“I leave them here?” I ask, shuffling my feet on the floor, not liking that I have to leave, this was supposed to be something for all of us.
“Yes,” she answers, placing her hand on my forearm in a reassuring gesture. “They’re safe here, but I’m afraid you can’t stay. We have a strict ‘no parents’ policy for the first six weeks until they get settled in.”
I frown at this information and look over at Izzie where she’s looking at all of the paintings, her voice echoing as she “oohs” and “aahs.” Her face is full of admiration and I know that even if Clay doesn’t like it, Izzie will.
“I…” I run my hand along my jaw, not sure whether I should leave them in the hands of someone I don’t know.
“If you were to stay,” she starts. “The kids wouldn’t be free to create what they wanted. They’d constantly be looking over their shoulders for your approval.”
I nod my head in acknowledgement, understanding what she’s saying. “Okay.”
She smiles and hands me some forms to fill in before turning around and walking over to where Izzie and Clay are.
I fill in all of their details apprehensively, holding them in the air in Matilda’s direction as other kids and parents start to file in. She nods her head that she’s seen me and I wave at Clay and Izzie.
“I’ll see you in an hour,” I tell them with a wave.
“Bye, Daddy!” Izzie shouts.
I take one last look at them as Matilda says something to Clay before I step outside, walking back to my car.
The sound of voices downstairs has me taking a deep breath to calm myself before walking down to the growing crowd of children. My smile grows wider and my anticipation and nerves for today subside instantly at seeing their excited faces. I don’t know what I was so worried about.
I clear my throat to get their attention, making all of their heads snap my way.
“Good morning, everyone, my name is Miss Jameson, but you can all call me Miss J for short. I’m so excited that you could all be here today for the opening of my new art studio, but before we get started, I’d like to go over a few of the boring things that’ll help us to keep you safe.”
They all gawp at me but I smile reassuringly at them. “First of all, once those doors are closed, no one goes near them. There’s a road out there and we don’t want you all getting lost, or worse. Do you all understand?” They all nod and I continue. “Secondly, no one goes in my office.” I point to the door to my right and then behind me with both arms. “The kitchen—which is back here—or up those stairs without Tilly’s or my permission.”
I point to Mom after the stairs and she smiles at them all.
“What’s up the stairs?” an older boy asks.
“Upstairs is where all my art is kept, it’s my space just like in here is yours,” I answer him, waving my arms around the room. “I will take you all for a tour upstairs so you’re not so curious, but other than that time, no one is to go up there. So, other than those two very important rules, you can use anything you like to paint, draw, and sculpt whatever you want. Now, I want you all to line up outside.”
Some giggle, but they mostly look confused as they all file out after Mom. I stand in front of the doors and take a deep breath, enjoying the sunshine on my face. “Before you come into the studio, I want you all to think of a happy thought. I want you to leave all the bad thoughts outside and walk in ready to have fun, and maybe even learn something.”
“Like unicorns?” a cute, long blond-haired girl asks.
I giggle. “Exactly! Anything at all that makes you happy, you go ahead and think it.” I pause. “Has everyone got their happy thought?”
Everyone says “yes” or nods apart from a boy of around seven or eight, he has his nose in a book so I walk up to him. “What’s your name?”
He looks up at me, startled before he stammers, “I… It’s Clayton.”
“He’s my brother,” the blond-haired little girl says proudly.
“He is? That’s amazing. What’s your name?”
“Isabel, but my daddy calls me Izzie.” She beams.
“And what would you like me to call you?” I ask her, not wanting to use her dad’s nickname for her without her permission.
“You can call me Izzie too,” she says sweetly after some thought.
I chuckle, clapping my hands together, making several of the children jump. “Happy thoughts, remember! Everyone but Clayton go on inside with Tilly.”
Everyone walks inside in excited chatter and I turn back to Clayton, smiling wide at him. “What are you reading, Clayton?”
He looks down at the book in his hands. “The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.”
I’m impressed that a boy of his age is reading such old literature. “Oh, really? What’s your favorite part of it?”
He looks around uncomfortably but I smile reassuringly at him, trying to put him at ease.
“When… when they go through the wardrobe into Narnia. I like the magic,” he says shyly.
And just like that, he’s melted my heart. “Do you think you could hold onto that happy thought for me as we go back into the studio?”
He nods and gives me a quick smile before looking down at the ground again and following me back through the doors.
I stop in the middle of the room. “Okay, now that we’re ready, I want to introduce you to your first works of art.” I point at the box of plain white coveralls that Mom is holding and we hand them out one by one. “These may look like nothing now, but once you’re finished with them, they’ll be your own special design.” I point to the plain ones I’m wearing. “I also need help decorating mine as they seem to be a bit boring.”
I wave my arms around the room. “Like I said before, you can use anything you want in here. The plastic sheet over there is for painting them, there’s hooks for you to use. Are you ready?” They all talk between themselves excitedly. “Then what are you waiting for? Help me make these beautiful!”
