“She is. And this is the quietest I’ve ever heard you, Sapphire. Are you feeling okay today?”
Damn, he’s so annoying. The way he can just burst my dreamy bubble like that is a skill all on its own.
I fold my arms across my chest, feeling defiant. “I am fine. At least I was before you showed up.” I shoot him a sidelong glance. “Are you sure you’re okay? That’s the longest sentence I think I’ve ever heard you say. Grunts and one-word answers are more your thing.” I’m asking to be fired; begging for it more like. I hate myself for saying that, so I follow up with a quick apology. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that.” I don’t know what happens to me when he’s around, but he turns me into someone I don’t recognize, and shakes my energy field which I both love and hate evenly.
His shoulders shake as he tries to hold in a laugh, and when our eyes collide, I’m almost knocked backward by his megawatt smile.
“You should laugh more often,” I tell him, because it’s the truth.
“Yeah?” he asks, his laugh dying off as he runs his hands through hair so thick and shiny I want to ask him what shampoo and conditioner he uses.
“It suits you.”
“Thanks.” He nods, his cheeks flushing with color.
Interesting; he’s not good at accepting compliments.
“So,” he starts and wags his finger at the numerous paintings lined along the wall. “You like Endee Desree, too?”
“I’m a big fan of his or her work.” The infamous, aloof, nobody-knows-who-they-are artist, Endee Desree, is a mystery to all. “I’ve been obsessed with their paintings for over a decade.”
“Same,” he admits gruffly.
Eli and I couldn’t be more different, yet here we are, side by side, our shared love for someone’s talent colliding over a canvas.
He studies the painting once more. “I think this one is my favorite.”
I sigh blissfully at the multicolored-haired woman who looks like she’s glowing and ethereal. “She looks like an angel. I wish it were for sale.”
“If it were, I would fight you for it.”
“The same way you fight me on everything.” That’s the truth; I’m not being rude.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be awkward.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine.”
Gradually, in unison, we turn to face each other, mirroring each other’s movements.
“Okay,” I finally agree. “It’s not fine.” I don’t want to bring up work on my day off, but it’s a necessary evil we have to face, so I explain carefully, “Tomorrow, we’re visiting yet another venue to host your staff conference, Eli.” We only have two more to visit. “The months are passing quickly, and we’ve checked out seven in the last eight weeks. We’re almost out of options now because everything else is already booked.”
“I didn’t like any of the venues.”
I release a breath that sounds tired and heavy. “You’re impossible to please.” One was too small, another was too far out of town, then the catering wasn’t good, or the registration area was… what was it he said? Oh, yeah, poky. “Something’s got to give, and you’re going to have to compromise.”
“Okay.”
What? No fight? Or pushback? Surely not.
“I’m certain that the hotel tomorrow will be the one.” It has to be; my patience is wearing thin, and I’m about to throw in the towel, something I’ve never done before.
“We’ll see,” he states flatly.
And we’re back to more pushbacks.
Great.