Unfinished Muse (23 page)

“Better?” Mom took away the dirty dishes and
set them in the sink.

I nodded. “Better.”

She returned with a dishtowel and wiped the
table. “Want to talk about it?”

I shrugged. “I’m having a hard time getting
the hang of my new job. Turns out, I may have been the reason the
person before me lost her job, and everybody wants me to fail.”

She paused and looked at me, her eyes
narrowed in thought. “Well, then, you’ll have to disappoint them,
won’t you?”

“I’ve tried everything they taught me to do,
but I can’t get the clients to listen to me.”

“Then try something else.” She moved to the
trashcan and shook the towel to get rid of the crumbs. “Rules are
only good if they work. If they don’t work, change direction.”

“Try something else.” I brushed off a crumb
she’d missed. “Okay. Yeah.”

She sat in the chair across from me and
tented her fingers under her chin. “You’ve never really been one to
do things the way people expect you to. Find your own way.”

I had no idea what I was going to do, but I
felt a lot better. She was right. I was trying too hard to do it
their way. I was trying to follow rules I didn’t understand, with
constraints I wasn’t convinced were necessary.

Somehow, I had to figure out Wynter’s way to
solve this problem. And whoever was screwing with me was going to
fail.

Chapter 19

I had to admit, I didn’t feel as confident about
things when I got up for work the next morning. It was one thing to
decide to do things my way.

Figuring out what
my way
entailed was
another matter.

As I got ready to start the day, Phyllis was
uncharacteristically quiet. In fact, the lack of chatter was a
little unnerving.

“Are you okay?” I poked her soil. “Do you
need water? Maybe some sun in the courtyard?”

One leaf dipped and brushed the back of my
hand. “I’m fine. A little worried about you, though. Any ideas
yet?”

“Not a clue. I’ll start by checking in on
all of them. Maybe they straightened out on their own.” I glanced
out the kitchen window. “Maybe I’ll stop at Mark’s on the way out.
See if I can jump start him before I go.”

“It couldn’t hurt, I suppose.” Her voice
sounded pinched, as if she were trying not to cry.

Which was weird for a plant.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

Several branches flapped. “Everything is
fine. Go. Be productive. Inspire art. How am I supposed to
people-watch all day if you’re in my light?”

She was trying to make a joke of it, but I
could tell something was bothering her. I was positive it was
concern for me. The best I could do was get the job done. Then we
could both be less stressed.

Before I left, I set her in the kitchen
window like I’d been doing for the last few weeks. When I crossed
the courtyard and stood outside Mark’s door, I turned and gave her
a wave.

He opened the door before I had a chance to
put my hand down and turn around to knock.

“Who are you waving at?” He sounded
amused.

I faced him, embarrassed, then saw he was
standing in the doorway, soaking wet, with a towel wrapped around
his waist. A small towel.

I shrugged in an effort to appear
nonchalant. “My plant,” I said. “We’re very close.”

He smirked. “Cute. So, what can I help you
with first thing in the morning like this?”

My eyes watered at the strain of keeping
them focused on his face. A drop of water dripped from his hair and
rolled down his neck to his chest. I smiled harder and didn’t
watch. “I was on my way to work and figured I’d check and see how
Candy Land is coming.”

“Oh.” He shifted from one foot to the other.
“Well, that’s not really a concern anymore.”

“It’s cancelled?” I felt like he’d punched
me in the stomach. The Muse office probably didn’t give a rat’s ass
if a project was cancelled by the client’s employer. All that
mattered was whether or not the project was completed.

He shook his head. “No. I decided to keep it
simple. I appreciate your help trying to nail down a theme, but
it’s probably better if I just build her a sandbox and a couple of
swings. She’ll like it, whatever we end up doing.”

“Oh.” I tried my hardest not to look too
disappointed. I wasn’t even sure if that would count as completing
his project. Probably, as long as it was done on time. Still, it
didn’t sit well with me.

He didn’t give me a chance to object.
“Listen, I’m feeling kind of exposed, so I’m going back inside.
Thanks for stopping by, though. Maybe I’ll see you later after
you’re done with work.”

