Page 12 of Partnering with the Artist

“That’s…reassuring,” I offer, not exactly feeling reassured. “Is there somewhere you’d like us to park?”

“Anywhere out front works for today. Only my brother’s fiancée visits, and the drive’s large enough for two cars to get by need-be. So long as you don’t park horizontally.”

“Imight,” Morana mutters.

“Hm?” Zakery inquires.

I shove my hand in her face. “She’s not talking. Right,Morana? I’m doing the talking, remember?”

Her eyes roll off me, then she eases our car forward and parks, onlyslightlyslamming her door when she steps out.

Following her out, I hiss, “We aretryingto get a job.”

“I amtryingto show that I’m not an easy target and project that if anyone tries anything with you, I willremove their organs.”

I glare, which is wholly ineffective behind my sunglasses.

“Is everything all right over here?” Zakery asks, folding hishands together as he approaches.

“Yup!” I squeak, shoving my elbow into Morana’s chubby side.

“Sure,” she drones, unaffected, as though she’s hiding a six pack beneath her padding.

Zakery peers between us, addressing me. “Your sister reminds me of Kyran.”

“I…hope that’s a good thing?”

“It’s something, that’s for sure.” He twists on his heel, toward the stairs. “Let’s get inside so we can discuss the details of this arrangement out of the sunlight.”

“Sounds great!” I chirp to mask my nausea as we climb up, up, up and into a very large, very chilled, very dark palace…

?

As soon as Zakery mentions that he’ll be starting Morana off on a seventy thousand dollar salary, she loosens up, so he leaves her in the capable hands of Kaleb, the gardener, and brings me toward a spiraling staircase. Stomach still knotted, I do the only reasonable thing—and trip on the first step.

“Whoa.” Zakery just manages to catch me before I face-plant against the hard marble at his shoes. “Careful, princess. There’s a stair there.”

Yeah, I know. It’s a staircase. There’s gonna be stairs there.

Sheepish, I grasp the railing for dear life and pull myself upright, out of his hold. “Sorry… I’m very bad…at…walking.”

He chuckles. “I don’t mind if you keep falling for me; just make sure I’m around to catch you.”

My skin blazes, but he’s already turned back toward the steps, so I follow until the stairs open on a long hall lined with windows. Lavish curtains frame the dirty glass, and it’s completely apparent that there’s not been a maid around here for some time. Poor Morana… Maybe seventy grand a year isn’tanywhere close to enough.

While I’m worrying about my sister, Zakery opens the door to his bedroom, and waits patiently for me to step inside.

Large.

His bedroom alone is bigger than my parents’ house, bigger than my house. It’s justhuge. And brighter than all the other rooms we’ve come through as massive, tall, and clean windows looking out over vast gardens and a stunning gazebo area take up one corner past a dais. Central to the brightest spot on that dais, a plush daybed sits. On the edge of the dais, firmly positioned away from the glare caused by the windows, a giant drawing tablet rests tilted on a stand in front of a leather rolling chair.

To my right, a bed.

To my left, a bathroom and a closet.

On the walls…hundredsof pictures, patchworked together.

Comic con trinkets take up space on a long oakwood dresser and the matching nightstands. A stack of sketchbooks fill a tall bookcase also cluttered with nerdy paraphernalia. Drawing supplies burst from the organization drawers on a desk beside the bookcase, and I swallow, overwhelmed by it all.

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