Chapter 62
DAPHNE
The sun knock at my door arrives several hours too early, Conrad is here, with flowers in hand.
The first thing I notice is how small the bouquet looks compared to what Pasha usually sends me in fact, one of his elaborate arrangements is taking up a good portion of my side desk as I scramble to gather my
wits
“Conrad! What a surprise!” I force my voice to sound pleasant, despite feeling anything but.
He pushes through the door, holding the vase like a shield. “I couldn’t wait to see you.”
Keep it business. “Well, since you’re here, why don’t we go to the conference room?” Where there’s nothing but windows and a clear view for witnesses. I push my chair in and try my best to circumvent
him on the way to the door.
Unfortunately, he catches me on the way by pushing those stupid flowers at me. “I wrote a letter for you, too.” He taps an envelope stuck between the yellow roses. “I’m an artist, not a writer, but-”
“Looks great.” I take the vase and drop it on the desk. “Let’s go hash things out.”
He sighs with relief. “Oh, God, yes, thank you-” “About the showing.”
His face falls. But he nods and follows me out of the office and down the hall to the conference room.
“You brought the catalog?” I hold my hand up for him to place the folder into; I don’t look directly at him
if I can help it.
Conrad doesn’t pass it over. Instead, he takes the chair next to me, way too close for comfort, and opens it himself. “Turns out I’ve got a few pieces I forgot all about. Dug them out of storage. Figured it’d be nice to show them the light of day.”
“Mhm. I see them.” When I touch th page of photos he took of the unfamiliar paintings, he moves his hand to brush against mine. I yank my fingers away. “We can make a feature segment for these.”
“Actually, I’d love to feature these.” He flips to a different page and proudly shows it to me by pushing th folder closer. And, by default, himself. “These are brand new. My best work, too.”
“Looks like a good group.” I make a note in my tablet, grateful for the excuse to put something between us. “Any special name we should call it?”
“Diaphonous Diaprio. To see through a heart torn asunder.”
09:45
Boyfriend Let His Side Chick Ruin My Painting, Now He Regrets
54.0%
I should win a gold medal for the sheer willpower takes thing that’s transparent clear my tint again, which gus me the glass of water from the cart in the corner in an bat will ring in
my fawr y
finger og at goal m
fema
When I return to my seat, teamally pull it far away from hum samang et al cologne I once enjoyed smells almost eaten. His cine proximity to makes my det
And the way he smiles at me
Blech.
There’s no going back. He’s giving me the crops, no matter how har henger in my gut ges
be
“I’m glad you think so.” He points at an image in the folder. “What do pin think of the
I glance at the page and try to pretend to be interestert. Once upon a time.
Now? Now, it all looks like dull crayon drawings.
The grays add a nice depth to the shapes. I can see this attracting ame gont eve
Conrad looks at me. “I was hoping it would attract your eye. My muse.*
“Alright. That’s it.” I snap the folder shut and jump out of my chair at the same time Türki everything we need to schedule the showing. We’ll be in touch.”
He’s stunned. “What did I say? What did I do? Daphne, –”
“You are engaged to someone else.” I hold a hand up to stop him from getting out of his chair that exceptionally clear. The fact that you’re here is one thing the fact that you’re trying
Win me back?”
or made
3D what?
Conrad ignores my hand and pushes himself up anyway. “I’m trying to figure things at Make things right. Especially since-”
“Anything to do with me has already been figured out. We’re done.”
For all the fuss I made about Pasha’s hickey, I’m suddenly wishing Id jour left it alone so Conrad cd see how utterly unavailable and uninterested I am. I’m wearing the necklace, but clearly, this guy has no
idea what it means.
I’m almost embarrassed that I ever cried over this idiot. That I ever entertained spending the resc
life with him. That I ever shared a bed with him.
Holy fuck, did I win the lottery when it came to this pregnancy. How close was I to bearing the wrong
man’s child?
Desin Mer Parave. Now He opens
Chapter 63
Pasha is everything Conrad is not. Stubbornness is the one thing they have in common, but even then, it’s entirely different flavors Contad do know when to accept defeat
Well neither does Pasha, mut honestly, I’ve noticed this drive is his way of taking care of the people around him. Not to serve himself, or his own interests, at least not as much as his decisions serve
rieryone else.
Even me. He may want om baby, but I know that he’s determined to care for her for the sake of his Tamily. His Bratva. His own child is an art for the greater good, not just himself
Conrad is a selfish linle bitch by contrast. He doesn’t care who he throws under the bus go long as ir benefits him and him alone. Does Brittany even know he’s here?
He runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “I’m trying. Daph. I really am f
“Stop.” If I’m surprised by how strong I sound, he flinches and his eyes widen a little more. “Stop trying. I don’t want you to try. I don’t want you, period. I don’t want your flowers, your letters, or your pathetic apologies. Does she know you’re here, by the way? Does your fiancée know you’re trying to woo your ex
He looks away. The guilt is written all over his face.
“Here’s how this is going to work.” I pull my phone out like I’m checking my digital calendar, but I’m actually making sure the rest of this conversation is recorded. “The only interaction you and I will ever have moving forward will be via email. If you need to schedule a meeting, you will schedule it with Hazel, Todd, or Keith. Deliveries will be handled by a third party.”
“But-”
“No. I am the curator of your show, and that is all. Our only interaction is what I get paid to do. I may laugh, I may smile, I may say nice things to
people who want to buy your work. But understand-“I lean forward just to emphasize my point. “-it is because I am paid to. Given the choice, we’d never share the same air again.”
I don’t wait for him to respond. I don’t want to hear it.
He gets up and leaves without another word. Thank God. And in his wake, silence settles over the
building.
No Conrad.
No Tweedles.
Just sweet, blessed silence.
