Who We Are (FireNine #2)

by Williams, S. Q.

  “If you’d like the extra pay you’re always begging for, I’d expect you to be Miss Smith’s trainer until she gets the hang of things around here,” Frank said simply.

  “Seriously?” She looked me over, her hand still on her hip. “She’s too… classy. Girly. I don’t do classy or girly. I can already tell she thinks she’s better than everyone else here.”

  I frowned then, pulling away from Frank to take a step aside. One: I was pissed she was talking about me as if I wasn’t standing right in front of her. Two: no one walked over me like I was nothing. I’d come a long way and I wasn’t about to become a wuss just because it was my first day as an intern. “Excuse me, but no one here is judging you, Monica. I came here as an intern and to kick start my dreams and all the while have fun at it. I didn’t come for drama or a disgusting, ugly attitude from you.”

  She gaped, arching her eyebrows as she scanned me with wide, dark-brown eyes again. Frank stifled a laugh, which made her turn beet red, and then she stormed off. “Screw that shit,” I heard her mutter beneath her breath.

  “Don’t worry about her,” Frank said, folding his arms. I looked at him, but his gaze was ahead, watching her walk away. He had a gleam in his eyes, one I’d seen before. Attraction. Lust. Dominance. I saw it in Gage’s eyes before, and I automatically knew Frank and Monica had something going on. “She’ll be all right later. I guess I’ll have to find you a new trainer—not that it’ll be a problem. Monica’s just one of the best around here.”

  “I don’t mind. I don’t think I would have been comfortable working with someone who hates me anyway,” I said, laughing dryly.

  He capped my shoulder, shaking his head. “Monica could never hate anyone. She just has a strong personality. She’s sort of…”

  “Jealous of every girl you talk to?” I asked.

  His eyes widened, surprised, as if I’d just finished his statement. “Precisely. So don’t think anything of it. She’ll feel idiotic for her behavior in a few hours.” Frank smirked and my face filled with blood, realizing what he was getting at. Yeah, he and Monica were definitely sharing some kind of relationship.

  “Frank, done yet?” Gage called from down the hall. We turned to look at him and he’d just stepped out of the break room, crumbs all over his mouth and a chocolate glazed donut in his hand.

  “Just finding Miss Smith another trainer,” Frank sighed out. “The one I had my heart set on didn’t want it.” Just as Frank spoke up, a short, curly haired brunette with rectangular glasses and a smooth caramel complexion slammed right into his side. She was about to fall flat on her ass, but Frank caught her by the arm and reeled her in. Her eyes traveled up and she met Frank’s gentle gaze. She must’ve realized she was too close because she jerked back instantly, forcing a smile. She shoved her glasses up the bridge of her nose, then took another step away, gripping the open sketchbook in her hand.

  “I-I’m so sorry, Mr. McGuire. I was looking over my work and I—”

  Frank’s chuckle cut her off midsentence. “No apologies are necessary, Kelsey.”

  “I’m still sorry,” she squeaked, her southern accent somewhat thick. She looked from Frank to me and then Gage, who’d just stepped to my side. At the sight of Gage, her eyes expanded and she sucked in a breath. She was obviously taking in the fact that Gage was completely breathtaking, even if he did get on my nerves. “A-are you—”

  “Gage Grendel, lead singer of FireNine?” Gage filled in for her. “Why yes, yes, I am. But don’t tell anyone.” He winked, but I rolled my eyes. Cocky fucker. Gage smiled warmly at her and she fumbled around with her sketchbook, pulling the pen from her pocket. “Oh my goodness! Please sign this. I’ve been dying to run into the band ever since I started here. A signature is all I’m asking.”

  Chuckling, Gage grabbed her sketchbook and leisurely scribbled his signature. “Anytime.”

  She nearly melted but backed away and met Frank’s gaze again. “Again, I’m sorry, Mr. McGuire. I’ll be careful next time.”

  “Kelsey, don’t you train?” Frank asked.

  “I do.” She looked at me, her pink lips twisting. “But I’m not the best at it.”

  “Your work is marvelous. Don’t doubt yourself. Everyone at AG is talented. Spectacular. If not, they wouldn’t be working here. That’s a fact. Miss Smith here is in need of a lovely trainer and mentor until she gets the hang of things. The eighteenth and twenty-ninth floors will be where she’s working most this summer.”

