Page 4 of Love Me

“Hey,” I said.

“Where are you?” she asked. “I’m at the airport.”

“You weren’t kidding about coming here, were you?”

“Do I ever kid about anything?”

I smiled. “I’m in Chelsea.”

“Why?” Her shocked voice further illuminated that I had made a mistake.

“Oh, you know, I just wanted to sell my soul for the chance to show my sculptures.”

“Oh, honey,” she said. “Go to Lower East Side, down Grand Street. That’ll be a better fit for you. I’ll meet you there.”

She hung up and sent me an address. The driver, annoyed with the added route stops but happy for the increasing rate, silently drove. When we approached the address, the building was marked Winter Precipice Galleries. A little dramatic of a name, but whatever. I let the driver go. Misty wasn’t there yet, but apparently, she had some sort of connection to the gallery. But something in my gut told me to go inside without her. I knew I had to take the risk on my own.

The dark gray walls were covered with circular lights, designed to look like candles, but on closer look, they were tiny miniature globes. Thick black barbed wire hung from the ceiling, turning into bird claws, each clutching a different item: lipstick, a compact mirror, a parking ticket, keys. Eerie strings played in the background.

“Can I help you?” a tall woman walking on stilt-like heels asked.

“I’d like to speak to the owner,” I said.

“And?”

She was the owner. I felt like an idiot. “I’d like to set up an appointment to show you my portfolio.”

“You didn’t bring it with you?”

“I moved here yesterday. But I came from the Foundation for the Arts, and nothing’s in—”

She waved a hand. “Talk to my assistant— ” she gestured towards a woman with an afro. “She’ll pencil you in. Bring your best.”

My stomach did backflips in my rib cage. We made an appointment in about a month and a half; apparently, this was the standard wait time with Orinda Jones. I didn’t mind. It would give me a chance to get organized at the condo while also figuring out the best portfolio to submit. And I’d have time to find a job.

I was so lost in thought that I didn’t see the curly, fiery red hair until I had stumbled into Misty.

“Did it go that well?”

“Misty!” I exclaimed. She squeezed me in a hug, and for once, I hugged back just as tightly. It was good to see a familiar face, and I was ecstatic about having a meeting with Orinda.

“Tell me, tell me, tell me. Did Jonesy love it, or did she freaking love it?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I have a meeting with her in a month—”

“Oh, Riley! This is good. This is so good.”

After nearly squeezing the life out of me, she went inside to see her friend; Orinda Jones’s assistant was someone she had known from her time in community college. I hailed a taxi and sat on my hands, biting my lip to keep myself together in front of the driver. Then I couldn’t help it anymore; I squealed. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

On the way, I called Owen, too eager to keep my excitement in. “I know it’s only an appointment,” I said, “But it’s something, you know?”

“It’s an appointment with one of the best representatives for emerging artists,” Owen said. “Jones is well respected in the industry. You should be excited.”

It was barely noon, but Owen opened up a bottle of champagne anyway, not letting any protests of mine get in the way. I indulged. It was nice to think of something other than whether or not I had made a mistake moving to the other side of the country, or letting Owen come inside of me. Looking over our flutes, Owen smiled at me with such warmth that I was able to forget everything that was worrying me. Owen was proud of me and always had been. He always thought of me as an artist before anything else, making sure that everyone knew how much he respected me. I wasn’t only a girlfriend or a submissive to him. I was so much more. And he was more to me too. More than a CEO, more than a hot guy with money, more than a man so powerful he could make my knees buckle and shake. He was Owen. My Owen. And I was his.

I realized it wasn’t getting pregnant that scared me, nor was it the idea that I would be linked with Owen for life if we had a child. What scared me the most was the fear of falling for someone like Grayson and trusting that person with such a heavy commitment. I had already fallen for Owen. Moving across the country together wasn’t a small step. We were full speed ahead, and making a child together would only seal that fate. It was hard for me to trust anyone, even Owen. But I knew he deserved that trust.

But the chances of us actually conceiving a child were minuscule. I had to stop worrying about something that I knew I couldn’t control, especially something that was highly unlikely anyway.

“I was going to get Plan B,” I said as I refilled our champagne glasses, “but I sort of forgot. The whole gallery thing got in the way.”

“Understandably,” he said.

“Aren’t you worried?”

He laughed. “The chances of something happening are so small that I—” and this time, I cut him off and hushed his lips. I straddled him and licked champagne off of his lips. He moaned and I wiggled my hips into his groin. His eyes sparkled. “We’ll be more careful next time.”

I smirked as I pulled out a condom from his back pocket. “Preparation is the key,” I said.

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