There’s a bustle of activity as they all walk off in different directions, checking out the different colored paints that are set up before joining me on the plastic sheet and painting my coveralls.
When it doesn’t look like I have any space left to cover, I say, “Right, now that mine are a masterpiece, yours need to be too.”
I watch as they all walk off and I step out of the coveralls, being careful of the wet paint and hanging them up in the back room before walking back through and reveling in the excited buzz that emanates from them all.
“Good kids,” Mom state's standing next to me.
I smile, nodding, but it changes to a frown as I notice Clayton sitting on a beanbag in the corner, reading. “Yeah, they are. Keep an eye on them for me for a second,” I say, walking over and sitting beside him on another beanbag.
He looks over at me before turning back to his book.
“Pauline Baynes was a very talented illustrator.” His eyes flit to me again, but he doesn’t say anything. “Both her and the author won awards for their piece of art.”
“Art?” he questions, looking curiously up at me.
I smile down at him. “Of course! Books are a form of art.”
“My dad said the same thing. The pictures are good, I guess,” he says quietly. “But… how is the book art?”
“Well, it takes a long time to write a book. Authors have to invent all of the different characters: what they look like, how they behave, and how they react to what happens to them during the story. But they also have to set the scene for readers like you so that you can picture what’s going on clearly; they too have to design a scene or place in their heads. So, although they don’t paint or draw, they use the written word to express their art, because art isn’t just about drawing and painting: it’s designing, using your imagination, and painting a story.”
I let him think about that for a minute before I roll out of the beanbag and stand up. “I think if you let your imagination run free, you’d tell an awesome story
on your coveralls.”
I study his gray eyes before walking over to a girl who is struggling to open the top on a bottle of paint.
“I don’t know what you said to him, but it worked,” Mom says in awe several minutes later.
Sure enough, when I look over at the beanbag chair, it’s empty. I scan the room, finding Clayton sitting at a table, drawing on his coveralls. It fills me with such utter joy that tears spring to my eyes. If I could do this every single day for the rest of my life, I’d die a very happy woman.
The rest of the session I flit around the room trying to get to know everyone’s names and character, but an hour isn’t enough time to get to know them all.
“Alright, everyone, it’s time to get the place in order again. Paints, pens, chalks, everything back where they were. Paintbrushes and palettes need to go in the bucket under the sink ready for cleaning. Starting next week, we’ll be using a cleaning roster, so we’ll all take turns in washing them.”
I make a mental note to make one tomorrow as I help tidy up the room.
When it’s all done, everyone’s attention turns back to me. “Your coveralls need to dry, so bring them to Tilly or me and we’ll hang them all up in the back, ready for next week's session.”
There’s a bustle of activity and a lot of noise, but that’s how it’s supposed to be, they’re kids. Kids aren’t meant to be quiet: they’re inquisitive, excitable, and frankly misunderstood. They’re a lot smarter and capable than most give them credit for.
Parents start arriving and I move into the back to hang the six coveralls that I’ve been handed. When I walk back into the front, there’s only three children left who are waiting for their parents.
I smile at them. “Did you all enjoy yourselves?”
All three shout, “Yeah,” in unison and I sigh in contentment knowing that this is exactly where I’m supposed to be.
Sigma & Paloma Faith—Changing
Madeline Merlo—War Paint
“So, you’re saying there won’t be any other stores?” Pete, one of the board members asks with a frown on his face.
I huff out a breath, my eyes narrowing at his light brown ones. He’s the one and only board member that is constantly second-guessing all of my decisions. At first, I thought it was him trying to intimidate me because I was new, but now I know it’s because he wants my place at the head of the company. He thinks he’s subtle, but he’s not—far from it.
“That’s right,” I tell him, letting my gaze move from his slowly before scanning all of the other faces that sit around the huge table. There are varying expressions: some look confused, some look downright angry, and some look pleased with the idea.
I push my chair back as I stand, buttoning up my suit jacket and walking over to the interactive board on the wall, signaling Jared—the computer technician supervisor—to start the presentation on the laptop.
He shuffles awkwardly before pushing his glasses up his nose and clicking the keys on his laptop before handing me a remote.
Clicking the button, the first slide appears and I start. “If we have one store—and only one store—based right here in the building, it will become a novelty. People will visit not only for the store, but also to see how everything is made. This means that sales will be better with no extra overhead costs.” I raise my brow and press the button on the remote as I point it at the board, bringing up the next slide. “Growth is seen online, that’s where people buy things now; they don’t go out to stores unless they’re going for something specific. I say we overhaul the website, making it more interactive and modern. That’s where Jared comes in.”
I tilt my head to him and take a step back for him to take it from here.
I knew as soon as I spoke to him and told him my plan that he was on board, he had so many ideas that I told him not to keep me in the dark again, he’s a genius that has been working in this company for years and I didn’t even know about him or what he can do. All the changes make financial sense, not only that but having the one and only store in the same building that the software and malware are made in will enable us to give our customers a one-off experience like no other.
