Page 82 of Handle with Care
“There are no cameras in the prep room,” Miguel confirms. “That’s part of the issue.”
I keep from crying out in relief.
Thank God. One small mercy.
“I see.” I keep my composure, do my best to refocus. And not think of how I made Will come in my arms as he arched his back into me, my arms wrapped tight around his body?—
I redden ever so slightly. Yet I continue, if nothing but determined to see this meeting through. I’ll keep my spicy thoughts to myself for the minute.
“Which brings me back to the current situation.” I hold my ground, looking evenly from one to the other. I fidget with the cuffs of my jacket, then force my hands to rest on my thighs. I draw in a deep, calming breath. “You see, it’s the only logical solution: if you fire Will, you have to fire me too. We’re like a package deal. You can’t separate his work from mine. I’m as responsible as he is.”
“Dylan, you have your whole future in front of you.” Miguel gazes at me. Almost like he sees through me, which is unsettling.
They’re quiet for a long moment. They look at each other. They look at me.
Lily looks pained. Even Miguel looks hesitant.
“This has been a lot to process this week. And I know you’ve worked very long days.” Miguel adjusts his glasses. “You must be exhausted. How about this: If Lily is in agreement, you can have today off to recover. As I understand, the show is installed with the last of the panels and Perspex covers going on exhibits as needed and finishing touches. You can take a break and rest. We have the private view on Saturday. And, if I’m not correct, next week is your final week.”
“If I take tomorrow off, would you consider letting me go too?” I insist.
“We will consider,” Miguel says gravely.
“Okay.” At last, I relent and sit back in my chair.
Suddenly, I’m exhausted.
“We’ll connect on Monday after the private view about next steps. I do expect to see you there on Saturday night. You’veearned that celebration and recognition,” he says, and then they leave the room a moment later.
I sit with the familiar view of the river, the sunlight through the skylights. The only thing missing from this scene is Will as I stare down the long table. There’s not even a pen to prove he was ever there. For all I know today, and his lack of response, he’s someone I simply imagined up out of some kind of loneliness.
And I gather up my things, including my laptop and the books I loaned Will, putting everything in my bag. At a loss, I walk out into the sunny late August day.
Now, almost successfully fired too, I’ve got to find Will.
Chapter Thirty-Three
My first stop is for tea around the corner from the museum, sitting down at a table by a sunny window. I’m exhausted to the core of my bones. Around me, the café bustles. People laugh and carry on. There’s the clatter of dishes in the background. Like everything’s normal.
I’m trying to catch up with everything I said at the meeting with the director and Lily. Like my mouth operates independently from my brain. I’m loyal to Will, and I don’t regret standing up for what I believe in so far.
But have I screwed my career over for good?
I go through the ritual of letting the tea steep in the teapot, then pour with enough space left for a splash of milk and sugar. Carine’s right. This ritual of tea-making is soothing. It’s starting to grow on me after a summer in London, like I’m really starting to understand some things at last.
Now, the sensible thing to do would be to go home and actually rest. Go back to bed, pull the covers over my head, and sleep all day.
Which is an idea that has some merit, I won’t lie. But more than that, my conscience and guilt won’t leave me alone. Because I’m still not technically fired despite my efforts thismorning. They’ve only sent me home for the day, presumably to calm down, because they think I’m being overemotional.
But I’m not. It doesn’t make any sense to fire Will instead of me. Even if he took responsibility first. There’s a chance there’s more to the story, but I won’t know till I find Will for more answers.
And Will’s nowhere to be found.
While I sit by the bright window, the café hums around me with mothers and young children, tourists, and the occasional office worker seeking refuge from Friday morning. The air smells like freshly brewed coffee, while the espresso machine screeches with the milk frother going overtime. Mugs and dishes clink in the background as orders are called out to the waiting customers. And steadily, the café fills up with people.
Whatever’s happened with Will, he’s not feeling well. I don’t know if it’s a migraine or if it’s the agony of being fired. Or even if it’s regret over getting mixed up with me.
My stomach twists at the last thing. Why else would he be ghosting me now?
