Page 32 of The Art of Being a Psychopath

He made sense and I appreciated his kind words and how he was trying to ease my guilt. It wouldn’t change how I felt, though.

“I guess you’re right,” I said to bring an end to the discussion. I still wanted to find a way to apologise to the artist. I didn’t want to be anyone’s reason to doubt themselves. And I certainly didn’t want to be on his shit list or receive any more emails. But that was my problem to deal with.

We stood gazing at each other, an electrically charged tension in the air as we both got lost in our thoughts, until Lloyd broke the silence.

“I have to say, I’m surprised to see you here today, Alex. Are you here to oversee the deliveries of your most recent purchases?”

There was a mischievous glint in his eyes as Alex took a deep breath, shrugged, and said, “I woke up and decided I’d like to oversee things myself. I don’t know why.” His eyes found mine again. “Call it a hunch.”

Did he know I would be here?

“A hunch about what?” Lloyd asked. He really didn’t know when to be quiet.

“That is something I’m still trying to figure out.” I noticed the way Alex’s mouth twitched as he gave me a half smile, then he turned to Lloyd, and whispered, “But don’t worry, your work ethic and diligence is not in question here. I know you always do a first-class job at handling my purchases. Maybe your customer service and training on damaged items could do with a brush up, but we won’t dwell on that.”

Lloyd gave a fake laugh. But you could tell he was slightly fearful.

I bit my lip and frowned, as Alex looked at me, and suddenly, his eyes darkened, like he was imagining something wicked.

I freed my lip and held in a gasp.

Was it hot in here?

It certainly felt hot with him looking at me that way, like he wanted to devour me.

“I have a proposal,” Alex suddenly announced. Lloyd looked as intrigued as I was, but this proposal wasn’t addressed to him. “I don’t usually share my art collection, but lately, I’ve been thinking maybe I should. Perhaps that’s something you can help me with? I’d love to have you in my home, Emma, to show you my art, and maybe you could write an article for me.”

Lloyd jumped in, saying, “That’s a fabulous idea.” But Alex ignored him.

“Come to my home in Wintshire. You can take photographs of my collection and write something for your newspaper that you feel proud of. Something you’re happier to publish. I don’t usually give interviews, but I’ll make an exception for you.”

I bit my lip again, I did it without thinking, and he stared at my mouth, his nostrils flaring as he took a deep breath.

“I wouldn’t want to put you out,” I mumbled nervously. This man had a way of knocking me sideways. He heightened every one of my senses and tilted my world on its axis at the same time. But I kind of liked it. It was exciting.

“You would never put me out. And I have the largest collection of S.K.A.M. art in the country, if that helps to sway you. Maybe a stellar review of the work I own could get you back in his good books. Right the wrong you’re so intent on righting.”

“Okay,” I said. I really didn’t need swaying. And the way he beamed back at me, like I’d made his year, was infectious. It made me smile, too.

“Let’s hope Gold doesn’t rewrite that one,” Lloyd scoffed, and I wanted to tell him to fuck off.

Why was he still here?

“He wouldn’t fucking dare,” Alex snapped. “He wouldn’t want to piss me off.”

“I’d be happy to write a piece for you,” I cut in, wanting to grab Alex’s attention again.

I was curious and excited to see behind the curtain of his life. To find out more about this man. But at the same time, I was thankful he was giving me a chance to redeem myself. This was a golden opportunity to write a piece that reflected my writing and gave the artist the review he deserved too.

“Good. That’s settled then.” Alex slipped his hand into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. “I’ll get my assistant to call and make the arrangements, but until then, here’s my card.”

I reached to take the card from him, and for the briefest moment our fingers touched, and I felt it again, that blissful jolt of electricity.

But when he lowered his hand, it was gone. The flicker of a flame that I didn’t want to extinguish. It felt too good.

I glanced at the card I was holding, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw him flex his hand by his side, as if the memory of my touch was affecting him, too.

“Thank you,” I said, “I really appreciate this.”