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“We met in college. We were both in the English literature program, though I was an art double major, and we met in creative writing class. I… Well, I wasn’t much of a writer, I guess, but I was good at editing, and his parents owned a publishing house, so after graduation, they offered me a job.

I started working there while Brendan went for his MFA. ”

Rai shifted so he was leaning against the wall and she was cuddled into his chest. “He went on a quest?” He was making that thundery sound again, a little growl of what might be irritation or anger, but the vibration felt good.

“His Masters degree,” Poppy clarified. “Grad school. He was pursuing a fine arts Masters in creative writing, because that was apparently what the sons of stuffy century-old literary publishers were supposed to do.” There was the bitterness again; she took a deep breath and modulated her tone.

“You might have heard of him, actually. Brendan Beaumont? He—” She gritted her teeth.

“He won the National Book Critics Circle award in 2016, and then again in 2018. People say he’s on his way to a Nobel Prize one of these days. ”

“I have not heard of him,” Rai said, voice dark.

“You will,” Poppy said dully, then shook herself.

“Anyhow, Beaumont Book Group took me on, I guess as a favor to him, and I…edited his novels, and worked with a few more authors. It was a good job. I… Well, I didn’t have any big writing ambitions, but I was good at turning a phrase, making an okay sentence into something powerful, and…

and we were a team. And as his books started making waves, they assigned me to work with some other writers in their stable, and pretty soon I had a pretty good career going. And then Mom needed me.”

“Your mother,” Rai said. “She showed me many books.”

Poppy nodded. The damp fabric of his shirt was rough on her hot cheeks.

“Those are the ones I worked on. And when I came out here… Well, I thought I was going to keep working with those authors. I was good, Rai. And they liked me. The authors did, at least, and I thought Brendan’s parents liked me, too.

I figured I wouldn’t work with Brendan anymore, not after our fight, but the company was already pretty well adjusted to remote work after the pandemic, and I could have done all of my job from here.

But when I got here and turned on my laptop, I’d already had my access to the company servers cut.

It might not have been overnight—it took me two days to drive out here—but it might as well have been. ”

Rai stroked her shoulders. “You are angry.”

“Yeah, a bit,” Poppy said, letting out a sharp laugh. “Not at you.”

“You are lovely and kind, and quite intelligent,” Rai said. “I am sure that their liking was true.”

“Not,” Poppy said, letting the bitterness out, “after Brendan got through with them.”

He stroked her cheek gently for a few moments. “I do not understand,” he said at last.

“I didn’t either,” she said. “I mean, I’d figured out that I had been fired—that wasn’t all that surprising, in the end—but I sent all my authors emails from my personal account, just letting them know I’d moved on and wishing them well.

And none of them responded. And then I went on Instagram to check on them, and…

and they’d blocked me. Every last one of them. ”

“Blocked you? I do not—”

“It’s a way of making sure p-people you don’t want to talk to can’t try to talk to you.

You can do it on your phone, if someone’s calling or texting you, or on social media, or wherever.

And if you don’t know to look, you might not even notice.

But I looked for all of them, and when I couldn’t find them, I made up a new fake account, pretending not to be me, and checked again.

And there they were. They hadn’t gone anywhere.

They had just shut me out of their lives and their careers, like I was nothing. ”

She realized she was crying again, hot tears of frustration, and Rai seemed to realize it, too. He set his hand beneath her chin and tilted it up, kissing her tenderly. “They are fools,” he said. “Unworthy of you.”

Poppy kissed him back, not wanting to finish the story, not wanting to relive the destruction of her career, but she’d come this far, and Rai was solid and cool and real and here, and he deserved to understand.

She drew back and gave him a watery smile.

“They were doing what they thought they had to do,” she said softly. “They didn’t know.”

Rai looked at her, his jaw set and his eyes stormy. “What did they not know?” he said, voice clipped.

She heaved a deep breath. “They didn’t know the truth,” she said.

“They had been fed a lie, and because it came from Beaumont Book Group, the prestigious, award-winning literary publisher that had published geniuses of American literature for more than a century, the publisher that had made them into literary successes, they believed it.”

Rai growled, eyebrows knitting. “What was the lie?”

Poppy laughed sharply. “I don’t even know.

It took me almost a month to find out that there even was a lie.

A month of applying to other publishers, trying to get listed as a freelancer on the freelancer websites, trying to find any job at all in the publishing industry.

And at the end of all that, all I knew was that word had gone out.

I had been blacklisted for some sort of crime against Beaumont Book Group, and the industry is so small and inbred that word had spread faster than I could type my resume.

I couldn’t find anyone who would even offer me an interview, I didn’t have any testimonials to attract freelance work, and more than that, I didn’t have time.

We needed money, and it couldn’t wait for me to start over from scratch.

So I found the transcript sites—they didn’t give a damn about my resume, just needed me to pass a test—and now that’s what I do. ”

“And your mother does not know.”

“I couldn’t tell her,” Poppy whispered, quivering with shame.

Because she was a liar, just as much of one as Brendan Fucking Beaumont had been.

“I still can’t. She thinks I’m making a good salary working remote, and…

and if I told her the truth, she’d panic.

I can’t have her freaking out, not any more than she already does. ”

As if on cue, Rai’s phone chimed. He shifted Poppy over to his other arm, embracing her tightly as he fished out his phone, undid the baggie, and answered.

“Hello, Jen.” His voice was still low and growly.

“No, we have not been to the store. We are waiting for the rain to cease. But Poppy is well. We have been speaking.” He listened for a moment, arm tightening around Poppy’s shoulders.