  “Ohhh… the twenty-ninth floor. Craziest floor ever,” Kelsey said, hazel eyes expanding. “Well, I’m always up for training and helping. I don’t mind, Mr. McGuire. As long as I’m forgiven for… you know… running right into you and all. Don’t wanna lose my job or anything. I depend on this money, you know?” She was aiming to be funny, but I could tell she was nervous, especially as she kept stealing glances of Gage, who was nibbling on his doughnut.

  “All is forgiven. Just make sure Miss Smith has the best experience of her life here at AG.” Frank capped my shoulder and then looked at Gage. “Staying down or coming back up?”

  “It’s up to Ellie,” Gage said, fixing his eyes on me.

  I frowned at him, eyebrows knitted. “I’ll be okay. You’ll be kind of nerve-wracking to work around.”

  “Suit yourself.” Gage shrugged. “But I’ll be back.”

  I ignored him, instead looking at Kelsey, who was smiling brightly at me. At least she looked sweeter than candy. “Well, let’s get started, intern. I’ll give you a tour of the eighteenth floor.”

  “Good luck, Miss Smith,” Frank said, backing away to meet by Gage’s side.

  I thanked him and caught up with Kelsey. We shook hands, exchanged smiles, and then she started down the hallway. I felt a pair of eyes on me from behind and looked over my shoulder, knowing exactly to whom those eyes belonged.

  As I met sparkly hazel irises and a heart-melting smile, my heart thundered. He was still walking with Frank to get to the elevator, but he was walking backward, watching me and my hips. He licked his lips and I gave him my middle finger. He only chuckled.

  “Feisty. I love it,” he mouthed.

  “Dickhead,” I mouthed back. Right after, I turned around and smiled a little too widely, remembering how he and I used to banter last summer. Kelsey noticed my smile and stopped walking, taking a glance over her shoulder at Gage, who’d just turned around.

  “Wait a minute,” she said, fumbling with her sketchbook again. “I knew you looked familiar. Are you—no. No. You can’t be. You’re so… simple.”

  I tried not to laugh at her. “What?”

  “Come with me,” she said hurriedly, grabbing my wrist and rushing for the break room. It was empty as we stepped inside and she released me to go for the shelf in the corner. She dug through the piled magazines until finally she found one and held it up in front of her.

  I stepped up slowly, my mouth ajar as I grabbed the magazine. Sure enough, it was a picture of Gage and me holding hands in New York City. He was looking down at me lovingly and I was smiling up at him. That was when things were so effortless, so free. It was when we were slowly but surely falling in love.

  “You’re the girl that got away,” Kelsey murmured.

  I shook my head, shoving the magazine back into her hands. “We should get started,” I whispered.

  “Wait a minute.” She took a seat at the table. “Come on, we have all day. Plus, it’s your first day. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that Mr. McGuire doesn’t come to the eighteenth floor unless it’s important. We have our bosses, of course,” she said, waving her hand and rolling her eyes, “but they don’t give a damn as long as we get our work done by the end of the day.” She looked me over and I shifted my weight, begging to just get out of her presence. “Don’t consider me nosey or anything. I’m just curious. I’ve heard many things about Gage, not only from the press, but from girls who work here, and they’re all still grieving over losing him… and that was years ago. It’s funny, rea
lly. They’re dumb to think any rock star will fall to his knees over a girl… but I heard he did for you. There was a whole article about it in It’s Real magazine.”

  I gasped at the familiar title of the magazine and then grabbed it. I flipped through and there were at least four pages… all about us. “It’s Real?” I repeated out loud. My immediate thought was Cal Avery. Had he really witnessed Gage crumbling to his knees? Why would he put that in the press, knowing it would make him and the band look weak?

  But then I remembered… right before I left for Virginia last summer, he had a camera. I saw the flash. He was the one taking pictures. And instead of writing about the whole band and his experience with FireNine, he wrote about… us… and our breakup. Why would he do that? Is he really that low?

