Page 66 of Things We Tell Ourselves

Evelyn nods knowingly. “So huge narcissist.”

“Yeah, but wait, that’s not the best part. His assistant comes back to introduce us. Hubert Lichtenstein appears, who I’m assuming is going to be the guy in this huge portrait. But, get this, he’s a short, balding, fat guy who stared at himself on the screen throughout most of the conference.”

Evelyn rolls her eyes, giggling lightly.

“I spent the first several minutes trying to compare the man sitting in front of me to the portrait behind him to the point that, of course, he notices. He looks back at it and says, ‘Ah yes, I see you’ve noticed my commissioned painting. It was a gift my brother who made for me when I became a partner. It’s funny,’ he said, ‘I don’t feel a day older than I was when I stood for that painting. The artist was some guy out of east France.’ Anyways,” Camille continues, sitting back in the chair, “it was a struggle to keep a straight face after that.”

Evelyn stares at her. “You weren’t mad when he gave you the offer? Because when you text me, I thought for sure you were fuming.”

“I wasn’t angry,” Camille admits, “it was him offering us the,” she raises her hands, imitating air-quotes, “the best deal we could hope for,” she drops her hands. “That’s when I couldn’t take it any longer, and I actually laughed in his face. One million dollars for all rights, royalties, and licensing. It was even funnier when I saw the look on his face when he realized I was laughing at his offer.” She leans in toward Evelyn’s bed. “I think at first he thought I was happy crying perhaps, but when he realized I was genuinely laughing at what he was saying, he didn’t know what to do. He looked around, maybe his assistant was still in the room, I don’t know, but he had no idea what to do.”

Evelyn leans in. “And what did you tell him?”

“I told him that he was even dumber than he looked in the portrait if he thought that we would sell anything for that amount. I told him that I knew about the company retreat in Austin, where we would never be invited because we aren’t men. I told him that the competitor’s offer was in a completely different ballpark compared to what he was presenting to me.”

Evelyn picks up the pen, scanning over the contract before signing it, struggling to keep the paper still as she signs, not daring to move her left arm. Camille reaches her hand over the bedrail to steady the contract for her.

“And what did he do?” Evelyn asks, not taking her eyes off the page.

“Mr. Lichtenstein expressed how sorry he was that we weren’t invited to Austin, acting as if it were a surprise to him that we hadn’t been invited. That’s how I learned for sure that his assistant was in the room because he even went as far as to chastise the poor girl in front of me—which I quickly told him was pointless because we would not be accepting the deal.”

Evelyn finishes the last signature, handing Camille the pen.

“That was it?” she asks as Camille takes the pen and contract off of Evelyn’s lap.

“He wanted to know who the competitor was who outbid him,” she says, looking over the contract to ensure no signatures were missing.

“And what did you say?”

Camille takes a second, remembering the bald man’s face turn red in anger before she ended the conference call.

“I told him that if he kept his eye on the stock market, he’d know exactly who made us a fair deal.” She flips through it one more time. Every page with a ‘sign here’ sticker is filled out.

Evelyn arches her left brow. “That would have to be a pretty big launch if your boy thinks it’s going to raise the dial on their stocks.”

Camille smirks, dropping the pen in her bag before setting the contract on top.

“He doesn’t think it’s going to help their stocks, he knows. My boy had his team reach out to their biggest accounts. Just their orders alone will be enough that when the news goes live about Integrity Heights signing a deal with Bloom and Bloom, he’s expecting enough of a jump that any orders beyond that will simply be the icing on the cake.”

“Are you ladies talking about me?” Wade asks, walking into the room.

“There’s my knight in shining armor,” Evelyn beams.

So much so that Camille can’t help but giggle, “you better calm down, ma’am. He’s taken.”

“There she is,” a male voice booms behind Wade from the hospital door. Evelyn’s father walks in, totting yet another weekend bag for Evelyn, trailed closely by her mother. Wade walks around the bed to Camille, who’s sitting in the only chair in the room.

“I think she knows I’m taken,” he mumbles, leaning down to give Camille a kiss.

“I don’t mind sharing,” Evelyn says, glancing from Camille to her parents walking in.

“Speak for yourself,” Camille says, rising from the chair.

“I got everything we forgot last time,” Mrs. Sykes assures her, stepping around her husband to look at Evelyn. “Here Stephan,” she motions with her hand for him to give her the bag, “Evelyn could use some rouge on her lips.”

Camille grabs her bag, following Wade to the room’s only window, both of them leaning against the window’s ledge. Wade wraps his arm around the small of her back, his hand sliding down. She nudges him with her elbow when his hand moves too low for them being a room now full of people.

“I don’t need lipstick,” Evelyn groans, “I’m in the hospital.”

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