Page 42 of Shot Taker

When the phone rings, I change direction, grateful for the interruption.

Mari.

“I’m sorry if the date thing the other night was weird,” my sister says when I answer the phone.

“It’s fine. I’m not really looking for any kind of relationship.”

“This still about Brad?”

“No. I’m trying to focus on my head right now and not my heart.” Or the desire flooding me since the other night. The feeling of Clay’s tongue inside me, the feel of him coating my skin, haunted me well after Brooke and I got home and I showered off the last evidence of our tryst.

If I’m honest, that grumpy basketball player has been occupying my brain since the moment he tried to evict me from my airplane seat.

“Anyway, what’s up?” I prompt.

“You sounded edgy when I texted. Very Un-Nova-like.”

I’m surprised she noticed.

“It’s work,” I admit as I retrieve an open bottle of wine from the fridge. “I want to do my best, and I can’t stand the thought of letting James down.”

I’ve never had such an important job.

Yes, what I did in the past mattered, but this is entirely on me.

“Anytime you have a new client, there’s a learning curve. Figuring out what matters to them can be hard and painful.”

I nod even though Mari can’t see me.

“Sometimes you need to fake it until you make it, you know? Pretend you have it all figured out until you really catch up.”

“Thank you,” I say and mean it.

After we click off, I pour myself a glass of wine and head back to the living room, taking in the drawing Clay sent me before I sink back into my chair.

“I can do this,” I say out loud.

It’s my first real art commission, but James hired me for a reason.

The irony is the man who gave me this drawing, the same one I’m trying to capture, would agree. He would let nothing stand between him and his goal. And he wouldn’t let anyone tell him he wasn’t enough.

Two hours and two glasses of wine later, I have a happy buzz in my head and the sketch looks great.

That was exactly what I needed, I decide.

I’m capable and confident, riding a high fueled by achievement and alcohol.

Since I’m finished with the original drawing, I should probably return it.

It’s only neighborly.

I grab the picture, put on shoes, and head out into the hall to the elevator.

Two minutes later, I’m staring at the closed door inches from my face, and damn if it doesn’t feel as if it’s staring back.

My grip tightens, the picture frame digging into my hand to remind me why I’m here.

Just do it.

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