“She probably does a fair amount of that, but she’s also been the brains behind the latest generation of Cartwright success. She’s not an empty-headed placeholder, which you’d do well to remember,” he warns.
“Noted. So, what’s the catch?”
“The way in.”
I knew it. If it sounds too good to be true, it’s damn-near always a guaranteed loss.
“Thomas Cartwright was the art collector, and an artist in his own right. Elena is his biggest fan. The art is your way in.”
“I know approximately less than fuck-all about art,” I argue.
Zack kicks out, knocking my foot off my knee. “No shit. I have a plan for that.” The full effect of my scowl lands on Zack, who seems completely unfazed. “Luna.”
I know the word, Latin for moon, but I’m not sure why he’s suddenly speaking a dead language.
“My sister, Luna,” he explains slowly. “She knows more about art than anyone. We can get her to tutor you or something, at least give you some talking points to get Cartwright on your side.”
The suggestion might as well be for me to speak to Elena Cartwright in a dead language because there’s no way Zack’s little sister will help me. I’ve been friends with Zack for over ten years, since our freshman year of college. And though I’ve met her at a handful of birthday parties, I’ve heard plenty of stories about how eccentric Zack’s sister is.
Some of the tales are simply the difference in ages, since Luna is almost nine years younger than Zack, but others highlight that sometimes, siblings can be polar opposites. And given that Zack and I are two peas in a pod, I’m sure Luna wouldn’t care too much for me, either.
I look at him as though he’s lost his damn mind because I’m considering the fact that he may actually have.
“Don’t give me that,” he orders, despite my not having said a word.
“You think she’s going to help?” I ask doubtfully. But it really doesn’t matter. Even if Luna were to agree, it’s unlikely I could learn enough in a short amount of time that’d fool someone passionate about art.
He smirks confidently. “I might know a thing or two about a thing or two, not that I’ll tell you. It’d make a crappy secret if I go blabbing it all over town.”
“You plan to blackmail your sister into teaching me enough about art that I can charm an old lady into choosing me to manage her portfolio.” It’s not a question, I’m simply repeating the plan concisely so I can evaluate it.
“Yep.” Zack looks self-satisfied. With that, he gets up and pops me in the shoulder. “See you at dinner tonight.”
Alone, I glare at Cameron’s report once more. I hope Zack’s intel on this Cartwright deal is right because I could really use a win.
CHAPTER
TWO
LUNA
“Never be enough . . . never enough . . . for me . . . for me-ah!”
The lyrics turn to humming as I focus on the precise linework of my illustration. A little thinner here, a little thicker there for perspective. And . . . voila!
“Okey-dokey, Daddy choke me, page fifteen is in the books.” I laugh at my own Dad-slash-Daddy joke as I scroll to the next page on my tablet. I’ve done plenty of work with paper and pencil, oils, and acrylics over the years, but this tablet has become an extension of my creativity, allowing me to bring my alter-ego to life. “Alphena, let’s show Bradley who’s boss.”
Alphena is the headlining character in the graphic novel I’ve been drawing since I was in high school, though she’s taken on a life of her own more recently. A little Alpha bitch, a bit of Greek goddess Athena, and a lot of me blend to create a character that attacks the patriarchy and makes the world her oyster.
If only I were this bold in real life, but that’s never been the case. In reality, I’m quiet, almost shy. Even when my mind is throwing out ideas about what I should have said, my mouth stays tight-lipped. My art is where I can let loose, where my mousy becomes mighty.
On this page, Alphena is smack-talking a guy who’s mansplaining the electoral college . . . incorrectly. “No, Braaad. That’s actually not how it works, in fact. Try a basic Google search and you’ll see that I know more than cooking and cleaning. I retained my sixth-grade government education, something you seem to have forgotten.” I’m in the zone, so when my phone rings next to me, I ignore it. Then my text alarm goes off, and I narrow my eyes, staying focused on the tablet screen. When it rings again, I groan in irritation and set down my pen.
My eyes roll of their own volition at my annoying brother’s name on the caller ID. For all the sass Alphena has, I answer the phone relatively politely. “What?”
“Good to talk to you too, dear sister,” Zack responds dryly.
“Mm-hmm. What do you want?” My brain is ninety percent work and only ten percent paying attention to Zack.
“What makes you think I want something?”
“Call. Text. Call. Unless something’s wrong with Mom—which I know it’s not because I talked to her earlier today and she was lamenting that you never call—you want something.”
He can’t fault my logic. “Valid. I want to take you to dinner tonight. I have something I’d like to talk about.”
“I’m busy. Maybe next week?” I’m putting him off for tonight, and then next week, I can do it again. It’s not that I don’t want to see Zack, but he always picks fancy places where I’m uncomfortable and then plies me with unsolicited advice about how I should work with him. For some reason, he wants to shape me into a miniature version of himself, despite being well-aware that I would consider that a painful realm of hell. All the hand shaking, brown nosing, and negotiating he does? I would live in a panicked state.
My life is art, not in a poetic sense but a literal way.
To pay the bills, I work at the local museum doing tours of their collections and occasionally teaching a community outreach program class. It’s enough social interaction to last me a lifetime and works because I only have to talk about what I love. Besides, the tour is mostly scripted, and I have it memorized.
To feed my soul, I create Alphena. Between the two, I don’t have time to care about much more, especially whatever angle my brother’s working.
“Tonight, Luna. You name the place.”
Interesting. And suspicious. “Anywhere? My choice?” After a beat, I clarify, “And you’re paying?”
“Yeah, of course.” The small chuckle he swallows down is one I’ve heard before, when he’s commenting on my lack of salary compared to him. That’s more like Zack.
“Fine. I’ll meet you at Fairy Tales, then.” I can already taste the coffee and sandwiches, and most importantly, smell the books in my greedy little hands.
“Seriously?” he scoffs. “I’ll buy dinner anywhere you’d like, and you want to go to a cheap café you eat at once a week?”
I smile an evil smile as I reveal my plan. “I’m going to add a significant stack of art hardcovers to that dinner bill you’re footing.”
“Deal. I’ll see you there at seven,” Zack answers too easily. “Bye, Sis.”