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It’s an extensive list. Names, contact information, and the specific reason or reasons why each artist is not welcome at the gallery. Front and center on that list is…
Sidney Conrad Ewing.
Sexual Predator/Stalker. Restraining order in place with continued violations.
At the bottom of the email is information regarding the new security system recently installed throughout the building and the surrounding area. Aubrey also hired a third-party security company to provide live support and on-site personnel to enforce the blacklist.
“Hang on,” I tell Hazel absentmindedly as I tap the email forward button again and compose a new message.
Was this you?
I send the email and wait for the response. I don’t usually interrupt Pasha’s work schedule unless I absolutely need to, so I know he’ll answer pretty quickly.
Sure enough, I get the ping and open the thread.
You deserve to feel safe at work, moya plamya. So does everyone else.
I smile. The warmth in my chest grows.
“I’m just wondering, Daph—and feel free to tell me to shut the fuck up…” Hazel tilts her head to one side. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
I sigh and set my phone back down on the cushion next to me. “Everything is changing so fast. My life is… It’s upside down from just a few weeks ago. I didn’t want anything to change between us.”
She reaches over the coffee table to squeeze my hand. “Hey. Girl. Look at me.”
I do.
“You’re my best friend. You’re a badass bitch with her own empire now—but you’re still my best friend. I’ll never let you get drunk with power.”
We share a laugh and clink our mugs together. She’s right—I can always trust her to keep my ass in line.
“So. Speaking of changes, how is married life treating you?” Her brows waggle salaciously as she leans back and drapes herself on the chair. As if I’m going to kiss and tell.
Which I am, since there’s not much to tell. “Same as before. Not much has changed.”
Those same brows shoot up. “What? So you’re telling me he was blowing your back out before your wedding, too?”
“What?! No!” I wave her off, feigning a gasp. “I just had a baby, Haze. Things down there are still… you know. In recovery.”
“Uh-huh. How long has it been since Taty’s birth?”
I do a quick mental count. “Six weeks? Pushing seven?”
“Perfect. So you’re good to go.” She does a little dance in her seat. “Get your sexy on! Light his fire! Get yours tended, too. Objectively, I’m amazed you haven’t spontaneously combusted living with that man and not gettin’ some.”
My face instantly heats. “He’s been very respectful. And very?—”
“Paternal?”
I groan. “Hot! He’s so… How is he so hot just being a good father?”
“Primitive instincts, my dear. Your ovaries are recognizing your mate is top-notch and you totally wanna go again.”
“Ha. Right. I totally wanna rearrange my internal organs and rip my vagina open just to grow another human.” I roll my eyes.
“Look me in my eyes and tell me you haven’t been thinking about it.”
I can’t. We both know I’ve been fantasizing about life with Pasha—a life with more babies, more children running around. A home full to bursting with our own growing family.
