Page 42 of What I Should've Said

They’re getting closer and harsher, and holy shit, what if it’s an angry, scary man on the other side?

Immediately, I pull my knuckles away, and my throat seizes around a ball of panic.

Gah, Norah. Way to think this through!

My legs twist on themselves as I turn to leave, but it’s too late, I can tell by the sound of the door whipping open behind me.

“What in the hell is going—Norah?”

For as scary a scenario as I pictured of a stranger with a gun or a knife or a will to kill, the voice I hear behind me is infinitely more terrifying.

Oh my God. Don’t tell me that voice belongs to who I think it belongs to.

Slowly, I turn around, trying to catch my breath as I do, but it doesn’t get any better when I see his grumpy, gorgeous face. Bennett stands there, staring at me with bewilderment in his eyes and irritation on his lips.

“Hi, Bennett,” I say with forced dignity—like I’m not at all surprised to find him here. Like I’m not utterly floored that he’s the mystery artist. “Sorry to bother you at home.” I steady myself, refusing to shake my head at my stupid apology. “But I was wondering if you could find a minute to tell me whether I got the job or not.”

My skin feels clammy, and my heart may actually be seconds away from an explosion, but I steel my spine and roll my shoulders back like I’m not on the brink of demise from finding out that Bennett Bishop himself is the artist I interviewed to work for.

“I know you’re a busy guy and all, but I’m kind of trying to get my life started over here. And in order to start starting over, I need to know if I got the job. So do I have the job, or don’t I?”

He stares at me for what feels like an eternity. Seriously. I fear I might reach my deathbed before he responds, but then, he runs a harsh hand through his hair, lets out a deep sigh, and shocks the ever-loving shit out of me.

“You’re hired.”

Evidently, I’ve lost it, because I swear I just heard Bennett say I’m hired even though I’m standing on his doorstep uninvited, demanding answers while looking like a wet sewer rat. I’m pretty sure a psychologist would call these auditory hallucinations, and that would warrant an inpatient hospital stay.

“Excuse me?”

“I’ve answered your question, and this is the part where you tell me your decision,” he states, his gaze locked with mine.

“What?” It’s all I can say.

“I just offered you the job. Now, you need—”

“You want to hire me?” I question, completely ignoring that he had more to say. “You want to offer me the job?”

He sighs again, but he also nods. A silent yes, but still, a yes.

“But why?” I don’t even think he likes me, and I know today’s behavior is completely outside of what he’s looking for more of in his life. But he’s offering me a job? Where he’ll have to see me every day? I don’t get it.

“You have an intuition with color, Norah,” he answers, and his voice is matter-of-fact. “A tangible ability to connect reality with the abstract. The wall you painted? It was from memory of a sunset last week, right?”

His words are a shock to my system. They are a one-thousand-piece puzzle, and I feel like I’m missing half of the pieces.

“I… How do you know that?”

His answering smile isn’t happy—it’s edgy. I wish I understood it. I wish I understood Bennett Bishop at all.

God, maybe this isn’t such a good idea. I mean, I really want the job—need the job—but working for him sounds like one of the worst notions I’ve ever had.

“Look, I don’t know if this is going to work,” I say, my voice devoid of any and all confidence I had on my way over here. “You and me together, every da—”

“Dad!” a young but strong voice calls, completely interrupting not only my sentence, but my very ability to breathe. “Daddy!”

Daddy?

Bennett whips around quickly, just as the small girl appears at the mouth of the hallway. She’s walking slowly in a long, pink nightgown, seemingly holding on to the wall for support. She’s a beautiful little thing, but she’s also small and frail, and it seems like each of her movements takes a Herculean effort. Like the simple task of walking isn’t a simple task at all.

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