Count on it.
I nodded. “Yeah. Have a
good day.” I gave him the same wave I’d given to Phyllis and turned
away as he shut the door. As I made my way to the car, I mulled
over what he’d said. Given the choice, no kid would rather have a
plain wooden sandbox when they could have a candy castle. Was Mark
giving up? Out of funds? There had to be a reason for scaling back
after all the stress he’d put himself through to find the perfect
theme.

I was still trying to sort it out when I got
to work. Caught up in my own thoughts, I plowed right into that
moody receptionist, Patrice, in the lobby.

The snakes on her head rose together in a
chorus of hisses, a few striking in my direction. “Watch it,”
Patrice said. She patted the snakes to calm them. “I just got them
settled down.” She gave me an annoyed frown from behind her tiny
sunglasses, then dismissed me as if I’d never existed.

Her mild reaction surprised me. I expected
her to shriek at me, then turn me to stone or tear my heart out
with her claws—though her claws were actually square-tipped nails
done in a purple and gold French manicure. I’d noticed them when
she fixed her snake hair. Maybe she wasn’t so scary after all.

Maybe not, but my hands wouldn’t stop
shaking, and my knees were a little weak.

Because my day had already gone so well, the
universe—or maybe the crazy people in the Fates department—had one
more surprise for me before I could make it safely to my desk.

I got on the elevator, hit the button for my
floor, and watched the doors close. One floor later, the doors
opened on the second floor and there was Rick. I stopped myself
before I groaned, at least. I retained that much of my dignity.

He was dressed in a pair of tight pants, a
white shirt, and a black cape with red satin lining. He smiled,
revealing fangs, then stepped into the elevator. “Hi.” He held up
his coffee cup. “I was hoping you’d be around for coffee, but I
didn’t see you.”

I tried not to stammer, but I failed. “Oh.
I…didn’t…I didn’t know.”

His eyes looked sad, but hopeful. “Maybe
tomorrow?”

“Well…uh…I don’t know, Rick. I’m kind of
having a rough week.” The elevator opened on my floor, and I ran
out before they’d finished clearing. “I’ll call you, okay?”

The doors slid closed, but not before I saw
the look of disappointment with maybe a touch of anger on his
ghostly white vampire face. I felt like a horrible human being. It
had only been two-and-a-half weeks since I’d seen that same look on
Freddy’s face. I was a serial dumper. And a coward, too.

What the hell was wrong with me?

As I entered the office, I didn’t even look
at Dave and Jeremy. They watched me walk past, and I had to refrain
from rubbing the goose bumps from my arms. However, ignoring them
seemed to work. After getting no response from me, they wandered
off to the other end of the office, no doubt to attempt to make
some other woman feel uncomfortable.

I checked my inbox and found it mercifully
empty. A small, stuffed giraffe I’d brought from home made the desk
a little less stark than it had been the day before, but it didn’t
help as much as I’d hoped. Then again, if I didn’t turn things
around, I’d be packing it all up to move to the Underworld in
another two-and-a-half weeks anyway.

The prop room was quiet, so I slipped in and
grabbed my belt and a full bottle of bubbles. I’d stopped bothering
with the anti-doggy dust once I realized my only animal problem was
Oscar, and he and I had become friends. However, remembering how
tough the previous few days had been, I helped myself to a second
bottle of bubbles. It couldn’t hurt to have extra.

Since there was a small possibility that
taking two bottles was against some rule nobody had bothered to
tell me, I slid the extra into my pocket, rather than attach it to
my belt. At the last minute, I grabbed the Beastie Dust and added
it to my belt. Better to have it and not need it.

I’d been thinking hard about what my mom had
said—if their way wasn’t working for me, I had to find my own way.
I’d decided to give one last try at this the Muse way. If that
didn’t work, then let the crafty people of the world beware: Wynter
was coming.

I bolted out of the building as quickly as I
could and managed to avoid contact with anyone else. When I got to
Alex’s neighborhood, I parked up the street from his house and made
my way up the sidewalk, invisible and ready to fight my hardest to
get him back on track.

No matter what.

I barely thought about the process when I
stepped through the front door. I’d done it enough times lately, it
felt like second nature. When I entered the kitchen, Oscar let out
a yip and hopped out of his bed. His toenails clacked on the floor
on his way over to me.