  “Yeah,” Kelsey said, her hazel eyes bright as I flipped to the last page and spotted Cal’s name and photo. “It mentioned how Gage wanted you to stay, but you didn’t. You left. And he got upset… and then it said you two were really close—that you two were probably meant for each other. And then there was something about Gage really having a soft side around you… I don’t know, but it was really interesting and deep. It pretty much proved that FireNine can be adoring and loving.” She huffed, blowing her bangs away from her glasses. “Wow… so you’re, like, famous?”

  “No,” I blurted. “No. I’m not. Far from it. We’re just friends now—”

  “That wasn’t just friends back there,” she said, grinning. “If I’m not mistaken, you were blushing and he… he was staring, watching, absorbing. Y’all were flirting. Damn, he’s so fucking hot. You’re one lucky chick. The look in his eyes was way more than friends, I’ll tell you that.”

  I bit on a smile as she stood from her chair to get to my side. “Just please try not to say much about it,” I begged her. “I want this internship to be drama- and stress-free and it’s already going to be hard to do with Gage around.”

  “Oh yeah!” she shrieked. “Yeah, of course! I have your back, girl. I’m just literally obsessed with FireNine. Their music, their faces, their bodies. Everything. They’re sex on a stick. And their matching dragon tattoos… Oh, I love it. They’re perfect.”

  I raised an eyebrow at her, smiling a little. “You keep up with FireNine?”

  “Yeah. I’ve read every magazine about them. I’ve seen every interview involving them. Every music video. I’ve downloaded every song… album. I want to work for the FireNine industry of AG one day. Sounds like I’m obsessed…” Her lips twisted, and then she met my eyes. “Well, I kinda am.” She shrugged.

  I laughed, shaking my head as I followed her out of the break room. “Who do you like most from the band?”

  She pondered on it, stroking her chin as we continued down the busy hall. “Montana had my vote at first, but as time progressed it kind of changed. I’d have to say Roy. He’s so hot and mysterious. And his body ink… it’s just like art. To die for. I’ve been looking for articles about him everywhere, but I can never find any. I look for interviews, pictures, videos… hardly any. He’s really conservative. It bites me ‘cause I wanna know everything about the guy. The way he plays… he does this little thing with his mouth and his tongue.” She stopped walking to touch the tip of her tongue above her lips. “Like this,” she said, her voice muffled.

  I giggled, shaking my head. Kelsey was a mix of spunky, geeky, and adorable. I knew I was going to have fun with her already.

  “Anyway, he’s hot and I can sorta tell he’s broken, you know?”

  I narrowed my eyes at her statement. “How?”

  “Well, because in photographs with the band, his eyes are always distant. He doesn’t reveal any emotion, but it seems like one day he’s just gonna… break down or blow up or something. I don’t know.” She shook her head, waving her hand in the air. “Stupid, I know. It’s just… I’ve seen that look before. The one where you just wanna disappear. I’ve been through it. It’s painful shit.”

  I nodded, completely understanding. I wanted to go into detail with her about me and Gage. She didn’t seem like the kind of girl who told anyone’s business, but I decided to keep my trap shut. She tucked a dark lock of curly hair behind her ear, her gaze falling as we continued down the hall. I knew she wanted to stop talking about it. I could see the hurt on her face, the guilt in her eyes. It stunned me and I knew, just as well as I knew myself, that she was recovering from something. Maybe heartbreak? Loss of a family member? A tragic and abusive past like my own? I didn’t know exactly, so instead of making things awkward, I perked up and beamed at her.

  “Well, we should definitely get down to some drawing and painting. I have a huge amount of creativity in my fingertips that I’ve been trying to hold in for this internship, and I need to let loose.”

  She grinned, a flashy-white grin, and nodded her head, as if my thoughts were hers exactly. “Great idea. Come on. Let me show you where the art room is—by the way, it’s huge and extremely busy. There are always over fifty people inside, but it’s perfect. The view is great for inspiration and all.”

  “Sounds great.”

  The day carried on rather quickly. I was introduced to a lot of talented artists. Some were interns and some were employees. All of them mentioned how they loved their jobs and wouldn’t trade it for the world. I could feel their passion. To paint, draw, and sculpt every single day was a dream. It was something I knew I would never get tired of.

  As soon as I was given the ding of the freedom bell from Kelsey, I was on my way to the corner full of art supplies. I scanned the area in awe. There were paints, wet and hard clay, colored pencils, crayons, tons of sketching paper, drawing pencils, outlining pens, sharpies, and a few flower pots that had been pushed aside.

