Page 66 of Loud Unspoken Memories

I point to the logo. “Can you zoom in on that?”

She clicks and the large logo fills the screen. It’s similar to our current one, only crisper, more vibrant. And a hell of a lot more interesting. It’s hard to even put my finger on what’s different. The texture? The depth of the background? The subtle difference in shading and color?

“Holy shit. This is amazing, Marti.”

She draws in a breath, then releases it. “You really think so?”

“Yes, I do. You’re super talented. You should show these to Lucas. He runs our marketing. He’d go nuts over these.”

Her quiet laughter sprinkles the air. “Dallas, I was just playing around. I’m not going to show anyone anything.”

“I’m just saying you should. He’d flip. We’ve had the same old tired branding for years.”

“Branding is how you’re recognized. You don’t want to go changing it.”

“We wouldn’t be. Not really. See what you’ve done here? It’s the same but different. Better. A lot better.”

At the compliment, another shot of color splashes across her face. She closes the laptop.

I touch the lid. “I want those. All of them. What’s your usual price?”

Her eyebrows melt together. “I’m not going to sell them to you. I didn’t even do that much. You can have them.”

“That’s bullshit, Marti. Don’t ever underestimate or devalue yourself like that. You’ve got genuine skill.” I carefully fish my wallet out of the nightstand, making sure my fingers don’t touch anything they shouldn’t. Then I hand her my business card. “Email them to me. Please. I’ll show them to Lucas and if he wants to use them, we’ll pay you fairly and generously.”

She takes my card and tucks it inside her laptop. “Whatever. You don’t have to patronize me.” She gives me a hard stare. “And if by some miracle, he does want them, you’ll pay my normal fee and nothing more, or else I’ll know the graphics aren’t really what I’m being paid for.”

Guilt is back in full force. But for a very different reason. I don’t like what she’s insinuating. I don’t like it one goddamn bit. But I bite my tongue.

The air between us is filled with awkwardness.

She wraps the spare blanket around her shoulders. “I need to shower. Desperately. I’m just having a hard time convincing myself to get out of this cocoon and go become an icicle. What I wouldn’t do for a warm bath.”

I glance over at the hot water on the stove and get an idea. “Give me a half hour.”

“What for?”

“I’m going to draw you that warm bath.”

Chapter Twenty-eight

Martina

He gets out two massive pots, fills them with water, sets them on the stove, then disappears into the bathroom where I hear him filling the tub.

It’s hard not to smile knowing what a kind, chivalrous deed he’s doing.

When he comes back into the room after adding the two boiling pots of water to what must have been a dauntingly cold tub, I start to get up.

“Not yet,” he says, refilling the pots at the kitchen sink. “It’s going to take at least two more rounds.”

“I’m sure it’s fine now, Dallas. You really don’t need to go through all the trouble.”

“Stay.” He points a finger at me. “Go big or go home, right?”

I settle back on my pillow. “Whatever you say.”

A little while later, he emerges with a smile. “It’s ready now. And I don’t mind saying I’m a little jealous. It’s a shame my tub isn’t big enough for two.” He sees I’m ready to put up an argument. “Shhh. Not a word. It’s all for you swe—uh, Marti.”

---