Page 4 of Outdrawn

I raised a brow. "Really?"

She had to be scouted somehow, of course, but I’d always assumed Sage to be more of the demanding type. I imagined she’d stormed Harpy's offices, slapped down her portfolio, and didn't give them a chance to say no.

"Fresh out of college," Tyson confirmed.

My smile faded at the reminder of how quickly she'd gotten to where she wanted to be in her career. I'd posted on the same website, and it took years for Harpy to take notice.

“I’m sure she’d never forget an artist who gave her a run for her money,” Tyson said in a whisper, like we were sharing a secret. "Sage wouldn't forget someone with your kind of talent."

“Maybe not, but college was ages ago, so I wouldn’t blame her for not connecting the dots.”

Tyson shrugged. “Well, we’ll make sure she never forgets. She and everyone else here. My plans for Leisah are big. I’m glad I got you on board. By the end of this year, everyone’s going to know your name—along with mine and Sage’s, of course.”

I nodded. “Thanks for your support during the process, by the way. I know you went to bat for me.”

Harpy's interview process lasted a few weeks, and during that time, I'd talked to over fifteen people. I'd given them two different sets of portfolios and drew test comics with their characters. From day one, Tyson was vocal about adding me to his team specifically. He'd been at every interview, smiling whenever I shared my ideas.

"I'm going to do everything I can to make sure Leisah is great this season," I promised. "Everything."

The skin around Tyson’s eyes wrinkled when he smiled. He was in his mid-thirties but seemed older—maybe early success aged you. It looked good on him, made him seem genuine.

“So will I, I promise. We're in this together.” He started towards the rows and rows of desks, and I tried to take in what each artist was doing as we passed. Some sketched on paper, while others colored on tablets. I’ve been on plenty of tours of the building, but this time was different. Now, I was here as a peer. One of them. Finally part of a team. The responsibility was both freeing and suffocating.

“Here’s where our team set up camp,” Tyson said as we slowed.

There were five desks, pairs of two in shared cubicles and one large desk on its own. All the desks sported handmade signs that read Team Leisah 4 Life. The handwriting on the signs was shaky and the use of sparkles excessive.

“Before I forget, I'm supposed to give you one of these." Tyson went over to the large solo desk and retrieved a little pink card with my name on it. "Harry’s little sister, Marissa, made what she calls ‘are you here’ cards for us. We’re supposed to set them out when we’re in the office. She gets sad not knowing if she's missed us."

I smiled, running my hands over the bumpy texture of sparkles. “That’s sweet.”

“She’s our unofficial sixth team member.” Tyson rested his arms on top of the cubicle divider. “Harry is our letterer. We have to share him with a few other lines here, so he’s in and out a lot. You’ll meet him later.”

I nodded, studying Harry’s desk. The surface was spotless, void of any personality, but his cubicle walls were overrun with his little sister's art. The pieces were held up with rainbow-colored push pins, along with a photo of him and Marissa dressed as Elsa and Olaf in the middle of the chaos. The age gap between them had to be well over a decade. Harry was a skinny guy with thick dark curls and black-framed glasses, his skin painted in freckles and his jawline lightly covered in an impressive beard.

“Harry shares his cubicle with Seline.” Tyson nudged his chin to her desk. That one had clear plastic shelves packed to the brim with snacks. There were old oil palettes dried over from being left out, a dozen sets of Copic markers piled on top of each other. She had to have every shade under the sun.

“Seline’s our colorist. Thankfully, we get her all to ourselves,” Tyson said.

“For now, at least,” an out-of-breath voice said. A small, copper skinned woman joined us in the cubicle. Her curly dark hair was pulled back in a bun, shorter strands framing her temples. She wore an oversized top that drowned her, the armpits and collar area soaked. A pair of noise-canceling headphones hung around her neck.

She offered Tyson a teasing smile. “I’m still hopeful about the Six transfer I put in last week.”

“Do you think any other editor will tolerate your mid-day runs?” He raised a brow at her.

Seline shrugged, rocking back and forth like she couldn’t stay still for a second. I noticed then that one of her legs was a prosthetic.

“No,” she said. “But I’ve never needed permission. I finish my work too fast for this place to let me go. I'm indispensable.”

He chuckled. “Fair enough. Seline, this is Noah, our--”

“Saving grace.” Seline offered me her elbow to bump. “Nice to meet you. Excuse my appearance; I usually try to be presentable when newbies show up, but I wasn't given much warning."

Tyson rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “I sent out an email to everyone this morning. No excuses.”

“Your email said Noah was coming next week," Seline said.

"No…" Tyson frowned. "I said this week."

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