“Yes. I will speak to you again in ten minutes.” He took a deep breath.

“Jen, there is something you must know.”

“Rai, no!” Poppy hissed.

He pressed a quick kiss to her forehead.

“You must know,” he said, “that I will allow no harm to come to Poppy. I will shield her from the elements and return her to you healthy and unharmed. Yes. Yes, when we return, I would much enjoy some tea. I will advise you when we are near.” He disconnected with a beep. “Poppy, what is tea?”

“It’s… It’s like coffee, but less…angry?”

“Ah.” He set his hands to Poppy’s shoulders and set her away from him. “Poppy, you cannot continue as you have. It is damaging to you. Can you not make more drawings? I am certain that all would sell if you—”

“I can’t take that chance,” she said. “I can’t risk—”

“A commission,” Rai said, voice rising again. “You said you would do a commission.”

Poppy stared at him. “You mean a…whale drawing?” she asked, feeling inane.

“No, not a whale.” Rai let out a rumble of frustration. “Poppy, I wish to commission you. I know you will not simply take my money as assistance. But will you not allow me to hire you?”

“I… You can’t… Rai, even if you commission a drawing from me, that’s still not enough to—”

“What would be enough?” His fingers tightened; he was grinning, fierce and bright. “The blue woman at the coffee shop spoke of painting. Would a painting be enough?”

“I… I don’t know. Maybe.” She licked her lips, her stomach queasy. “If it was a big painting and… But it’s too much. How can you afford—”

“I have money,” Rai said. “I can afford the largest of paintings. How much is enough?”

“More than you probably have.” She did know how much a month’s expenses were, down to the penny, but the number was huge.

He cocked an eyebrow. “You do not know how much I have.” He hadn’t lost the grin; if anything, it was wider and brighter. Like he knew he was wearing her down.

“You’re a sales rep,” Poppy argued anyhow, voice weak. “Your company doesn’t even give you a credit card. They’re making you stay at Bedbug Central. ”

He relaxed his hands, stroked along her arms, clasped her hands. “You are not answering my question,” he said in a low voice. “Would a painting be enough to provide for your needs? At least until the rains end?” He looked at their joined hands. His smile had faded to something wistful and confused.

Poppy’s heart clenched, and she shoved her doubts down, forced herself to give him the answer he was begging for. “It depends. W-what do you want a painting of?”

His brow furrowed for a long moment, but then his grin returned like a sunrise. “A portrait,” he said. “I wish you to paint a portrait of me.”

“And…how big?” She didn’t have rates, but she could invent something.

“I do not care,” he said with a shrug. “As large as you can.”

“I’d have to finish it in six weeks, so y-you can take it when you…”

He nodded when she trailed off. “Yes. That is good. You may paint until I must leave. How much is enough for that time of painting?”

Poppy swallowed. Half of her wanted to lowball, wanted to offer him a smoking deal, but…

but they had to live. And he was asking for something huge, if it was to take the whole six weeks.

“Ten thousand,” she said recklessly, expecting him to wince and decide he didn’t want a painting of himself that much after all.

It was a huge amount to ask. Insane. She waited for him to politely decline.

“Done!” He grinned proudly, then reached out into the air, and suddenly there was a fat roll of bills in his hand.

He started to peel off bill after bill, and Poppy realized they were hundred-dollar bills, more hundred-dollar bills than she’d ever seen in one place at a time.

Where had they come from? No, wait, that wasn’t the problem.

The problem was he was peeling off those hundred-dollar bills like he was a drug dealer in a Tarantino movie, to give to her.

“Wait!” she squeaked. “I can’t— I can’t let you pay me that much money. I thought you were going to say no!”

“It is too late,” Rai said, looking down his nose at her, though his eyes were dancing with glee. “You have given your price, and I have agreed.”

“You really want to pay me ten thousand dollars for a painting.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement laced with utter disbelief.

“It is as nothing,” he said and began counting again.

Poppy reached out and stopped him. “Not here,” she said. “I… With my luck, you’ll give me the money, and I’ll put it in my pocket, and it’ll fall out and blow away. ”

He nodded. “You are wise.” He gave another twist of his hand, and it was empty, like he was a genius magician. Hell, maybe he was, to have that much cash on hand.

Her doubts welled up again. Was toilet paper sales such a lucrative job? Or had Rai been lying to her about how he made his money? Maybe he was smuggling drugs. Maybe he was a diamond thief, or a hit man, or maybe a—

Rai pressed his forehead against hers, his face filling her vision, his hair a curtain in her periphery. The clouds in his eyes had cleared. Which wasn’t how eyes worked, but that was how they seemed. And the gentle pressure, the still pools of gray, calmed her racing thoughts.

Maybe he’s exactly what he seems to be.

Maybe I’m too desperate to care.

And then he kissed her, and her doubts trickled down the drain.

He stepped back and kissed her forehead. “Your mother has been expecting me to rescue you. We should make haste.”

Poppy looked out at the rain, dimly realizing it was slowing. “Yeah,” she said, feeling like the storm had washed her whole brain away. “I guess we should.”

Rai reached down and took her hand as the rain faded to a drizzle and stopped.

She squeezed his hand back, more to make sure she hadn’t dreamed all of this, that she hadn’t just made up a whole-ass fantasy about her dreams coming true, if only for six weeks. “Thank you for rescuing me,” she said softly when he didn’t disappear.

He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “I will always rescue you,” he said firmly.

And god help her, she believed him.