The Finished Masterpiece Boxed Set - Pepper Winters Page 0,4

moment, he looked broken. But then, his hand dropped, his eyes whipped to meet mine. They narrowed with harsh impatience. “Go. Don’t come back.”

My heart bruised as if he’d driven his fist directly into it.

I imprinted the image of a tortured, injured body painter.

I gave him a smile laced with old and recent sadness.

“Goodbye, Gil.” Kissing my dreams farewell of getting a job today, I crossed the threshold.

Gil had been the boy I’d wanted to marry.

He’d belonged to me like I’d belonged to him.

But then he’d become a monster...and no one knew why.

I closed the door on us.

Us.

There is no more us.

I know.

Chapter Three

______________________________

Olin

-The Present-

MY MATHS SUCKED.

That couldn’t be all I had.

Can it?

I stabbed the numbers into my phone’s calculator again, tabulating my everyday cash, my savings, and the small wad of money from my purse.

I winced as I pressed enter, hoping for a much kinder number, only to receive the same painful one.

Four hundred and ninety-seven pounds to my name.

I’d been unemployed for two months and chewed through what little savings I’d had. I’d applied for everything—waitressing, café worker, Heritage Trust cleaner, secretary to some tech studio, and even considered bar-tending at a local strip club.

After the used car yard where I’d worked closed down—sitting in the back office and typing up invoices—I’d put aside my pride and lofty ideas that I was worth more and begged for a job—any job.

But no one had wanted me.

Turned out, a failed dancer who’d passed school but had no accolades or recommendations to her name wasn’t in hot demand.

Especially after the ‘accident’ two years ago.

That had been the beginning of the end for me. The end of my dreams. The end of money. The end of pride in my career path.

My eyes trailed to the print-out listing the requirements for a Living Canvas requested by Total Trickery.

Must be slim, able to stand for long periods of time, and be impervious to the cold.

Hours are negotiable, pay is minimal, clothing absolutely forbidden.

Able to hold your bladder and tongue, refrain from opinions or suggestions, and be the perfect Living Canvas.

Other attributes required: non-ticklish, contortionist, and obedient. Must also enjoy being studied while naked in a crowd.

Call or email ‘YOUR SKIN, HIS CANVAS’ if interested in applying.

Gil.

God, even though long hours separated me from the doomed interview, I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

I’d needed that job.

I’d gone with such high hopes of employment, and the failure of yet another botched attempt at earning money was just the sugar on top of my already caramelized disappointment.

If Gil had been able to tolerate me, we could’ve worked well together. I knew how intense he became when he painted. I knew what sort of dedication he’d require from his employee. Besides, I ticked off most of the wanted attributes of his advert: slim, quiet, preferred winter to summer, and was used to skimpy outfits thanks to a history in dance.

In a word, I was an ideal candidate—minus a few things I’d have to disclose if I’d gotten the gig.

It didn’t mean I’d seriously contemplated it as an important career move. I did strive to make something of myself, even if I was currently in a rut.

But dreams were costly, and living didn’t come cheap.

It was time to grow up.

Time to get a job that paid semi-decent, squirrel some savings, and go back to school to become an adult and not this pretender.

I sighed, slouching on my wooden chair at the scuffed-up table I’d found in a second-hand shop in downtown Birmingham.

When I’d been sixteen, a life coach came to school and asked what we wanted to be when we grew up. I’d envisioned a life drenched in dance. A world with bright lights, beautiful music, and elegant pirouettes as a prima ballerina. I’d pictured Gil beside me. Travelling the world together, both lucky enough to make a career out of our art.

I definitely didn’t see me single and struggling in a city that I’d left the moment I’d finished school—doing my best to succeed, all while parents didn’t care in the slightest if I ended up homeless or famous.

They’d totally forgotten they even had a child at this point.

My fingers trailed to the ad again.

What happened to you, Gil?

Who’d hurt him today?

Why did he hate me so much?

Rubbing at the ache in my chest, I stood and padded across my small apartment to grab the rest of the wine in the fridge. Taking a chipped coffee mug from the cupboard, I folded back into my chair and poured