  I decided to go with painting. It’d been so long. I knew it was bad to do in the new outfit Ben bought me, but I couldn’t help myself. My hands were aching to feel the strokes of the paintbrush. To just blend with it, stroke over and over again with a new color, create a new creation. I was so eager, especially as I saw a few people cheerfully drawing, painting, or sculpting. Kelsey was sculpting wet clay in a far corner near the window, so after I grabbed a painting canvas along with a stand, a few paintbrushes—thin and thick—and filled my painting pallet with all the colors of the rainbow, I made my way toward her.

  I set up my stand and canvas beside Kelsey, who gave me a light smile. As soon as I was all set up, I got right down to work.

  It wasn’t easy at first. As I observed each and every person in this large room, along with their artwork, I became mildly insecure of how mine would turn out. Frank wasn’t lying when he said everyone at AG was talented. They were, and I wanted to be just like them. Whether it was, painting, drawing, sculpting, or even photography, their work was marvelous.

  I picked up my brush and lifted my head, staring at the lurking towers. It was a bright day, although a few clouds were drifting toward the sun, proving rain would be coming soon. I sighed heavily, looked down, dipped my paintbrush in the orange, and then mixed it with some yellow and a smidge of red.

  I planted the tip of my brush on the canvas, bringing it up and down, creating smooth hills. The sun was far from setting, but I wanted it to be. This was my creativity. My imagination. I loved the sight of a setting sun. It’s glorious. Kelsey was right about this room being great inspiration. We were facing a wall of windows. Tower after tower stacked before me, making me feel like a wee little ant. I dipped the paintbrush in the water, dried it off with my paper towel, and then placed the tip into the white before mixing it with black. I had to create the towers.

  I was about to get knee deep into my painting, but someone cleared his throat behind me, causing me to stop. I thought it was someone I didn’t know—an employee at Arts Global maybe—but as Kelsey’s head turned and her eyes expanded with awe, I knew I was wrong.

  Slowly turning, I gripped my brush and met gentle hazel eyes. A wide smile caressed his lips; his head lowered, hair toppling onto his forehead. With ever
yone chatting before, the room was like a beehive, but it seemed like everyone had stopped talking at the sight of Gage. I looked around, realizing I was correct. They were all staring our way, some in awe, some obviously confused about why everyone was staring, and some with their eyes bugged out, most likely wanting to tackle this beautiful man for an autograph.

  “Gage, why are you in here?” I asked.

  He shrugged, staring at the towers behind me. “I thought you might need some inspiration.”

  “I don’t.” I lied. “I’m okay.”

  He pressed his lips, slipping his fingertips into his front pockets. “I’ll sit right here,” he said, reaching for a chair behind him. He placed it behind my canvas, turned it backward, and sat with his arms on top of the back of the chair.

  “That’s kind of distracting,” I mumbled.

  “I won’t say a word.”

  I sighed, rolling my eyes. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to get him to go away, so I moved my canvas a little to my left to block my view of him. It was obvious he was still looking this way. I could feel his heavy eyes focused in my direction, but I brushed him off. I dipped my brush in the paint again, staring at the towers, and then began painting.

  And when I started, I couldn’t stop. My hand glided effortlessly; my fingers weren’t stiff around the brush. I was no longer nervous. My hand had a brain of it’s own and was doing all the work diligently, not bothering to stop until everything was complete. Gage was sitting still. I could see the top of his head over the canvas. His tousled, dark-brown hair peeked at me, and somehow I used that to my advantage. I dipped the brush into various colors, creating a light shade of brown.

  I wasn’t sure where the hell I was going to add this brown, but I worked with it. But then I figured out I was no longer just painting the towers. I was creating a face. Whose face? And birds? Why birds? What the hell?

  But I couldn’t stop. It was so blissful. The swift movements of my hands took me away, carrying me to depths I didn’t even realize. I grabbed brush after brush, switching from thin to thick and even to a medium-sized brush. I was transfixed, transitioning into someone else. I was no longer the ordinary Eliza Smith. I was Artist Eliza Smith and, damn it, she was doing one hell of a job.