"Don't be nervous, Pickle! Miss Fancy Pants will love it!"

I let out a nervous sigh. "I can't help it, Abs. This is my first real client. What if she hates it?"

"Dylan Sabrina Miller! Stop! Calm yourself, right now!" Abby shouted from the other end of the phone call, "Are you calm now?"

"Yes," I lied, appreciating her efforts. I peered out the window as the taxi slowed to a stop, "I'm here now. I'll call you after."

Abby gave one last round of supportive words and we said our goodbyes. Dropping my phone into my purse, I paid the taxi driver before getting out of the car. I kept a tight hold on the wrapped canvas, taking a deep breath.

You can do this, Dylan.

It was amazing how fast time could change things. Only a few short weeks ago, I was dealing with the aftermath of my run-in with Hunter. A run-in that had left a dark cloud hanging over my head. The only thing I wanted to do was create; paint something to help me escape. But I couldn't. Every time I sat down, it was as if all the creativity I had vanished. That was until I received a special phone call.

Ms. Lewis was a wealthy lawyer, wanting to fill her renovated office with fresh, new artwork. Or so her assistant had said over the phone. Given a short timeline, reference photos, and creative freedom, I was brought right out of my creative woes and got to work.

And now, I sat at reception, anxiously tapping my feet. My nerves, combined with the unusually warm day in December for Los Angeles, did not help. With each employee that passed, I felt underdressed. As they wore perfectly tailored suits and dresses, I had gone for a pair of black jeans, a white shirt and converse. I could hear my mother cursing me out for not dressing to the occasion.

"Dylan?" A chipper voice pulled me from my thoughts.

A man, who looked only a few years older than I was, stood in front of me. I quickly got to my feet and nodded. "That's me!"

"I'm Victor. We spoke on the phone." He reached forward to shake my hand. "Ms. Lewis is ready for you," he said, turning and walking down the hall, motioning for me to follow.

I grabbed hold of the canvas and hurried after him, doing my best to not bump into anyone along the way. As we stepped into the office, my breath was taken away by the mere size of the space. Ms. Lewis sat behind her desk on one end, talking on the phone to someone. A small seating area was on the other side of the room, in front of a wall filled with accomplishments, from diplomas, to what appeared to be trophies.

"You can take a seat," Victor whispered, "She'll be done in a moment."

I nodded, giving a smile of gratitude in response, as I didn't want to risk making any noise that would interrupt. I took a seat, my eyes gravitating towards the large windows which provided a breathtaking view of the city. It was clear Ms. Lewis had done well for herself. The grand size of her office had to be larger than my entire apartment.

"Well if I don't have that contract signed and at my office by five sharp, there will be problems." Ms. Lewis abruptly hung up the phone. "Dylan, is it?" The women's voice instantly dropped to a much sweeter tone, "My budding artist. I am excited to see what you have created! I've been waiting all week."

"It's so nice to finally meet you, Ms. Lewis," I did my best to hide the nerves that desperately wanted to escape.

"Oh, please. Call me Diane."

The women's demeanour was warm. Yet, I was willing to bet that if she didn't like what I had created, there was little chance she would hold back any opinions. One could not rise to her level of apparent success without being honest, no matter how brutal it might be.

"Now, show me!"

I stood with trembling legs, positioning the canvas to face her. As I began to remove the covering, it was clear that I was struggling to do so. The sound of snapping fingers caught my attention and I looked to see Victor by my side.

"Let me help," he said, holding the back for me.

"Thank you," I replied quietly, continuing to remove the rest of the covering.

I stepped to the side, waiting for Diane to speak. Instead, she rose silently from her seat, walked around to the other side and leaned against the desk. I tried my best to gather any sign from her expression, but her poker face was strong.

"If you don't –"

Diane held up her hand, silencing the ramble of words that started to escape. I glanced towards Victor, who did his best to give me a reassuring look. It did little to help, although I appreciated the effort on his behalf.

"Tell me," Diane said, crossing her arms over her chest, "How did you create this piece?"

I cleared my throat. "Well, Victor told me that you wanted a piece that represented Paris. He said it was your favourite city and sent me some reference photos. He said your favourite areas involved the cafes... boutiques... the flower shops... the cobbled laneways," I pointed to the areas on the painting as I spoke, "And then to hint at where this setting takes place, I put the Eiffel tower in the landscape, so it's not the focus on the painting."

Diane was silent once again and she continued to look at the painting. I began to wonder if I created something remotely close to what she was looking for.

"It's beautiful," she said, nodding her head, "Exactly what I wanted. You, my dear, have quite a talent."

A large breath of relief escaped. "I'm so glad you like it."

"Have you ever been to Paris?"

I shook my head.

"Really?" Diane seemed surprised by my answer, "You paint like you've sat outside that café. Surely an artist like you would want to go."

"It's been a dream of mine for a while, actually," I said, my lips tugging into a sad smile.

"What's holding you back?"

I knew the answer, I didn't want to say it out loud. "Timing." I shrugged. "I guess the timing has just never been right."

"Victor, get my cheque book," she instructed her assistant.

Victor nodded, leaning the painting against the wall before quickly disappearing. Diane and I moved to stand side by side, staring at the piece of art.

My hands began to fidget with anticipation, wanting to ask a question that burned in my mind since I stepped inside this building. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course, dear."

I paused momentarily before asking, "Why do you want to buy my art? I mean... I'm sure more well-known artworks would have looked beautiful in your office."

"Do your parents know you're an artist?"

"No, they don't."

"And why is that?"

I glanced towards my painting. "They wouldn't approve."

