There is a storm of emotion clashing around me right now. All of this seems like too much. How is it that the greatest artist I've ever seen, knows my work enough that he wants to teach me? This is insane.
"What will we be drawing?" another student asks.
"Each week will be something different," he says. Then he smiles. "Don’t worry, I'm not going to make you do a life drawing tonight." The whole room chuckles. "The classes this week will be still life. Next week will be life drawing. Week three, landscape. Week four, architecture. Week five, miscellaneous. You will choose your own subject in week five. At the end of the course, you will choose which one of your works you would like to display." His face goes suddenly serious. "Well whether or not you want to sell your work is up to you, having a piece in the gallery is not. If you do not wish to have your work on display, you are free to leave now."
No one moves an inch. Why would they? This is an opportunity that most people would kill for.
He smiles. "Good. Let's get started."
He pulls the sheet off of the center platform, revealing an array of vases, statues, and random items you might find in the back of an art gallery. He laughs. "At least it's not a bowl of fruit."
We laugh with him. Some people are already pulling out their tools of choice. The man next to me is unwrapping pieces of charcoal. The woman on the other side of me has chosen pastels. I'm not sure what to do. I look around at what everybody else has chosen, and I wonder if just using pencils is too simple.
Mr. Prince approaches me. Up close, I can see that his eyes are kind. "Are you having trouble deciding?"
I nod. “If having a piece on display is mandatory, then I want it to be my best work. But I also want to learn new things."
"No matter what medium you're using," he says, "you can always learn new things."
"What if it's too simple? I’m usually a painter."
He smiles. "I know. But I wouldn’t worry. When people are looking at art, and they enjoy it, I don't think they'll ask if it's too simple."
I'm left with that thought as he moves around the circle, glancing at what people have chosen and chatting with the students. Part of me feels like I'm being a coward for not wanting to try a new medium, but considering that this is my first formal art class, I think sticking to what I know might be the smartest move. I don't want to get overwhelmed and turn this into a bad experience because I chose something that I wasn't familiar with. Plus, if his offer stands, I can take more classes and learn about different mediums and expand my horizons after this workshop.
With that in mind, I pull out the fresh set of pencils from the case and get to work.
The workshop is three days a week, so I don't have to finish this tonight, but I'm already in love. For the next three hours, I immerse myself in the exercise of art. I stare at the white marble column on the platform, I follow the lines of a clay vase, I start to fill in the details of flowers that sit at the bottom of everything.
It's nothing too serious, but just enough to start seeing the shapes. It feels good, doing this again. I thought it had been a long time since I painted, it's been even longer since I used pencils. By the time the class is over, I feel more calm and at peace than I have in years. Everything in the city seems to shine brightly as I walk to the subway to go home. A street musician plays the trumpet and it feels like the perfect soundtrack. I'll never be able to thank Ellen enough for getting me the spot in this workshop. I didn't think I missed art until I came back to it. Now that I'm here, I hope I never stop. Even, and especially, as a mother.
10
My good, brilliant mood lasts all through the night and into the morning. I roll out of bed feeling lighter than I have in ages, ready to suffer through work, and meet Christian and make a baby. Even the fact that I take a pregnancy test and I'm still not pregnant doesn't manage to carve a dent in this perfect mood.
That is, the mood lasts until I look at my phone. We're no longer texting in the app, and there's a message from Christian.
Hey, I'm so sorry, I won't be able to make it tonight. I'm out of town on business for the next week. I would have told you sooner, but I didn't know. I really apologize.
My heart sinks into my stomach. One of the things they tell you when you're trying to get pregnant, is that consistency is key. People who have sex every couple days get pregnant faster than people who don't. We’ve already had sex on one my fertile days of the month, but continuing it wouldn't hurt.
But then again, maybe I’m already pregnant, and this won’t matter. But if not, this kind of sucks.
But then again—my mind flips back to the other side of the coin—this could be good. Only being with Christian a couple of times a month will lessen complications. Distance is good.
There is an immediate other thought, that maybe he's doing this on purpose. That maybe he's doing this just to screw with me. Maybe this was his plan all along, to literally fuck me over. As soon as the words form in my mind, I regret them. So far, Christian hasn't done anything to make me think he's not going to keep his word. Last-minute business trips do you happen, and I realize I have no idea what he's even doing now. I don't exactly have a right to be angry when he's volunteering his time in sperm for me.
I text him back.
