Page 7 of Muzzled

*

Mike knew shewas being tough on him, but she hadn’t taken him under her wing to coddle him. Over the last few months, her mind had become more and more consumed with creating, with putting the images in her head onto canvas and paper and whatever else she could use to purge them from her thoughts. There was an urgency inside her now, one she couldn’t seem to halt despite not knowing what it was she was racing toward. Her creative mind had always been alit with ideas, but this was something new and she found it unsettling to feel so out of control over her own process.

She needed him.

And he needed to learn the business, learn to pay attention to the small details which ate away at profits and interfered with the artistic flow. Logan was young and distractible. He was also insanely talented. Focusing his flightiness had been a long, painful road for both of them, but he needed her brand of tough love and guidance, the kind that pushed him so he wouldn’t fail when she eventually shoved him head-first out of the nest.

The din of the crowd faded into the back of her mind as she worked, the image in her mind zeroing in on the finite details as the piece took shape.

“Logan?” Mike murmured, narrowing her eyes. “Could you pass me the silver paint?”

The jar appeared at her fingertips and she dipped her charcoal into it, wiping all but the faintest residue from the tip and leaning forward to steady her hand.

Something was missing.

She closed her eyes and focused on the image in her mind, backing away to see the whole piece.

Bingo.

She reached into her kit for her pastels, using her jeans to clean off the tips while Logan grumbled beside her, sliding a cloth along her thigh a moment too late to save her clothes.

“Done,” she announced, pushing her chair back and ignoring it as it tipped over and clattered on the cement. She grabbed the sealer and covered her mouth while she sprayed the canvas.

Logan stood and opened the bid, confusion on his face when she shook her head.

“Custom piece,” she announced, squinting to examine the work one last time before she picked it up and jogged through the crowd where the tall blond remained slouched against the brick wall across the street, Logan’s voice calling out behind her.

“Hey,” she said, holding the piece out to the guy and wincing when he startled. “Sorry. It’s just…this belongs with the collection you picked up yesterday.” The man swallowed, staring at the artwork until she nudged it into his hand. “No charge.”

He grasped it gingerly, blinking a few times before he shook his head quickly and gave her a tight smile. “It’s incredible. Maestro Mike did this, right?”

She nodded, running her hands down her thighs to wipe some of the residual charcoal from her palms. “Yeah, about that.” She turned, glaring toward Logan as he watched her from across the street. “Nice to meet you. I’m Mike.”

*

Ryan blinked, lookingher up and down slowly. “You’re a woman.”

Her hazel eyes narrowed. “Last I checked, yes.”

*

“Aw, hell,” hestammered, unable to regain his footing in the face of the fresh artwork in his hand. “Sorry. I’m Ryan. I just…I thought that guy over there was Mike. You…wow. You do amazing stuff.” He skimmed his thumb along the bottom of the piece. “What do I owe you for this one?”

The woman, Mike, ran one hand along the length of her scarlet hair and cocked her head. “Consider it a bonus, Ryan,” she stated, reaching over to still his thumb. “You’re going to smudge it if you keep that up.”

He froze immediately. “Right. Sorry. I, uh, thank you. This is—” Frighteningly precise? Disturbing in its accuracy? “This is good.”

With her lips pursed, she turned away from him, heading back across the street. “Come get a bag for that,” she called over her shoulder. “Logan’ll give it a final spray to keep the charcoal from transferring.”

Keeping his eyes averted from the art, he squeezed through the crowds after her, his heart pounding in his chest when she came to a stop alongside the young guy he’d thought was Maestro Mike. She glanced back at him briefly before she and the young kid had a hissed exchange, and she snatched a cloth from his pocket.

The young guy approached him sheepishly, snapping a bag open. “Hey, man. So Mike said I should give that another quick spritz and bag it for you.”

He passed over the piece reluctantly, unwilling to look at it under the gaze of an audience but struggling to keep his eyes off it. “So that’s Maestro Mike,” he said, turning away from the sealant being sprayed across the canvas.

“Yeah,” the kid replied, waving his hand over the art to dry it. “Sorry I misled you on that. I’m Logan, a Maestro-in-training. She’s kind of my boss and mentor.” He slid the piece into the bag and handed it back. “Enjoy.”

Easing it into his messenger bag, he looked over at Mike as she tore the plastic off a new canvas and wrapped an elastic around her long hair. A hardened concentration settled on her face, her hand already swiping a new image to life.

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