"I once had a daughter, Arabella, who was an aspiring artist. She was a lot like you actually," Diane said softly, "I would always tell her that it wasn't a viable career, that she needed to follow in her mother's footsteps... You know, all of that great motherly advice," she showed a soft smile, "Unfortunately, she passed before her eighteenth birthday. It took me weeks, months almost, to go into her bedroom. But once I did, I truly saw all that artist talent that I had selfishly ignored."

"I... I am so sorry, I shouldn't have asked."

"Don't be. This is how I celebrate Bella's talents now. If you look around this office, every piece of art is by someone undiscovered, from all over the world." Diane pointed to a few paintings and sculptures that were visible in the hallway, "Of course, I could spend the entire decoration budget on a beautiful Monet or Picasso. Or, I could find that hidden talent of someone who is in their bedroom, painting away, hoping to become the next artist who we talk about for generations to come."

I smiled, appreciating her words. "That's a really nice thing for you to do."

Victor hurried back into the room, out of breath. "Sorry," he said, handing over a black leather cheque book, "Your purse was in your car."

"Thank you, Victor." Diane walked around her desk, taking a seat. The room fell silent as she scribbled onto the piece of paper, signing her name in one, lightning-fast stroke. Diane tore the paper out of the book and held it out for me to take. "Here you are, my dear."

My eyes widened as I saw the number written in black ink. "This is..."

"A bonus. I just hope you put it to good use. Possibly a trip to Paris?"

"Ms. Lewis, I can't accept this." I handed the cheque back. "This is too much."

"My dear," Diane smiled warmly, "Never accept less than what you're worth."

I hesitated for a moment; this amount of money was more than triple what we agreed on. Never accept less than what you're worth, the words Diane had just said rung through my head once more. I folded the piece of paper in half and opened my purse, securing it safely inside.

Giving Diane my final goodbye and thanks of gratitude, I walked towards the door.

"Oh, and Dylan? Give me a call when you're in Paris. I might have some more work opportunities for you."

I nodded, unable to hide my wide grin of excitement. "Of course."

"I'm glad Charlie suggested your work. I am excited to see what else you will create."

"Charlie?"

"Yes, Charlie Adams. One of our fabulous interns. He said he was a friend of yours."

"He-he is, I just didn't –" I cut myself off. "I'll have to thank him."

To say my head was spinning as I exited the office would be an understatement. Did Charlie suggest my work? After everything that had happened? Why would he do such a thing?

I looked to the side and saw Victor typing madly away at his computer.

"You wouldn't happen to know where Charlie Adams is, would you?"

I followed Victor's brief instructions of where to go and quickly headed down the long hallway. Many employees passed, each with large stacks of papers. Interns, I assumed, all carrying case files to other workers or disappearing into board rooms. Oh, how I was thankful to not be one of them.

The end of the hallway led into a wide, open workspace. The air shifted into a frenzy of stress as individuals worked, their desks cluttered with mountains of paper stacks and binders. My eyes scanned the room, catching sight of my target at the last row of desks.

Charlie's eyes caught mine as I approached, appearing to do a double-take. "Hey, Simon? Yeah, can I call you back?" he said, to whoever he was speaking with. "Thanks." Charlie hung up the phone. "Dylan. This is a surprise."

I smiled, realizing how nervous I was. Unsure of what to say, I blurted out, "You suggested my art to Diane."

Charlie cleared his throat. "Uh, yeah. I'm sorry if that was wrong of me to do. I know we haven't spoken much since..." he paused. "I promise you, it was because of your talent. It wasn't some ploy to win you over or anything like that."

I raised a brow. "I wasn't thinking that."

"Oh." Charlie rubbed the back of his neck. "Glad I put that out there then."

Awkward. That was how I could best describe this interaction. If anyone was listening in, they would have never assumed that at one point the two of us actually got along well.

"I wanted to say thank you, actually." I shifted on the balls of my feet.

"No problem." Charlie tapped his fingers on his desk, "So... do you have any plans for Christmas or New Year's Eve?"

"I'll probably spend a bit of time with my parents for Christmas. But I think I'm going to stay in for New Year's Eve."

"No wild parties?"

I grinned, shaking my head, "No. I need to avoid the club and bar scene for a little while. You?"

"I'm hoping to head home to see my family for a bit. Depending on work I hope to spend as much time there as I can."

"That sounds nice." I bit the inside of my cheek. "Well, thank you again. It was nice to see you."

I turned to walk away, wanting to erase this uncomfortable encounter from my mind as quickly as I could.

"Dylan, wait!"

The sound of Charlie's sound caused me to internally groan. As I turned back around, Charlie had already risen from his seat and began walking towards where I stood.

"I saw this the other day and thought of you," he said, handing forward a pamphlet.

"The Divine Art Show?"

"Yeah, it's a pretty big art contest. There's a bunch of cash prizes and the first place winner gets an exhibition, magazine spread..."

Submit a portfolio including ten of your best pieces, the pamphlet read. Over one hundred artists are selected as finalists. Finalists will be given a theme and three months to create three original works of art, which are then judged by some of the top critics in the industry.

I tore my eyes away from the information. "Wow... thank you, Charlie. First the Diane opportunity and now this... Are you sure this isn't some type of ploy?"

Charlie held up his hands in defence. "Not at all. Just a way to apologize for... you know."

"You don't have to apologize, Charlie. If anyone should be apologizing here it should be me, for dragging you into the mess."

"How about we call a truce on this one?"

That once prevalent awkwardness that loomed the air appeared to have vanished.

"Truce." 

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... we're back.

see y'all on Friday <3

ps. I'm still a lil rusty so pls excuse any issues and just let me know nicely <3