quickly, quickly

4

The echo of my footsteps against the gallery's hardwood floors always gave me a sense of calm. Morning light poured through the tall windows, illuminating the sculptures and canvases. This place was my sanctuary—and my pressure cooker. Every exhibit, every event, every artist demanded a piece of me.

I stopped in front of a massive abstract painting, its swirls of crimson and black demanding attention. It was supposed to be the centerpiece for tomorrow's exhibit, but the artist had just informed me he might not deliver the other promised pieces. I rubbed my temples. One crisis at a time.

"Josh," Emily's voice broke through my thoughts as she poked her head into the gallery. "Brendon's here for your meeting. He's in the office."

My stomach tightened. I nodded, took a deep breath, and headed toward my office.

When I stepped inside, Brendon was already there, leaning against the edge of my desk like he owned it. He wore a perfectly tailored suit, his tie slightly loosened in a way that screamed effortless confidence. His smirk was in place before I even spoke.

"Finally," he said, pushing off the desk. "I was starting to think you'd stood me up."

"I'm not that lucky," I quipped, crossing to my chair. I kept my tone light, but the air between us felt heavy, charged.

He slid a folder across the desk. "Here's the layout I worked on. I think it's our best option for the exhibit."

I opened it, scanning the diagrams. "The sculptures in the east wing? It's not ideal. That section gets less natural light—it'll kill the texture and depth."

Brendon shrugged, stepping closer to my chair. "True, but think about how the paintings would pop in here. The contrast would be stunning. You can't deny it's a solid idea."

I looked up at him, trying to focus on the proposal, not the way his cologne lingered in the air. "We'd need extra lighting. That's going to blow the budget."

He grinned, his eyes fixed on mine. "I'm sure you'll figure it out. You always do."

The words were casual, but his tone wasn't. There was something else in his voice—something unspoken but unmistakable. I felt my pulse quicken as he stepped even closer, his hand resting on the back of my chair.

"Brendon," I started, my voice firmer than I expected. "We need to focus on the exhibit."

"I am focused," he said, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "Just... not on the exhibit."

My breath caught. The room felt too small, his presence too overwhelming. For a moment, I thought about Tyler, about his laugh, his love, his unwavering trust. The guilt hit me like a wave, but I couldn't move, couldn't look away.

Before I could respond, Emily knocked on the door. Her timing was both a relief and a curse. "Josh, the florist just called with questions about tomorrow's arrangements. Can you call them back?"

"On it," I said quickly, breaking eye contact with Brendon as I stood. The tension in the room eased, but only slightly.

Brendon stepped back, that damn smirk still on his face. "I'll leave you to it, then. Let me know if you change your mind about the layout."

I nodded, already reaching for my phone, eager to put some distance between us. As he left, I let out a slow breath, my heart pounding in my chest.

What the hell am I doing?