Page 48 of If You Give an Artist a Killer Muse

-Hi again! I can’t wait to see you this morning. I miss our morning jogs.

-Where were you, angel? I didn’t see you today :(

- There’s an art festival happening in NJ this weekend. Would you like to come? We could go as friends. I can be friendly.

-Or not ;)

- Why do you work in that bougie grocery store? You don’t seem to be the type who cares if his food is dairy-free, gluten-free, or everything delicious-free. Then again, if you are—no judgment. Are you gluten-free? I can find places in the area of the art festival that can cater to your preferences.

- You’re ignoring me, aren’t you? That’s fine. I can stay inside your text message inbox for however long it takes, angel. Soon, your inbox notifications will be so overbearing that you’ll want to check these messages and reply, right?

-So, how long have you been painting? Have you always wanted to be a painter?

- How long have you been living in the States? I can hear the Scottish accent there, but I sometimes catch a few American drawls here and there. ;) ONE OF US. ONE OF US!

- Hello, the inside of Rurik’s Phone. Lovely to see you this morning. Have you been making sure Rurik does his morning runs? Because I haven’t seen him in forever.

- Have you seen or read Outlander? You can be Jamie Fraser to my Claire. Since you’re a foreigner here, you’re technically an Outlander. Should I change your name to Outlander instead of Angel?

-I’ve been having a blast chatting with you, Rurik’s Phone.

-10/10 would recommend.

So yeah. I may have spammed the shit out of the man’s inbox. That’s normal, right? It’s not my fault he wasn’t replying to me! The last text I sent was last night. What I find interesting is that he hasn’t blocked me yet. I know this because he read all my texts.

The asshole just doesn’t like to reply. The fucking audacity of this man.

Is he one of those people who looks at a text, mentally replies, and says they’ll reply later but forget about it?

My phone vibrates, and I immediately sit up, thinking it was him.

My face falls. It’s not.

Nat:

-Heyyy bitch. Sending you the coordinates for this morning’s job!

I roughly throw myself back in bed, groaning. I don’t want to go to work today; I just want to lie in bed and daydream about Rurik or curl up and veg as I scroll through social media.

Mainly Rurik’s.

I get Nat's coordinates and enter them into the map. I frown and sigh, letting her know I'll see her there. Grumbling, I get up and change into my dress, arming myself with my favorite dagger and guns. Being the Charon's secret weapon is such a chore sometimes.

“Why do you always wear that dress?” Nat asks an hour later when I hop out of my car.

“Because I look fucking beautiful,” I scoff, placing my hand on my hip. “Also, these men should see something gorgeous as the last thing before I kill them.”

“What makes you think you'll have to kill them?” Nat laughs as we gear up. “What if they give us what we need, and we let them go?”

I raise a brow, “I mean, we can let them go. But where’s the fun in that? What if they decide to come back for revenge or something?”

Nat shrugs, “Let them come. That’s why I have you and Oscar to protect me.”

I playfully punch her arm, “Bitch.”

“Love you, sweetie,” Nat giggles. She turns to face her, her gaze swallowing my black boots and pink skater dress that hugs my waist and flares around my hips. She whistles with approval and nods.

This is what I do.

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