Unfinished Muse (16 page)

He gave me a sheepish look. “Not all my
assignments are…human. I wouldn’t want you to see me looking like a
giant lizard or a monster covered in fur.”

I frowned and looked him up and down, then
felt my cheeks grow hot when I realized I was blatantly eyeballing
his bare chest. I looked away as the doors opened and let us out on
the second floor. “I’m not sure I follow. Why don’t you just take
off the costume?”

We walked together to the cafeteria, and he
held the door open for me. His smile had disappeared. “It’s not
that simple. Let me get us settled and I’ll explain. Do you have
time to talk today?”

I shrugged. “Apparently, nobody is keeping
tabs on me here. I can take all the time I want.”

His grin was instantaneous, and this time it
formed a second dimple. “Good. Have a seat. I’ll get our
drinks.”

I opened my mouth to object, but he’d
already spun around and started ordering. Nothing made me feel more
awkward than having somebody I didn’t know well pay for my order.
If I objected, was I being rude? If I let it happen, was I
thoughtless? Something about this guy made my insides go mushy and
the neurons in my brain misfire.

Not sure what else to do, I found us a table
and settled in to wait.

A few minutes later he slid into the booth
across from me, bearing two large cups filled with steaming,
cinnamony goodness. He set them down, then readjusted his bare legs
against the vinyl seat.

I pulled my cup closer. “Thanks for the
coffee.” I took a sip and sighed in appreciation. “Will you let me
get the next round?”

He shook his head. “Absolutely not. I’m
being a delightful host right now.” He shifted and winced as he
peeled his leg free to move it. “Aren’t I delightful host?”

I smiled. “You are a delightful host.” I
tipped my cup at him. “Thank you again for the coffee.”

He squirmed a bit, then settled. “So, how’s
the Muse gig? Are you finding your footing?”

I grimaced. “I’m doing my best. Are all the
departments so reluctant to train their new hires?”

“You’re not getting training?” He took the
plastic lid off his cup and blew into it to cool the liquid.

I shook my head. “One day. Since then, I’ve
been completely on my own. No one will even talk to me. I just keep
finding new assignments in my inbox.”

His eyebrows rose in surprise. “Damn. So
you’re, like, flailing around by yourself?”

“Something like that. But I’m figuring it
out.” I paused. “Sort of.”

“So, how many clients do you have, now?
You’ve only been there a week.”

I scowled. “Less than a week. I have three
clients. I think I can do this, as long as they don’t throw any
more at me.”

He put his coffee down. “Wow. Baptism by
fire, I guess.”

I nodded. “I have two of them under control,
but the third one is stuck, and I have no idea what he’s even
supposed to be doing.” I glanced around to see if anyone was
watching—I had no idea if this would break any rules no one had
told me about—and pulled the assignments out of my purse. The night
before, I’d scrounged an old folder with Lisa Frank unicorns and
rainbows all over it. The folder might not be dignified, but at
least it kept my assignments together without causing further
wrinkles. And it fit in my bag.

Rick smirked at the brightly colored sticker
of a purple and white panda. “Nice.”

“Do
not
make fun of my stickers.
These are vintage.” I flipped the folder open and pulled out the
three pages, fanned them across the table, and pointed at the one
on the left. “See how Mark’s description is left blank? What the
hell is
urban development
? How am I supposed to help him if
I don’t know what he’s making?”

The frustration in me had built worse than
I’d realized. As I spoke, my voice was louder than I’d intended.
And a little more shrill. A couple of women wearing white,
feathered wings glanced in our direction, and I slammed my mouth
shut.

Rick reached out and took my hand. His
fingers were warm and the middle finger had a callous on the side
of the top knuckle. Interesting. He was left-handed, too.

“Look,” he said. His fingers stroked the
inside of my wrist and made me shiver. “You’re doing the best you
can. And according to this, you’ve got a whole month to get him
sorted out. Don’t worry. You can do this.”

He pulled his hand away, and my
disappointment was almost physical.

“Thanks.” I looked away so he wouldn’t see
how much I wanted contact with him again.

Rick glanced at his phone. “My shift is
done, so I need to go get out of this ridiculous get up.” He peeled
the backs of his legs free and slid out of the booth.

