“Hattie, listen to me,” he cut me off, his tone again different. This time gentle, coaxing. “You don’t get this, you never had experience with this, and I’m seeing it’s my place to show you the way. All men are not created equal. There are men who give a shit. Ryn tells me you’re set for Pantera. I can’t go there. And just sayin’, that ass, those curls,” he tipped his head to me, “you’re cute. Normally, I’d be all over that. But Ryn says it’s gotta be Pantera. So this is not that. We’re lettin’ that go. We’re lettin’ your dad go. You’re lettin’ the fast go. And I’m gonna take you to dinner and you’re gonna be around a man who doesn’t treat you like shit. Start you gettin’ used to that. We’ll go from there. Yeah?”

I didn’t know what it was.

I didn’t know why I did it.

But I didn’t hesitate to say, “Yeah.”

He smiled at me, and that decided it.

He was definitely cute.

I walked his way and he escorted me out of my own place like it was his.

The henchman was out there, folding out of the sleek Lincoln town car at the curb in order to open the back door for us.

We got in, and after Brett settled next to me, he declared, “I feel like a steak. Do you feel like a steak?”

“Who doesn’t feel like eating a steak?” I asked.

“Atta girl,” he muttered.

His driver glided from the curb.

And call me crazy (and I’d be the first person to do that), but when we did, I thought for the first time in a long time that things were looking up.

“At dinner, we’ll talk about you wastin’ your time in that studio. And we’ll talk you into spendin’ time that you don’t waste in that studio. Got a coupla folks I know who own galleries. Your shit is good. Time to stop fuckin’ around with that and let the world know you got talent.”

My lungs seized.

Brett called out to the driver. “Call ahead. We’re not waiting for a table.”

Okay, maybe I was wrong about things looking up.

But for the life of me, even after what he’d just said about my studio and knowing people who own galleries, I felt I was right.

Chapter Two

I Blew It

Hattie

Sitting in my Nissan Rogue outside the studio the next morning, I again scrolled through my texts from last night.

Lottie:

Where are you?

Pepper:

Are you coming?

Ryn:

Girl. You are missing out!

Elvira’s boards are EVERYTHING!

Evie:

OK. Now you’re worrying me.

Strike that, you’ve been worrying

me. Now you’re SERIOUSLY

worrying me.

My reply, copied and pasted to each of them:

Something came up! I’m SO