Maja arrived late at Louis Faber Fine Arts, the gallery where she’d been working since she graduated from art school. She’d started as an assistant, putting in just enough hours to cover her rent on an inexpensive apartment share in Bed-Stuy and still have time to paint. Now she managed the other assistants, hiring on recent graduates that reminded her of herself at that age: young women in carefully curated outfits meant to look thrown together, trying to mask their enthusiasm with a thin veneer of sophistication. Her boss, Louis, only liked pretty girls working in the gallery. He thought it helped close deals with his investment banker clientele.

The latest assistant, Yasmine, was already there, sitting at Maja’s desk. “Sorry!” she called out, hopping out of Maja’s seat. “I thought I’d get started on printing out the labels for the new exhibit.”

“That’s fine,” Maja said, setting her bag down. “I’m sorry I’m late. There was an emergency at my house down in New Falls.”

“No problem,” Yasmine replied. “Louis called. I told him that you were on the phone with a client.” She winked. “He said to tell you that he’s staying down in Miami until tomorrow.” Louis Faber also had galleries in Miami and London, and he occasionally left the New York location to Maja’s care.

“Thanks,” Maja said. “Actually, is there any chance that you can stay late this afternoon? I have to get the bus down there to see what’s going on.”

“I can stay till four,” Yasmine replied. “But that’s it. It’ll take an hour to get home around that time, and I have to get ready for my big night.” She smiled, looking both proud and embarrassed.

“Of course, your show. I forgot. Just lock up whenever you need to get going.” Yasmine was showing her work that night at a café in Bushwick, and Maja had promised to make an appearance. Maja could remember staging her own first informal shows at friends’ apartments, back when she was still painting, wondering if anyone would show up, pouring cheap Merlot for those who did, and drinking too much of it herself in her nervousness. Trying to calculate if the sales she might make would even cover the cost of the canvases and the wine.

“I’m sorry that I’ll miss it,” she said, “but don’t worry, I know it will be great!”

Maja checked their voice mails, returned a few calls, and then left the gallery to Yasmine’s care. As she hailed a taxi up to Port Authority, she made a mental note to talk to Ted about buying one of Yasmine’s paintings as a show of support.