Okay. That kind of sucks, but at least we hit a day of ovulation. When will you be back?
Sunday. We can get together next Monday, if that works for you.
Well, since we already hit the fertile days, we can wait till next month. I’ll be plenty busy with my art class anyway.
He types for a while, and I wait while I make myself some coffee.
Art class? Is that why you had paint all over your hands?
Kind of. I'm doing a workshop, and was playing around before it started.
I notice he doesn’t make a big deal about postponing our meeting. I’m not sure if I’m relieved or insulted. I’m very sure that I shouldn’t care.
That's awesome. Where's the workshop?
The Prince Art School.
He doesn't text again for a while, and I'm already on the subway when his next message comes.
Holy shit. That's amazing! Congratulations.
Thanks.
I find myself blushing even though he's nowhere near, but I know him well enough that I know exactly how he said it. It wasn't sarcastic in the slightest. If there's one thing Christian’s good at, it's believing in other people. He was always incredibly supportive while we were together, no matter what I wanted to do.
Once I get to work, the idea that I don't know what Christian does anymore gnaws at me. So I do what any responsible woman does in the 21st century, I Google him.
And I have to pick my jaw up off the floor.
When we broke up, Christian was a construction manager. It paid well, and he liked what he did, but it was never his dream. I am completely unprepared to see that Christian Rollins is the head architect and CEO of one of the biggest architecture firms in the city. There's his picture on the website, looking fucking stunning in a three-piece suit, smirking at the camera. But it's not a spark that makes you hate him, it's a spark that makes you want to be him, or fuck him.
“Who the hell is that?” Julia asks from behind me.
I groan. “My ex.”
“That doesn’t look like a man that should be anybody’s ex,” she says, giving me a look.
I almost make a comment that she can have him, but I bite it back. I’m not really ready to say that, even though there’s nothing between us but sex now. “Yeah,” I say, still looking at the picture.
Julia is laughing as she walks away.
It seems that more happened in the last two years than I realized. Now I feel really stupid for not asking him what he's been up to.
So I googled you.
An almost instant response:
What did you find?
You've been busy.
I can almost sense him laughing wherever he is.
You could say that.
He types for a while before his response comes through.
I got hired as an architect at the company. They liked my style, so I got promoted, and eventually the CEO took notice. We became friends, and he made me a partner. He recently retired.
So they just made you CEO?
I am envisioning him typing into his phone, wearing that same three-piece suit and smirk that he has on in the picture in front of me.
It's not quite that simple, but yeah.
Wow.
I'm glad you're impressed.
Impressed is on the low end of what I feel, but I'm not going to tell him that. Aside from the fact that he's done more in the last three years than I thought possible, I'm amazed that I didn't hear about it. I suppose architecture firms aren't exactly on the front page of the news, but I feel like one big CEOs retire there are always a couple of headlines.
I do a quick Google search to confirm, and sure enough, there are several headlines featuring that same picture of Christian announcing that he's now CEO. Holy shit.
So this unexpected business trip?
We have clients in Chicago, and there was a problem in construction. With this type of building, it's easier for me to go see in person. I'm the one who designed it, so I know it better than anyone, and unfortunately it's a problem that can't wait.
And here I thought you might be avoiding me.
Believe me, I'm not.
The next message comes through right away.
I would much rather have my tongue and my cock buried between your legs than figuring out why a load-bearing beam is cracking.
My face flames red as I imagine that. Arousal flows through me as I remember the way he used his tongue on me, the way I feel full when he's inside me. There's no other sensation like it, and I find myself suddenly wet, suddenly frustrated that he's not in town.
And now you're blushing.
No, I'm not.
You totally are.
I put my phone face down on my desk. Screw him for making me want him while he's not here. The phone buzzes on the desk, and then it buzzes again. He’s still texting, but I won't look at it. I won't.
That lasts all of five minutes before I pick up the phone at the third buzz, exasperated and curious at the same time.
Did I scare you away?
I swear I’ll make it up to you when I get back.
Or you could make it up to yourself.
What? What does he mean?
What are you talking about?
You're at work right now?
Of course.
He types for a while, and I do my best to go back to work. But it's a slow day, I finished my biggest project, and while there are things I can work on, there's nothing urgent. It's why I had time to Google Christian in the first place.
I click through a few more articles about Christian, until I can't stand the sight of his picture. All it makes me want to do is go to that apartment and let him take me over and over again. I shouldn't want this. I shouldn't be texting him. I shouldn't be so friendly. This will just make it harder once I'm pregnant and we don't see each other anymore. Finally, a buzz.
