Black Ties and White Lies(5)

I scoff, shaking my head. “It’s insulting that you think I’m normal. I’m far from normal, Margo. I’ll go to great lengths to get what I want.”

“And what you want is to have a conversation with me?”

My lips press into a thin line. “Not exactly.” What I want is you. At least for the time being.

Margo falls into her chair with a loud sigh. “You’re probably the vaguest person I know.”

My lip twitches. “I’m not vague on purpose. You keep interrupting me with questions, not letting me get to the point.”

“Say no more. I’ll keep my mouth shut until you make this make sense.” Being dramatic, she holds her thumb and index finger in front of her lips, miming zipping her lips and throwing the key over her shoulder.

She looks childish, her cheeks puffed out with her lips sealed shut. There’s a mischievous gleam to her eyes, making me question if this is a good idea or not.

“Like I said earlier, you’re getting promoted.”

She opens her mouth like she’s going to argue, making me raise my eyebrows. Her eyes roll as her mouth snaps shut. I can tell it’s taking everything in her not to interject with what is no doubt another one of her questions. I silently hold eye contact a few seconds longer, waiting to see if she’ll manage to keep her mouth closed or not.

Apparently she can. Good girl.

“Your days of doing graphic design for this place are over. Starting Monday, you’ll be my new assistant.”

Fire erupts in her eyes. “No way. I didn’t graduate with an art degree to become your little errand girl.”

“Stop being dramatic. You didn’t graduate top of your class at one of the best art programs in the country to do graphic design here.” Reaching to the middle of the table, I grab one of the pens that sit in a plastic cup. I hold it up, turning it in my hands. “Your art is better than this, Margo. This logo is terrible, and I know it isn’t because of you.” I keep inspecting the pen as I let the words marinate between us. I squint. “Has no one told Marty this face looks like a cock with balls?”

She chokes on her laugh, her eyes wide as she tries to bring air into her lungs. Eventually, she gains composure. Her fingers come up to wipe at the smudged mascara underneath her eyes, the tears from her laughter making black splotches underneath her eyes. “I think Marty almost fired me when I told him I thought the addition of the smiley face with a nose looked a little…phallic.”

I smirk. “A little? The eyes look like two rounded balls with a small cock in the middle.” Each time I say cock, I swear her cheeks get slightly more red.

Margo attempts to move a stray lock of hair from her face, but the piece is too short to stay behind her ear. She huffs, blowing her bangs away from her face in defeat. “The logo is terrible, I get it. I didn’t have my choice. Marty threatened me if I didn’t create it the way he envisioned it. So I did it, because I’ve got to pay my bills.” She looks me up and down, her eyes halting at the watch on my wrist. “Not all of us were born with money.”

I bite my tongue. Now isn’t the time for us to get into an argument about money—my money. “Do you want to spend the rest of your life doing graphic design for an almost unlivable wage?”

“At least it’s some form of art,” she fires back. “Being your assistant wouldn’t allow me to have any kind of creativity.”

“False. I’ll make sure you have time for your art.”

“And what is my art, Beck? I doubt you know.”

“You like to draw, Violet. You done with your questions now?”





So many words fly through my head, none of them managing to leave my mouth. It doesn’t happen often, but he’s rendered me speechless.

Beck’s smile is almost predatory. He knows his answer has taken me by surprise. I’m backed into a corner, unsure how to get myself out of it. I hadn’t expected him to remember my favorite creative outlet. Especially since Carter always told people I painted, even though he’d never seen me with a paintbrush the entire duration of our relationship. I’d just assumed that’s what Beck would’ve thought I did, too.

“Tell me what it means to be your assistant.” I try to fold my arms across my midsection in a defensive position, but all it does is make the wire of my bra dig into my rib cage even further. My hands slide into my lap instead, my eyes still watching Beck carefully.

“Does it matter? You start Monday.”

“I haven’t even agreed to it yet.”

“It’d be silly for you not to say yes. It’s a significant pay bump, and you’ll be out of this place.” His finger loops in the air, bringing attention to the lackluster conference room we’re in.

“I’m terrible at making coffee,” I argue. “Ask Darla.”

“There’s more to it than that…” For a fraction of a second, Beck looks nervous. The look is erased almost as quickly as it first showed up. But as fast as it was, I still saw it.

“What is it?”

His cheeks hollow out, making his sharp cheekbones even more prominent. “I need you to not only become my assistant but also my fiancée.”

The chair underneath me groans loudly as I lean forward, looking at him in shock. “What did you just say?”