Page 50 of Love Is an Art
“Did she text you?” Ben asks. “You’re smiling.”
I nod. The drawing is sweet … but not for his view.
“We should get back to work.” I face my computer screen and scoot my chair up to my desk. I quickly sketch a Dalmatian—or something that could resemble a dog with spots—and text her a photo of it. I check my watch and call Roberto, the CEO of Comidas en Canasta. He picks up on the first ring.
“We loved the marketing company you recommended,” Roberto says. “I had my doubts because I’d never heard of them, but the work they’ve already done in Mexico City is impressive. So yes, we’re going to go with them. Thank you for finding them.”
Roberto and I talk in some detail about proposed marketing strategy. We’re totally on the same page. This company, Comidas en Canasta, is going to be a success. I’m sure of it.
As I hang up the phone, Ben asks, “When are you seeing her again?”
“Thursday. We’re going to an art lecture at the MoMA.”
“Did you set that up last night?”
“Confirmed this morning.”
“So not playing it cool?”
“As if you’re one to talk. You definitely didn’t play it cool when you were pursuing Brooke, Mr. Can-you-check-out-Brooke’s-garbage-can-and-see-if-she-frequents-Starbucks-or-Joe’s?”
Ben chuckles. “But I wasn’t the one checking out her garbage can.”
“You were the one hanging around Joe’s waiting for her to show up.”
Ben shrugs. “She was worth the wait.” He punches me lightly on the arm. “Let me know if you want me to do any reconnaissance for you.”
“I’m good.” I can trust Tessa. I might as well announce our relationship has no future if I need to spy on her.
Chapter fifteen
Tessa
Zekeshiftsnexttome in the hard, wooden auditorium seating. Now that I’ve made the decision to tell Zeke the truth, I want to get it over with. But I was late to meet him at the MoMA, and he went in and held our seats. I couldn’t exactly whisper “I’m a lawyer” to Zeke when the lecturer had started holding forth, and I was sliding into the spot he saved for me. So frustrating. On the way over, I’d been all prepared to blurt it out the minute I saw him.
The penalty is sitting through this boring lecture. My huge yawn a minute ago probably belied my trying to appear fascinated. This is excruciating. It doesn’t help that the lecturer dimmed the lighting in this lecture hall so his slides can be seen. Nor does the fact that I worked until midnight last night to free up this evening. And I still barely made it out of the office at five.
The head of the person in front of us falls forward and jolts back up.
Zeke catches my glance. His mouth tips up.
If he does think I’m an artist, now he has yet another clue as to my lack of success. The fine details of brushwork bore me.
“In conclusion, the brushstroke is the physical manifestation of the painter. It imparts texture and color, but also emotion. Remember to also ask yourself: What emotion do I feel when I see this painting?” The lecturer points at the last slide of his presentation. “Questions?”
The guy next to us asks a barrage of questions.
As we all file out of the room, he turns to us. “Great lecture, right?”
We both nod.
“Oh, look at this painting here,” he says. “This is definitely a cross-hatching technique. Don’t you agree?”
“Yes, definitely,” I say. Why have we been adopted by some brushstroke fanatic? Is this some sort of karma?Please, no more.I’m about to confess right now on my knees that I am not an artist.
No. I can do this.I’m a litigator. I can build up an expertise on any topic. “It appears to be building up the areas of light and shade.”
“To show truth and deception?” the guy asks. “It’s calledLies and Other Truths I’ve Been Told.”
