Page 7 of Partnering with the Artist

“She’s fired me.” Throwing a look over her shoulder, she peels out of the parking spot.

Dread heightens, squeezing air from my lungs. “Why? You’re perfect at cleaning. Particular to a fault. I’ve watched you use my sewing tape to measure the distance between two of the same decorations on our Christmas tree every year for over a decade.”

“And—” A wry, insulting laugh spills from her. “—I am alsonot blonde.”

Blonde? Yeah. She sure isn’t. I blurt, “What does that have to do withanything?”

“Helena wants an allblondehousekeeping staff now. Rich people piss me the—” She curses. “—off. She told me since I’m so good at my job, she’d give me the opportunity to stay on as a maid. But only if I either bleach and dye my hair,orwear a wig. And—of course—if she so much asseesmy roots or my dark hair while I’m on the clock, she will have no choice but to let me go.”

“Oh, Mora…”

Morana seethes. “I’m not wearing a—” She swears again. “—wig to work so I can clean up after frivolous parties for a—” Another swear. “—entitled—” More swears.

“And you shouldn’t have to. That’s insane.”

“I know!” she shrieks. “It’sinsane. And what’s evenmoreinsane, Mae? We won’t have food next week because of this.” A shaking breath leaves her. “I need to start looking for other jobs. Heck, if there weren’t a strictno solicitingrule throughoutSunset, I’d go door to door and pitch cleaning services to anyone who would listen.”

“I’ll look for jobs, too. I’ll…I’ll see if there are any part-time positions, so I can still take care of the house. Maybe waitressing? At Honeycomb?” I like the atmosphere of the little cafe off main street. It’s all yellow and bees. (Not to mention, they have the best breakfast bagel sandwiches in the world.)

“You’ve been fired from waitressing jobs a dozen times, Mae. You are not suited to hold stuff and…” She waves an aggravated hand. “…walk.”

“I can try to take on more for my laundry service?” My heartbeat pounds in my throat. “I can…” I look down. At my poofy skirt. And pink faux fur. “I can make fursuits.”

Morana slams on the brakes at a red light and whips her attention to me. “What?”

“Fursuits. They sell for something like six thousand dollars when they’re made to order.”

“It took you over a month, working tirelessly, to make that one, Mae. We won’t have rent in two weeks, and I don’t think you’ll be able to manage quite the same production quality while you’re rushed and starving. We need something now, or we’re in big trouble.”

Something…now.

Looking over my shoulder, I find the dark card Zakery gave me on the floor beside my paws.

The simple silver cursive font glimmers when a ray of sunlight hits it.

Zakery Bachelor

Artist

Fifty dollars an hour…would cover food.

Several hours a day at that wage would cover a whole lot more.

Taking a deep breath, I decide I have very little left to lose atthis point, lean back over the center console, and reach for the card.

Chapter 3

?

With a cherry on top.

Zakery

“No,” Viktor says, moving to the fridge and pulling out an onion that he then begins to peel on the cutting board next to me.

“Please?” I ask, abandoning sitting on the kitchen island in favor of leaning against the stove where I hope the deadly onion juices are less likely to float into my eyes.

Viktor chops the evil vegetable in half. “No, you cannotbuya woman’s services. I don’t care how politely you ask.”

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