“You never told me why you were dressed that
way.” I wanted him to stay. Maybe if I stalled him, I’d get a few
more minutes.

He drained his cup and tossed it in the
trash. “That will have to wait, I’m afraid. But I’m off tomorrow.
Can I convince you to play hooky?”

“My first week?”

He shrugged. “Nobody’s keeping an eye on
you. You could check in first thing in the morning, then meet
me.”

I bit my lip while I considered. He was
right. Nobody was keeping an eye on me, and I could keep the belt
and bubbles and check on my clients over the weekend. Who would
know? Who would care? “I could meet you here, I guess.”

“Great! I look forward to it.” He grinned at
me, then spun around to walk out the door, leaving me with a memory
of bare chest, the smell of leather, and smiling green eyes.

Wait. Green? I’d have sworn they were blue
the last time I’d seen him.

Chapter 13

To my surprise, both Missy and Alex needed no help
with their projects when I looked in on them.

Alex had assembled the basic structure of
two separate sections of the outside of the house. Presumably, once
he was done, they’d fold together to form the whole or swing open
to show the detailed inside. He was building a dollhouse, of
sorts.

I didn’t hang around long. He whistled to
himself as he glued, and I sat on a box nearby to watch. After some
initial hesitation, Oscar hopped up next to me for head scratches
and cocked his floppy ears toward me every time I made a
comment.

The Beastie Dust hung unused on my belt. If
there was some terrible consequence of not keeping a client’s pet
unconscious while I worked, then someone should have damn well told
me what it was. Leaving me to my own devices to figure out my job
meant I made my own rules. Screw it. Oscar wouldn’t rat me out.

I gave him a squeeze. “Gotta go, buddy. Your
human is doing fine without my help. I’ll check in on you two in a
few days.”

Oscar gave his tail a quick shake, then
hopped off the box to go lie in his bed next to Alex. Alex never
paused, his face tense with focus. He’d be perfectly fine on his
own. I left, feeling confident.

When I stepped through the door into Missy’s
apartment, I didn’t see her right away. I followed her voice down
the hallway into Cassie’s room and found mother and baby giggling
together while Missy changed Cassie’s diaper. Missy tickled the
baby’s belly and kissed her toes, then finished getting Cassie
dressed. I leaned against the wall and watched, amazed at how
carefree and relaxed my client was.

She put her little one in the crib and
flipped the switch on a musical mobile that dangled snowflakes.
Music from the movie
Frozen
played while the snowflakes
rotated above the baby, just out of reach.

I followed Missy out of the room, both of us
humming “Do You Want to Build a Snowman” with the mobile in the
baby’s room.

In the living room, Missy made a circuit,
putting away toys, picking up tiny bits of paper from a shredded
magazine Cassie must have gotten ahold of, and collecting dirty
glasses and an empty baby bottle. I trailed behind and watched her
throw away the trash and set the empties in the sink.

She puttered around for a few more minutes,
then turned on the television.

“Oh, hell no.” I fumbled to unhook the
bottle on my belt. “Enough with the screwing around. It’s time to
get to work.” I opened my bottle of Thought Bubbles and dunked my
wand.

Before I had a chance to blow, Missy plopped
on the floor in front of the coffee table and pulled out her box of
supplies. She placed what she needed on the table, chose a fresh
page and a photo, and got to work.

I stood with my arm bent, dripping bubble
juice on the carpet. “Well, okay then.” I felt sort of useless,
fully prepared to inspire only to find I wasn’t needed. “I must be
better at this than I thought.”

Taking a day off on my first week had seemed
irresponsible. But now it seemed like no big deal. If at least
two-thirds of my clients didn’t need me, what was the point? In
fact, maybe the entire point of my job was to get people started. I
was the queen of getting stuff started. Maybe I wasn’t so great at
finishing, but these people seemed to be.

I’d continue checking on them in the weeks
to come, but it seemed I’d already done what I’d been assigned to
do.

Mission accomplished.

Watching someone cut paper and glue it in
place was about as mind numbing as watching someone glue toothpicks
together on a bed of wax paper. I didn’t stay much longer at
Missy’s than I had at Alex’s.