I knelt to get closer to him. “Where’s your
Alex, sweetie? Is he downstairs?”

Oscar gave me a doggy smile and a short
bark. He turned and went the direction I’d come, not toward the
basement door.

“Okay. We’ll go that way, instead.” I
followed him on the plastic runner down the hallway.

At the end of the hall, Oscar stopped in
front of Alex’s door and whined.

I wrinkled my nose. I knew from my initial
excursion how that room smelled. “If you say so.” I stepped through
the bedroom door.

Alex was still in bed. The curtains were
drawn, his clothes were on the floor, and the smell was worse than
I remembered.

“Dude.” I shook my head. “Dude, seriously.”
I unhooked my bubbles, prepared to use the entire bottle on him if
that’s what it took to get him out of bed. “What the hell happened
to you?”

Oscar, unable to morph through walls like I
could, was unhappy being stuck out in the hall. He clawed at the
door and made a series of annoyed, sharp barks.

Alex groaned and pulled the pillow over his
head.

Disgusted, I blew a string of bubbles at
him. “Get your ass out of bed. What the hell is wrong with you?”
Maybe that wasn’t the most inspirational thing I could have said,
but he did take the pillow off his head, so my method wasn’t
totally crap.

Oscar banged on the door, then continued
scratching and barking.

Alex threw the pillow at the door. “Alright.
I’m up. Knock it off.” He sat up and swung his feet to the floor,
then sat there, rubbing the stubble on his face. “Stupid dog.”

I stood within inches of him and blew
bubbles directly at his face. “Get moving, soldier. That dog’s not
going to walk itself.”

He muttered something incoherent and stood
to pull on a pair of pants that had been hanging over the end of
the bed. He yanked off the tee he’d been sleeping in and replaced
it with a fresh one from the dresser, along with a clean pair of
socks.

I sat on the edge of his bed and watched,
feeling like a voyeur with really bad taste. Once he ran his
fingers through his sparse hair to set it straight, he open the
door and scooped Oscar into his arms.

“I’m sorry, buddy.” He planted a kiss on the
dog’s head. “Had some trouble getting moving today. Let’s go
outside.”

I sighed. It was a start. Maybe the fresh
air would do him some good and make him easier to work with—more
suggestible.

I traipsed behind him blowing bubbles of
encouragement. Occasionally, the wind picked up and the bubbles
went wild, but mostly, the breeze was at our backs and my efforts
smacked him in the back of the head as intended.

Oscar had a long leash, and he led us from
tree to tree, across the street to sniff an intriguing bush, around
the corner to snap at a dirty sock left in the gutter, then down a
few blocks to a park where his little legs finally wore out and he
dropped to his belly on a mound of grass next to a bench. Alex took
a seat and got comfortable. I got the impression this was part of
their regular routine.

“Guess this is it for us, Oscar.” Alex
stretched his legs out and crossed his ankles. “After this, I’ve
got to make some changes.”

I blew bubbles directly into his face. “Like
building a replica of your house in toothpicks, perhaps?” I blew a
few more for good measure.

He sighed. “No more screwing around, Oscar.
Time for me to do something more with my life. He was right. I’m
too old to live with Mom and play in her basement all day building
models. It’s time to do something with my inheritance. Investment
banking isn’t much fun, but it’s respectable, I guess.”

Oscar wagged his tail, lifted his head, and
whined.

Alex shook his head, shoulders slumping.
“I’m sorry, buddy. I won’t be able to take you with me.” He sniffed
and looked despondent.

I scowled. “Who the hell have you been
talking to?” I blew so many bubbles, I felt lightheaded. “You march
back to the house and get back to work on your masterpiece, Alex.
Come on, man. Don’t give up on your dreams.”

Alex leaned forward and scratched Oscar’s
head. “Real life isn’t about dreams, I guess. Being an adult means
giving things up.”

“What? No!” My head swam from
hyperventilating on bubbles, so I dropped to the bench next to him.
“There’s no giving up in toothpick art.”

Alex pulled Oscar up onto his lap and
massaged the little guy’s floppy ears. “We had a good run, though,
didn’t we?”