“Whatever you say, Kash,” I said on another laugh, hoping I sounded carefree.

“I like the sound of that,” he teased.

I rolled my eyes without any heat. “Send me the quotes as soon as you have them so I can get them approved.”

“You’ve got it,” he said as he passed, pausing just beyond me. The scent of him—earth and flowers and knotted pine—slid over me. “Walk you out?”

“I’ve got a little more to do before I go.”

A curt nod of his head, that square jaw of his hard, wide lips angled. “All right. See you later then.”

With the tip of an invisible hat, he turned for the door. And shamelessly, I watched him until the massive doors closed, leaving me alone.

For a moment, I sank into that solitude, embraced by the quiet of the room. I’d been unkind to Kash, treated him like the help, just like he’d said. And all he’d ever done was lend a hand with the offering of that smile, letting whatever I threw at him bounce off like he was made of rubber.

It was shame I felt, and I wondered over what had trained me to be so severe. Years of failed group projects, perhaps. Lack of trust that anyone could perform to my standards. Dating men like Brock, who berated waiters and complained over wine lists. I generally thought myself a kind and gracious woman, but I wondered if I looked it to the average eye and had my doubts.

But I’d entered into a season of change, a new era, one rife with possibility. And I’d do my best to embrace it.

Starting with Kash Bennet.

6

Nine Lives

KASH

My pencil moved of its own accord, directly connected to the vision in my brain, my hand and fingers nothing more than a conduit, a channel with which to broadcast.

The light in my childhood bedroom was low, but the old reading lamp hooked to the bunk slats shone on my page, illuminating the graphite sketch, black against white. I’d used my 8B pencil, the softest and blackest, to cover the page, all but for the shape of Lila, long and white, in the negative space. She stood exactly as I remembered her in front of the onyx wall of the venue, shocking and bright against the darkness. She jumped off the page, the angle of her shoulders, the curve of her waist, her legs. The point of her heels to the point of her chin. Her eyes were scaled too small for the definition I wished I could give, but the line of her brows and the shadows they threw were enough.

She was strength and power, determination and will.