I need to get the board’s go ahead and then it can all be put into motion. I smirk as I listen to Jared—who am I kidding? Even if they don’t agree, I’ll still go ahead with it all.
My eyes move to the board members as they watch Jared intently, all engrossed in what he has to say and what he’s showing them.
“So?” I ask when Jared has finished. “Do you want more information, or shall we vote?”
Their answering murmurs of “let’s vote” has me grinning, glad I don’t have to go above their heads. This is the start of something good, no, something great.
I take everyone’s vote and with thirteen yeses and two nos, it means the decision is in my favor by a landslide.
“Get your team on it,” I tell Jared.
His eyes sparkle and he adjusts his tie pushing his shoulders back. “Yes, Mr. Carter.”
He shuffles out of the room as I undo the button on my jacket and take a seat back at the head of the table, steepling my hands on the light wooden surface and looking each board member in the eye.
“Things will be changing around here. I have more ideas like this one; ideas that will take this company to the next level.” I pause. “I won’t let a single person stop me from trying to make this company the best that it can be.”
My ruthless gaze turns to Pete and I narrow my eyes at him, sending him a silent warning to which he smirks in reply. They’re all deathly silent but I don’t let it bother me. I’m the CEO and I’ll bring the name of this company not only back to where it was, but to surpass it too.
“Anyone have anything to say?” I ask, waiting for someone to moan about what I’m doing and saying, ready to put them in their place. Most shake their heads “no,” so I stand up and smile. “See you all at the same time next week then.”
I stay where I’m standing as they all file out, my shoulders back and a sense of pride running through me. Seeing this company as mine and not my father’s has changed something within me. Cutting him out of my life has made me realize that I’m not just holding down the fort until he comes back, because he’s not coming back. He’s gone and he’ll never be able to step foot inside this building again.
This is my legacy; a legacy I need to keep and build upon, not only for me but for Clay and Izzie too.
I push my chair under the table as several sets of footsteps clank against the floor, Catiya rushing into the room looking out of breath. “Your mother is here, she refused to wait,” she says.
My nostrils flare. “Is it too much to ask you to do your job and not let anyone waltz in?”
“I… I’m sorry,” she whispers, her gaze lowering to the floor.
I open my mouth to berate her some more when my mother rushes in, giving Catiya a look that could kill and then turns to me, painting on that fake smile that I know all too well.
“Tristan,” she says, her voice soft and low.
“Mother,” I respond through gritted teeth before walking over to her and kissing her on the cheek. “What has you coming into the office unannounced?”
I slow my breaths down, trying to keep the anger that is bubbling inside me like a volcano ready to erupt under control.
She turns toward Catiya. “You can go.”
I nod my head and wave my hand, telling her to close the door behind her. Once it’s closed, my mom takes her long coat off and hangs it over the back of one of the chairs, looking around the room. “Well... when your only son won’t come and see you, you have no choice but to come to his workplace.”
She smooths down her blond hair, the cut sharp and drawing out her features, especially her gray eyes.
“I’ve been busy,” I respond.
“Yeah?” She snorts, so unladylike. She’d never do that in front of anyone else, she always has this front that she puts on with other people, but with me she lets hersel
f be the person that she is. “Too busy to see me, or to let me see my grandbabies?”
I shake my head at her sulking tone—she’s more of a child than Izzie.
“Yes,” I answer simply, not wanting to talk. I can barely even look at her right now, all she does is bring back memories; memories that I don’t want in my face constantly.
She crosses her arms over her chest and raises a perfectly shaped brow. “So... when will I get to see my little munchkins?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug, moving past her and collecting my leather folder that contains my important papers.
“For God’s sake, Tristan! Tell Edward to bring them over after school.”
I slowly lift my head, my gaze settling on hers. “Mother...” I warn but she ignores it and continues with her incessant talking.
“And will you stop with the Mother! No one else is around, Tristan. It’s just little old me here.”
I rub my pointer finger into my temple, trying to relieve another headache that I can feel coming on as I blow out a long breath. I love my mother as much as a person can when he doesn’t want to see her, she can be intense and that’s only one of the many reasons that I’ve pulled away from her.
Growing up, Dad wanted things a certain way. He liked to control any and all situations, he was the one who insisted on me calling them Mother and Father. He had things kept in perfect order; one step outside of his invisible lines wasn’t acceptable.
It wasn’t until he went to prison that Mom finally woke up and divorced him—ridding him from her life—that things changed.
She’d been pushed into being someone that she wasn’t while she was married to him and she’s been doing everything she can to try and be the mother that she was never given the chance to be when I was growing up. She started her own business and it’s doing really well. I can remember as a child she was always making and designing her own clothes—not that she was allowed to wear them outside of the house though.
Etching Our Way (Broken Tracks Series Book 1) Page 10