Page 103 of Real Fake Husband

“Hey, Josephine. Bryce Armbruster speaking. You’re not Josephine Graham by any chance?”

“The one and only,” I reply jokingly, wondering for a moment if he knows my name from the Ramstraat magazine article three years ago. Surely, he must know.

Armbruster chuckles. He has a smooth, calming voice, and even though my heart is going a mile a minute, I’m instantly put at ease. “Josephine? May I call you Josephine?” he asks, but doesn’t wait for my answer. “Meet with me next week. No obligations. No expectations. We’ll just talk about art, and you can show me your newest portfolio.”

“Sure, let’s meet,” I agree before I lose my nerve. “When would be good for you?”

“Well, I’m deep in this month’s show, so the only time I have available is Friday. Friday the fifth. Does that work?”

Friday. Why does it have to be Friday? Life is crazy. That’s the day I’m supposed to sign the papers and officially take over from Matilda.

“What time?” I ask. The meeting with the lawyer isn’t until late afternoon.

“Around 9:00 a.m.? Here in my office…or you know what? There’s a cute little café right across the street that makes a mean cup of coffee.”

“Great. I’ll be there.”

“Wonderful! Can’t wait to meet.”

I end the call before I can change my mind.

Dammit. Why did I do that?

But this is such a huge opportunity, deep down I know I can’t let it pass me by. Also, the meeting won’t take any longer than an hour or two. Tops.

I find myself more excited than anything else. Stirred, intoxicated, almost feverish. I sink onto the couch, twirling my phone nervously between my fingers.

It’ll be fine. This is a good thing.

My stomach rolls, and a wave of nausea washes over me. Oh, God, here comes the anxiety. I close my eyes and take a deep breath in through my nose before exhaling through my mouth. The nausea doesn’t subside for some time.

It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be fine.

Oh, crap, I need to update my portfolio. I need to take out the drawings of my ex and put in the newer ones of Cal. They’re some of my best work, and the more I think about showing my stuff to Mr. Armbruster, the more enlivened I get.

I can’t wait to tell Cal about my meeting.

I won’t bring my sketchbook and the canvases to the café of course, that’d be too much to carry. My portfolio is digitized in a folder on the cloud. I’ll need to take photos and add them to my online folder. But which ones to add? I’ve done so many over the last month that there’s a wide range to choose from.

Cal finds me in the living room about an hour later, surrounded by artwork. I must look like a madwoman with my hair in a messy bun and my work clothes still on. Charcoal covers my hands and arms from handling my drawings. Actually, I might have smudges on my face too. Not entirely sure.

“Hey,” he says on his way to the bedroom. When he sees the mess of artwork and the look on my face, he halts. “What’s going on? You okay?”

I look up from my sketchbook. “I’m fine.”

“Josie, you have crazy eyes.”

“Do I?”

“Yeah, and charcoal across your forehead. And on your cheek. What’s going on?”

“I called Mr. Armbruster a little while ago.”

He pauses.

“The art gallery guy.”

His lips curve up slightly. “And…?”

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