I watch silently as he gets dressed beside the bed, having gotten the call that his jet is almost here and he needs to get to the base to make it seem like he hasn't actually been here for hours. He pulls his pants up over his briefs, buckling his belt.
I sit up, covering my front with my bed sheet. "W-When can I see you again?"
He looks over at me. "God, Genevieve. The look on your face could kill me..."
He bends down, kissing me. I grasp his neck, closing my eyes tightly. I never want to let him go.
I pull back just enough to get the word out again. "When?"
"Today. Can you take a lunch break?"
"Yeah. I have an hour lunch... I could make it two if I say I'm going to the doctor or something."
He nods, reaching into his pocket. He takes out a business card and hands it to me. I smile, confused and look back at him.
"I already have your number?"
"On the back." Oh. I turn it over, seeing a hand-written phone number. "This is to a cell that can't be traced. This is the number I'm going to use to call you, okay?"
I nod, staring at the numbers.
"I'll pick up something for us and bring it here at noon."
I nod again, pressing my lips together. "Okay."
I step up onto the ladder, frustrated. I came into complete chaos. One of the painting's loosened from the cord and the maintenance guy can't seem to figure out what to do. He holds the ladder, mumbling angrily to himself as I take matters into my own hands. The exhibit opened today and there are hundreds of tourists around us, probably talking about how incapable we are.
Not to mention, this painting is worth millions... I'm not going to just leave it like this.
I chuckle nervously when Michelle stands below it, holding her arms up.
"I don't really think that's going to do much good, Michelle."
"Yeah but at least the news would be about me dying instead of how you destroyed the art."
"Always thinking ahead," I hum, turning the dial in the back to try and get it back into place.
"Be careful... You probably should have taken off those heels."
I feel it budge slightly but it doesn't turn. I resist screaming explicits throughout this building.
"I may be of some assistance."
I look down at a man with black hair, dressed in a suit.
"Uh, no, sir. We have this under control... Thank you so much though."
"I think what you need to do is turn it clockwise first then counterclockwise and pull it out and up to raise it."
I stare down at him, pressing my lips together.
"I have paintings at home that use the same suspension."
I turn back to the painting, my legs wobbling slightly.
"This isn't safe, Genevieve. Let Carlos do it."
Yeah right. I do as the gentleman says, turning and pulling carefully, amazed when I feel the side of the painting rise to match the other.
YOU ARE READING
What do you do when disaster strikes? You survive. On the night before her entire life changes, Genevieve Harding was walking along the shoreline with a man she'd only just met. Tristan Maddox. A man who grazed the pages of the magazines and newspa...