Page 187 of If You Give an Artist a Killer Muse

“Emma asks about you often,” He grins down at me, his face lighting up as he mentions his wife. “She’ll be home in time for your birthday. If you can’t speak to me about anything, come to her?”

I nod. Emma Rogers has been the mother I wish I had grown up with. Of course, I’ll go to her.

After Mr. Rogers is satisfied with my answers and is reassured that Rurik won’t be a problem for our plan tomorrow, I’m left alone again.

I should go home.

But if I do, that means I’ll be alone. And when I’m alone, it gets dark, and the voices in my head return.

Lately, the darkness and the voices have barely shown up, though. I’m assuming one reason is the constant buzzing on my phone—like now.

I pull my phone out and see a voicemail waiting for me.

“Hey. It’s me again. Rurik, in case you forgot about me.” He releases a deep sigh. “It’s only been a few days, and I feel like I’m going crazy. You’re being seriously unfair. Why the fuck did you pursue me only to walk away? I’m sorry about my cousins. I told them about you, by the way.” He pauses before chuckling. “I know, a little too late. Can you just… Can you please call me back? I’ll settle for you telling me to fuck off. Please? I really need to talk to you about something. Okay. I’ll try again later. Bye.” He pauses for a few more seconds before adding, “Call me back, please.”

Aww, fuck.

Fuck me.

Motherfucking fucker that gives all the fucks.

I’m losing the will to remain cold and continue ignoring him.

How can I keep ignoring him when he sends me voicemails? He rarely does that. Actually, has he ever?

Fuck.

Tomorrow. I’ll call him after tomorrow. Once justice is served, everything will be better.

I just know it.

*-*-*-*

“Thank you all for having me here. With great humility and gratitude, I stand before you today at this remarkable event honoring our migrant workers. These dedicated workers, often far from home and loved ones, represent the essence of dedication and sacrifice.”

I roll my eyes and mutter, “Such bullshit.”

Nat snickers beside me as we continue to listen to some speech Philip is saying some intern probably wrote that.

“I am deeply honored to be part of this noble cause and express our heartfelt appreciation for their work. And let us not forget the families left behind, who endure their sacrifices, supporting their loved ones from afar.”

Applauses and shouts of support erupt from the crowd, and Philip pauses to wave at them all.

My eyes roll for the 100th time today.

“Let us take steps to ensure their well-being and provide them with the support and resources they need to be successful. Let’s create a future where every worker is valued and respected.”

“What were the steps to ensure Amaura’s well-being, Chef Greene? Was she valued and respected? Was her work appreciated?” I scoff under my breath before turning to Nat. “I can’t listen to this anymore.”

“I think he’s wrapping up,” She says.

I look back at him, and sure enough, he’s smiling and waving at the crowd again as if he genuinely believes the words he just said.

“Okay, ladies,” Oscar’s voice filters in our earpiece. “Mike will be leading him off the stage, but they changed his position at the last minute. He won’t be with them. It’ll just be the three. One guard will be watching his back. The other two will be walking on either side of him but keeping their distance and eyeing for potential threats.”

“Ooh, I can’t wait to see these hot, beefy men,” I tease. “How do we know which ones are they?”

“They’ll be hot and beefy,” Nat grins. “Question. Will they be all in uniform? And will the uniform be tight-fitting? I hope not. I’m a sucker for men in uniform.”

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