Oh my God!
I sit up quickly, and Louis chuckles beside me.
“You looked so peaceful.”
I wipe the side of my mouth. “I’m so sorry…” I move away from him, “… that was utterly unprofessional.” Louis frowns as I shimmy further away from him.
I probably look like a mess—I can feel my hair has a bird’s nest going on, so I try to run my fingers through it and then start to pack up the leftovers from our picnic lunch.
“Emily.” Louis reaches out, touching my hand. I look up into his bright blue eyes. “It’s okay. We just fell asleep together. Nothing happened.” I nod, but I am feeling very flustered. “I’m not angry,” he says softly. I nod again, words escaping me right now. He frowns again and pulls his hand away. “I’m sorry, Emily.” He helps me pack the picnic basket.
“Why are you sorry?”
“I’ve been a bastard to you since the moment you arrived.” I’m not sure where he’s going with this conversation, but I continue to listen. “And I can see now that my actions have hurt you. That I scare you.”
“You don’t scare me.”
Why does he think that?
“Because something as innocent as falling asleep beside me has you cowering away from me.”
Oh.
“I didn’t think it was very professional, that’s all.” I find I can’t look at him when I speak.
“I’ve hardly been professional myself.”
I shrug because I’m not going to lie to him.
“I want to start over.” My eyes widen in surprise. “Hi, I’m Louis Marchant. You might know me as your favorite artist.” He holds out his hand to me making me laugh, but I take it.
“Hi, I’m Emily Chapman. And you might know me as your best assistant ever.”
His hand stays in mine as he tips his head back, laughing.
18
Louis
“We should take a photo,” Emily tells me.
“You want to show off to your friends that you’re with your favorite artist?” I joke.
She rolls her eyes. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?” She shuffles through her backpack pulling her cell phone out.
“Yeah, probably not,” I say, liking her honesty, the way she’s so open without even realizing it. Every emotion, good or bad, is written across her face in bright neon colors for everyone to see.
“I think a picture of you in a field of lavender will be social media gold.” She waves her phone in front of me asking permission without actually saying the words.
“You want to post a picture of me to your Instagram?” I feel a little concerned about this. Is she an undercover groupie?
“Not to mine. To yours.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s my job.”
Shit, of course, it is. I’m an idiot for thinking anything else. You’re also an egomaniac thinking she wanted a photograph with you.
“No.” I continue to pack up our picnic.
“Um… yes,” she shoots right back.
“No. I’m not going to go stand in front of a lavender field looking like a fool.” I shove the leftovers into the bag quickly.
“You’re standing here right now acting like one, might as well add a pretty background.”
I stop what I’m doing. She’s being snarky. The vein in my neck twitches with anxiety.
She lets out a long, exhausted sigh. “You need to show the world you’re a functioning artist.”
“And lavender fields represent that?”
She rolls her eyes, jumping up and scanning our surroundings. “There are sunflowers over there if that’s more suitable.” She points off in the distance.
“I don’t care about the background. I don’t get why taking a picture of me in some field represents my art.”
Emily moves a couple of steps toward me. “It’s about showing the world that you don’t give a toss that your ex-wife is running around the world with your ex-protégé. It’s showing her that she now has no control over you. It’s also showing your fans, your critics, even you, that you don’t need her to be successful again.”
“And sunflowers and lavender will do this?” I’m still not convinced, but I give her an A-plus for her enthusiasm.
“Do you want your ex back?” she asks.
“No.” Okay, that answer surprises me, and it must surprise Emily as well.
“Really?” Her mouth falls open, and she shakes her head. “Could have fooled me.”
“I didn’t think… it was the first thing that came out of my mouth.”
“I say that’s progress.” She nods enthusiastically and smiles at me.
“Maybe.” I’m unsure why that ‘no’ was so strong.
“Okay, then we need to create an image of the new you.”
“With lavender and sunflowers?”
“Oh my God, Louis, stop obsessing over the flowers. I want you to look like you’re having fun. That you’re happy and content. That’s all. The flowers are simply the backdrop.”
“And you think this will help?”
She nods. “The last photos posted on your account are depressing.” She hands me her cell phone, and I flip through the images. They are pathetic, stupid memes about love sucking, betrayal, and pretty much a lot of dark shit. As I scroll further, I see the images of her and him on my account.
“Delete all the pictures of them from my account, please.” I hand the phone back to her.
She nods but doesn’t say any more.
“If you think me taking some stupid photos here will help with my image, then fine, I’ll do it. I guess I need to do something to salvage my career.”
Her eyes widen, a smile lights up her face, and those two dimples pop in urging me to touch them, but I stop myself.
“See, I told you they wouldn’t look cheesy.” Emily hands me her cell.
The photographs are good—the light, the composition, the dimensions. She has a picture of me walking through the lavender with a bottle of wine in my hand. Another one of me riding my bike through sunflowers. And another
