She thought about Mrs. Drapple’s words as she worked, how Martin had lost out to a girl. It was tough for a girl to even be considered an artist much less to win a competition against a man. She felt sorry for him, then, but she thought the sound of that slap was going to echo in the warehouse for a long, long time.

Chapter 37. Morgan

Chapter 37

MORGAN

July 11, 2018

Oliver and I were still at work at nine o’clock when Adam and Wyatt walked through the foyer to the front door. Wyatt stopped and looked over at me.

“We’re gonna grab something at the pub down the street,” he said. “You two wanna come?”

“No, thanks,” I said automatically, but Oliver stood up from his desk and stretched.

“Let’s do it,” he said across the foyer to me. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve reached the point of diminishing returns here.”

I hesitated. The idea of being with Oliver made me feel safe. He knew I couldn’t drink. He’d keep the guys from pressuring me. Not that I was worried I’d give in to them or be unable to handle them myself. I just didn’t want the hassle.

“Okay,” I said, getting up from my chair. Only then did I realize how exhausted I felt, my back and shoulders seizing up on me. “Let me clean up my mess.”

Oliver helped me carry my paints and brushes into the kitchen.

“Will this be hard for you?” he asked quietly as we cleaned the brushes.

I shook my head. “No.” I smiled at him. “I’ll be fine.” Would it be hard for me if I didn’t have the monitor on my ankle? I hoped not.

We left the gallery, Oliver locking the door behind us. I walked between him and Wyatt. I was the first to speak. “I don’t drink,” I said, for Adam’s and Wyatt’s sake. Then I was annoyed with myself. Why did I say that? My whole life had been ruled by alcohol in one way or another. Was I going to let it continue to rule me, even in its absence? I felt Oliver’s hand gentle on my back, and I tried to interpret what that meant. You don’t need to explain yourself, I thought he was saying. Or maybe he just wanted to touch me. I liked that idea better.

“That’s cool,” Wyatt said, like my admission was no big thing. “They got club soda and whatever.”

“Yeah, but they’ve also got Moscow mules,” Adam said. “You at least have to have a sip of mine.”

“No, thanks,” I said.

“And mojitos,” Adam added.

“You’re an asshole,” Wyatt said to Adam, who only laughed at the insult. He was an imbecile.

Oliver dropped his hand from my back. I missed its warmth.