bought a house,” I said. “Like, literally just bought it. Today. There’s no way he’s going to be able to juggle getting that in the shape he wants, managing properties, and flying out to visit me. You know?”

Lance sighed. “Well, I guess that’s out.” He closed his eyes again.

“Well?” I asked. “What else?”

“What else what?”

“What else can I do? What angle haven’t I considered?”

He cocked one eye open and looked at me. “There aren’t any other angles. There are no shades of gray. God, I hated that book.” He shook his head in disgust.

“We’re not talking about a book, Lance,” I said, frowning. “This is my life.”

“Right, right.” He cleared his throat. “There aren’t any other choices. You either take the money and live here and do what you love
…
or you don’t take the money and go back to Minneapolis and do what you love.”

Put like that, it sounded callous and cold, like it somehow all boiled down to money. But it didn’t. There was more—much more—wrapped up in that hundred thousand dollar check. Opportunity. Exposure. Infinite possibilities.

For a price.

I cradled my head in my hands. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Well, what do you want?”

“All of it.”

“No, you don’t.” He stared at me. “You don’t want to move here.”

“OK,” I amended. “All of it but that. I mean, it’s a ton of money
…
”

“Well, sure,” he said. “A hundred thousand
is
a lot of money. Hell, for a hundred thousand dollars,
I
would learn how to paint.” He looked up, a pained expression on his face. “Not that I’m saying I could do it. Jesus, not what I meant. Not trying to belittle the hard work that goes into–”

“Oh my God, shut up,” I said. “I know what you mean.”

He smiled. “OK. So yeah, there isn’t much you wouldn’t do for a hundred grand. Isn’t much anyone wouldn’t do for that kind of money.”

“Right. I know.”

“But your man is back in the frozen tundra,” Lance said. “And he can’t move here. So your choice boils down to two things: love or money.”

“But it doesn’t,” I protested. “It’s more than that. It’s
…
success.”

He nodded, biting his lower lip as he studied me. “Right. Success.”

“I mean it.” I stood up and started to pace the room. “This is my chance. You know, to get my work out there. To see if I can make a go of this, to make a living off of my art. For six months of my time, I can earn enough money so I can seriously pursue this. Create a website. Register for table space at art festivals when I get back home. All of that stuff.” I glanced at him. “This is my porn.”

Lance grinned. “Damn right it is. So, you’re gonna do it?”

I mulled over the choices, trying to insert myself into each alternate universe.

“I don’t know,” I said. “But I need to figure it out.”

THIRTEEN

I didn’t sleep that night. Bedded down in Lance’s massive, king-sized bed, his pillow-top mattress as soft as a cloud, all I could think about was Katya’s proposition. Andy had listened but hadn’t offered much insight. Lance, by contrast, had offered too much. I’d set the alarm on my phone for seven o’clock but I didn’t need it. I hadn’t closed my eyes all night.

I stumbled into the kitchen and Lance was already sitting at the breakfast bar, pecking away on his laptop. A cup of coffee and a blueberry muffin sat next to him.

“Hey,” he said, smiling. “How did you sleep?”

“I didn’t.” I made my way into the kitchen, digging a coffee mug out of the cupboard. I poured myself a cup and sank down on the chair next to him.

“I’m sorry.” He looked at me with sympathy. “Is there anything I can do?”

I shook my head and sipped. “I wish.”

“When does she want an answer?”

I shrugged. “Some time today, I guess. The show is at eight tonight. I imagine she’d like to know before then.”

He nodded his head, thinking. “What happens if you say no?”

“What do you mean?”

He pushed the laptop away and set his hands on the counter. “I mean, are there any consequences? If you march down there right now and tell her no, does she pull your pieces from the exhibit?”

I hadn’t thought about that. “I’m not sure.”

Lance nodded. “OK. Because that would sort of suck. Coming all of this way, being promised something
…
but that something hinging on you doing something else.”

I knew what he meant and it was a situation I hadn’t considered. I doubted Katya would do that, simply because she’d paid for me to come all of this way, and on such short notice. Even if I didn’t accept her offer, I was pretty sure she’d still exhibit my paintings, if only so that she could make a small commission off of them if they did sell.

But there was another reason I didn’t think she would do it.

Because she didn’t expect me to say no.

“Plans for today?” Lance asked. He started typing again.

“Uh, try to make a decision,” I said, grimacing.

His lips stretched into a smile. “Are you gonna sit here and stare at the wall while you decide or would you like to go somewhere?”

“I don’t know yet.” The package of blueberry muffins was on the counter next to me and I reached for one.

“Alright. I need to write for a bit but I’ll be free later if you want to do something.”

I leaned closer, taking a peek at the screen. “A play?”

“Uh, no.” He grinned.

I shook my head and took a bite of the muffin. It was good but not as good as the muffins I made. I thought about my kitchen back home. A late September weekend would be spent one of two ways: stealing a few hours in my studio, painting, or holed up in the kitchen, baking. Apple pie, apple crisp, pumpkin muffins. I loved to bake and I loved having roommates who enjoyed my cooking. I loved having a boyfriend who enjoyed my cooking.

I sighed. It was one of the many things I would miss. I stole a glance at Lance. After two dinners out and pre-packaged or pre-made breakfasts and lunches, I was pretty sure he’d appreciate having home-cooked meals.

But he wasn’t my boyfriend. He wasn’t Andy.

I finished my muffin and retreated back to the bedroom, a fresh cup of coffee in hand. I glanced at the bed, at the tangle of twisted sheets. Would I have had such a restless night of sleep if Andy had been pressed up next to me, his arm draped over me, his breathing light and steady in my ear?

I hated sleeping alone. Was I prepared for six straight months of restless sleep?

My phone buzzed on the nightstand and I hurried to grab it. Andy had sent a goodnight text last night but he hadn’t called. I knew it was earlier there but maybe he was texting first, seeing if I was awake.

But it wasn’t Andy. It was Yuri.

Downstairs in your apartment building. Can I come up?

What the hell was he doing here? I typed a quick text back.

Give me five and I’ll come down.

Was Yuri here for an answer? I wasn’t prepared to give him one yet and I really didn’t want to see him, but I couldn’t blow him off completely. I changed into jeans and a t-shirt and pulled my curls into a ponytail.

My phone buzzed again. This time it was Andy. Calling.

I grabbed it. “Hey.”

“Hey.” His voice was sleepy, like he’d just woken up. “How are you?”

“I’m alright.” I slipped into a pair of sandals.

“You sleep OK?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What are you doing?” Andy asked.

I didn’t want to tell him but I didn’t want to lie, either.

“Well, Yuri is here
…
”

“He’s at Lance’s?” Andy’s voice was suddenly sharp. “Right now? This morning?”

“No,” I said. “I mean, yes. He’s not
in
the apartment. He’s waiting downstairs. Said he needs to see me about something.”

“About
…
?”

“I don’t really know.” It was the truth. I didn’t know why he’d shown up at Lance’s building.

“Have you given any more thought to Katya’s offer?” He said the word
‘
offer’ like it was something vile.

“A little.” I didn’t tell him that it had consumed me, kept me up all night long.