“That’s better.” He sobered again. “It’s not enough. One random person. I’m worried you’re going to become one of those hoarder hermits. We’ll have to hire a team for an intervention.”

“I solemnly swear not to become a hoarder.”

Carson eyed the door to my apartment. “Not if Lara has anything to say about it. I’m pretty sure she’s planning to airdrop your entire studio onto that new little island of yours.”

I groaned, leaning back against the chaise. “I never should’ve let her handle packing it up.”

“You know she’s like a dog with a bone. Gets even a hint of a grip, and she’s not giving it up for anything.”

It was the perfect description for a woman who looked the opposite of what she was. Petite, delicate, and impeccably dressed, you never expected the colorful curses that escaped her mouth. Or the way she took anyone to task if it got her clients what they and she wanted.

We’d been friends since I arrived in New York at the age of eighteen. She’d run with my crazy crowd but had discovered that she had more talent for wheeling and dealing in the art world than putting paint to surface. Now, almost twenty years later, she handled practically everything for me.

“She’s hoping I’ll keep painting.”

“No shit, Sherlock. You’re the one who keeps her Chelsea penthouse full of Louboutins.”

I took another pull of my beer. “She’ll find another prize pony. It’ll be you if you’re not careful.”

Carson gave an exaggerated shiver. “Too worried she’ll stab me in my sleep.”

“Or maybe you guys will hate-fuck each other and finally stop making my life miserable whenever you’re in the same room together.”

Carson leaned back onto the lounge. “That idea has merit.”

I snorted. “You would solve every problem you could by sleeping with it, just as long as it was female.”

“I have wide and varied tastes in both women and art. So sue me.”

“I don’t know how discerning those tastes are…”

“I like the shit you make, so you’re really just insulting yourself.”

“Fair point.” I was quiet for a moment. “I’ll miss this.”

“You sound like you’re going off to war. No one’s making you leave. I’m sure you could get out of the purchase.”

“I need a change.” But it was more than that. I needed to figure out who I was again, what I truly wanted. And I had to do that away from the prying eyes of New York. I felt as if I couldn’t move here. Couldn’t breathe. And every step I took had the potential to detonate another bomb.