Page 6 of It Hurts Me
“Let me show you the space.” George escorted me to one side of the villa, and we entered a grand study with a large fireplace, a mahogany desk, and a sitting area positioned on top of a rug. It was well decorated, but the walls were bare. “The owner of the house has been here for years but never got around to selecting his artwork. He’s a very busy man.”
I’d already sized up the room, realizing the potential of the space. “It’s a lovely room.”
“Yes, I agree.”
I took a look around, examined the open walls and took measurements, trying to decide how the layout should be. I sat down on the couch and took notes.
George continued to stand there, as if I might steal something if he left me alone.
“I have some ideas,” I said. “Do you have any idea what kind of artwork the owner likes or…?”
“He’s not picky. Just something to fit the space.”
“I would hate to put in all this work without having some idea of what he likes.” Some of my clients like paintings of naked women exclusively, some preferred floral arrangements and landscapes, and others wanted specific types of art, either religious or evocative. “Does he like images of historical significance? Does he like landscapes? Does he like portraits of people? If we could just narrow it down, that would be helpful. If this is his study, then it’s his domain, and he needs to enjoy the art in his space.”
George stood there with his hands behind his back, drawing a slow and deep breath as he deliberated with himself. He had to decide whether he wanted to bother his employer with a matter as insignificant as this.
“I’ve taken all the measurements and have a feel for the room. Maybe he could meet me at the gallery whenever he’s free. We could walk through it together, and he could give me his input. Our collection is enormous. We have everything you can think of.”
“I’ll speak with him,” George said. “Expect an email from me.”
My husband and I went to dinner that night. It wasn’t a romantic night on the town for the two of us, but a work event for him. I wasn’t sure if he had a client or some other connection because my husband wore a lot of different hats.
When we arrived, he pulled out my chair for me like he always did, and then we sat across from a man in his late fifties with a woman who looked like she could be his daughter. Beautiful in a scandalous dress, she had only one purpose, and that was to look stunning on his arm.
I was used to this sort of thing because I’d been in this world for so long, but it still surprised me that people lived this way, lived lives very different from the average person.
The wine was ordered, along with an appetizer, and then the men got down to business.
“Tyrone has been a cockblock to my business for a long time,” the man said. “We formed a partnership when we were in our early twenties, but he’s gone off the deep end in the last few years. Because of the contracts we signed, there’s nothing I can do to stop him. But at the rate he’s going, he’s going to sink the ship.”
My husband listened intently, ignoring the sound of the loud restaurant around us, his focus absolute. “Is the ship already sinking?”
The other man cocked his head slightly. “It’s starting to creak…”
“And you’ve spoken to him?”
“We’ve had our shouting matches. He’s an arrogant son-of-a-bitch.”
“If he suddenly dies, you’ll be the first suspect.”
He gave a shrug. “I don’t care at this point.”
“You don’t care about revenge?”
“He has a wife and a couple kids. I’m not afraid of them. They’ll still get their cut. But I need to take the wheel and avoid the iceberg we’re about to hit. He won’t listen to reason, so I see no other option.”
I sat there and listened to all of this, partially desensitized to these conversations. They talked about killing people like it was a simple contract with no consequences. My husband said it was real life and fairy tales didn’t exist…only nightmares.
I wasn’t sure why he brought me to these, because this wasn’t the quality time that I craved. I wasn’t the bombshell on his arm like the woman across from me, who seemed completely zoned out of the conversation. She either didn’t care that her date wanted to kill someone, or she was used to it.
“For a contract like this, it’s going to be at least thirty.”
“Thirty?” he asked in slight surprise.
“Keep in mind, that’s a cheap contract. I have clients who pay in the hundreds. It all depends on the potential fallout we have to face. I took a contract for the Skull King’s brother, and it’s created quite the headache.”
I immediately thought of the ring on the man’s hand the other night, the diamonds set into a skull shape. I’d forgotten about it right after I saw it, but it sprang back to my mind in that moment.