Are you up for an adventure?
I can't help myself, the question is too intriguing.
What kind of adventure?
It's a yes or no question.
Okay, so what if I say no?
Again, I can feel his smirk behind the phone.
Then your day is going to be a lot more boring.
I hesitate, because he's going to tell me to do something. If I do it, I'm only getting myself in deeper. If I don't, I'm always going to wonder what it was he wanted me to do. Christian excels at this particular dichotomy. But never have I regretted going on an adventure with him.
We used to go on all sorts of mini adventures. Sometimes it would be to a hidden garden in the city, sometimes it would be to a brand-new restaurant where there was a special drink he wanted to try. Sometimes it would only be an adventure in our minds, and we’d pretend until we fell into each other laughing.
I miss that. I miss that closeness and trust and intimacy that he threw away. I know that it's probably a bad idea, but I want to go on an adventure, if only to feel that closeness for a few minutes.
Okay.
Okay?
I'll do it.
He types again.
You always used to tell me about a fancy executive bathroom on the 20th floor. Is that still there?
It is still there. When I'm having a particularly bad day, I sneak up there and use it. It's just a single room, with a stall, but there's also a vanity, and a couch, and some chairs. It's posh and comfortable and perfectly decorated.
Yeah, it is.
Go there, and lock the door.
Why?
You’ll only find out once you’re there.
I glance at my calendar and my email to make sure there's nothing that I'm going to miss. But it really is slow day, and there's nothing. Casually, I get up from my desk and head toward the elevator. I don't take anything with me except for my phone.
It only takes a few minutes to get up to the 20th floor. I have to wait a little while because the bathroom is occupied. I text him quickly.
How long am I going to be in there?
A while. Why?
I'm just wondering if I should get a do not disturb sign or something.
No, don't do that. A locked door will be enough.
I see the woman come out of the bathroom, and I quickly slip inside, locking the door behind me.
Okay, I'm here.
Send me a picture.
Why?
Because you could actually still be sitting at your desk, and I want to make sure.
I text him an eye roll emoji before snapping a picture of myself in the bathroom.
Happy?
Almost. Strip.
I stare at the phone. He can't possibly be serious.
Excuse you?
Strip.
Is this adventure going to involve sex?
That was the idea.
I do know what he's thinking. I can't just strip down naked in the middle of my workplace. I tell him so.
You’re not in the middle of your workplace. You are in a private bathroom.
Christian, why?
He types for a long time this time. I'm standing in the middle of this bathroom waiting for somebody to knock on the door and kick me out.
Because I think in the past few years you've gotten a little bit more uptight. And just because we aren’t having sex tonight, doesn't mean you can't get off.
And just because the sex we have feels good, doesn't mean that that's the point.
Audrey, used to love sex. You should still love sex regardless of whether or not you want to get pregnant. You're fucking sexy, and you deserve pleasure. I’m invoking the agreement where you do what I say. Now strip.
I put the phone down on the sink and breathe. He has a point. Since we broke up, I have been a lot more hesitant. A lot of that is due to him. But I think there's a reason that I miss his little adventures so much. It was the spontaneity, the idea that I didn't know what was going to happen next. And there was the trust that whatever idea Christian had, it would be good for us both.
If I'm trusting him to get me pregnant, why shouldn't I trust him to have my best interests in mind?
Part of me thinks that I'm rationalizing this. That I have the urge to go along simply because what he said earlier aroused me. How could my best interests possibly involve getting myself off in the bathroom at work?
The smaller part of my brain tells me that it's because if I don't do it here, I'm not going to do it. "Fuck."
I start taking off my clothes, folding them and placing them on one of the chairs. Even my bra and panties. I don't think I've ever been naked at work before, and the feeling is very, very strange.
I pick the phone back up and type.
Okay,
I did it.
Picture.
I'm not sending you a nude.
You can either send me a picture, or do a video call with me right now. If not, you can go back to your desk.
I've heard one too many stories of nude pictures being leaked, even when the intention wasn't malicious.
Fine, call me.
The phone rings, and I answer it. Christian’s face appears on my screen, and I can see that he's in a hotel room. He's wearing a suit not unlike the one in the picture I saw earlier. I'm very careful to make sure that only my shoulders are in the shot. The look on his face is a smirk so sexy that I think it sets my body on fire.
Getting Her Back Page 6