One stop left for the day, and I’d have a
three-day weekend. Sort of.

Since nobody had said anything to me about
taking my belt home before, I had no intention of going back to the
office after I checked on Mark to drop it off. I wasn’t done
working for the day, but I was home for good.

I popped my head into the kitchen. “Hey. Is
he doing anything new?”

I’d left Phyllis in the window to keep watch
for me. Since Mark was proving to be my most difficult client,
having a second set of eyes on him throughout the day couldn’t
hurt. Or whatever it was Phyllis used for looking at things. Magic
of the gods, maybe. I didn’t want to think about it.

“He went out once to get the mail. That’s
all I’ve seen him do until he left in a huff about an hour ago.”
She dropped her voice to a near whisper. “Terwilliger was banging
on our door. You might want to check. She’s on another crusade and
left a note. Mark had his crumpled in his hand when he went
out.”

I groaned and whispered back, as if the
landlady might be standing outside with an empty water glass
pressed against the wall and her ear. “Is she still out there?” I
crept through the kitchen and eased the door open. Sure enough. A
bright green slip of folded paper was taped to the chipped paint. I
detached it and ducked back inside.

“What is it?” Phyllis shivered her branches
in my direction. “Read it.”

I unfolded the paper and cleared my throat.
“Hear ye, hear ye…”

“She didn’t!” Phyllis sounded
scandalized.

I laughed. “No. I added that myself.” I
skimmed the page, then read it for my houseplant. “Management has
received several complaints of people working on personal projects
in the courtyard public area. Please refrain from using the
courtyard in ways that will inconvenience other residents, cause
excessive noise, or leave behind leftover materials or damage to
the property. This includes but is not limited to: hammering,
sawing, spray painting, and screwing.” I giggled, then slapped my
hand over my mouth.

Phyllis snorted. “Screwing? Did she really
prohibit screwing in the courtyard?”

I nodded, dropping my hand. “Number one,
she’s hilariously stupid. Number two, that bitch! This is directed
at Mark. People have been using that courtyard for projects for
years. Remember when the McGinleys brought all that IKEA furniture
outside so they’d have room to put it together?”

Phyllis’s leaves lifted in what looked like
a shrug. “I watched them screw up that bookcase. If I could have
talked back then, I’d have sent you out there to tell them how to
fix it. They had the side panel on upside down.”

I smirked. “When did you get so wise about
putting together furniture?”

“Sweetheart, I’ve been watching the world
for a very long time. My roots go surprisingly deep. You’d do well
to pay better attention to my advice.”

“You’re right.” I folded the paper in half
and tossed it in the trash. “And at the moment, you’re the only one
in the world who’s got my back.”

~*~

With nothing better to do while I waited for Mark to
come home from wherever he’d gone, I pressed the button on my belt
and headed over to his empty apartment. Maybe he’d left some
drawings on his desk or something.

I was well aware I was in sketchy territory,
spying on him while he was gone. But I was a Muse. That should give
me immunity, right? I was trying to help.

The kitchen was tidy. Three ceramic jars in
graduated sizes lined the counter, their lids secured with metal
clips. There was nothing else on the counter but a toaster, coffee
maker, and a single clean glass drying upside down on a
dishtowel.

I ran my finger over the cheap, laminate
countertop. It came away without any stickiness or grease, like it
might at my house. Impressed, I concentrated hard enough to
interact with my surroundings and peeked inside a cupboard. All the
dishes and glasses were neatly stacked on clean, striped contact
paper. The next cupboard was filled with food: jars of rice, honey,
granola, olive, and coconut oil. Everything he had seemed to be
either outright healthy or at least not bad for you. And it was so
tidy.

I made a face and checked his fridge. “Holy
crap.” I stood in the light of the refrigerator, shocked. “How can
any one person eat so many vegetables?”

It was like looking into my mother’s
kitchen. I took a look in the lower cabinet next to the sink,
knowing what I’d find. I squatted for a better view. Sure enough. A
big, shiny juicer shared space with one of those mini blenders that
makes a single smoothie right in the cup.