Page 82 of Dirty Shots

Chapter Twenty-five

Anya

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Anya didn’t have Logan Blanc’s phone number, or know where he lived. All she knew was the address of his art gallery.

When she arrived, she found the place open, with just a few people browsing the latest artist to be featured. The atmosphere was tranquil, reserved, like that of a museum or library. Pushing down her nerves, she looked around for Logan. This was the first time they’d seen each other since the photo shoot, and she felt weird coming here without Eric.

She spotted him, standing beside a massive floor to ceiling painting. He wore a light gray suit, his blond hair pulled back from his face and tied in a short ponytail. He was already talking to someone—a woman, also smartly dressed—but something must have caught his attention because his gaze lifted over the woman’s shoulder and locked with hers. Surprise registered in his green eyes and he gave his chin a slight jerk to acknowledge he’d seen her.

He leaned in and said something to the woman. She nodded, they shook hands, and the woman walked away.

Logan approached Anya with a smile, but also concern in his expression. “Anya, hi. Everything okay?”

Unexpected tears filled her eyes. “I’m sorry, Logan. I shouldn’t have come to the gallery, but I didn’t know where else to find you.”

It suddenly occurred to her that she could have just called the gallery, rather than coming down here. She hadn’t been thinking straight.

He frowned at her tears. “Is it your parents?”

She shook her head. “No, I haven’t even heard from them.”

“It’s Eric, then.” It wasn’t a question.

She nodded. “I’m worried about him. He’s not eating. He’s sitting working for hours on end. He even missed his gym session.”

“Shit.”

“I know it doesn’t sound like a big deal...”

“No,” he interrupted. “I know what he’s like. It is a big deal.”

She bit her lower lip, but she was thankful to have Logan to confide in, even if a tiny part of her felt like she was betraying Eric by speaking to his friend behind his back.

“He keeps talking about perfection, and how he’s going to show everyone. He got really angry with me when I tried to... distract him.” Her cheeks heated with shame at the memory.

Logan reached out and gently touched her arm. “It’s okay. It’s not about you, not really. He has an illness—a mental one. He’ll need to adjust his meds for a short time.” Logan sighed. “The difficulty will be making him see he’s ill again. When he gets like this, he convinces himself he’s just feeling inspired or working hard, and he doesn’t acknowledge it.”

Anya tried not to feel shocked at the idea of the man she loved having a mental illness. She knew a lot of people suffered, and that it wasn’t Eric’s fault. It might even be a part of what made him brilliant.

“Why didn’t he tell me?” she said.

“I guess he was worried he’d scare you off.”

“It would take more than that to scare me off.”

The faintest hint of a smile tweaked the corners of Logan’s lips. “Good.”

“So,” she started, not wanting to say the wrong thing, “what sort of mental illness does he have? I mean, I know he’s suffered from bouts of depression.”

“It’s bipolar disorder. He has periods of highs and lows—highs where he feels like he can take on the world and he won’t sleep, and he’ll go through these obsessive, creative phases—”

“Like he is right now?”

Logan nodded. “And then when he reaches the end of that phase, when he’s so completely exhausted and he can’t cope mentally or physically, he’ll drop into a pit of depression, and not even be able to speak to anyone.”

She put her hand to her mouth. The idea of Eric like that broke her heart. “Oh, my God. Poor Eric.”

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