Chapter 2
"Not anymore. I'm ready to go whenever you need me," I said, my voice steady.
He looked at me for a moment, then patted the paperwork.
"Good. We really need someone reliable. I'll get your paperwork done today," he said.
As I walked out of the museum director's office, my phone buzzed.
It was a message from Michael.
[Claire, Evelyn was in pretty bad shape last night. I stayed with her the whole night. I sent the tour tickets to your email. Just take it easy for a few days, and I'll pick up something nice for you when you get back.]
I didn't bother replying.
Instead, I scrolled through my social feed.
The first post was from Evelyn.
The photo showed two steaming bowls of soup, and a hand, clearly not hers, peeling shrimp for her.
And on that wrist was the watch I'd given Michael for his birthday last month.
The caption read: [Even when I'm sick, someone still treats me like a little kid. It's the best feeling ever.]
I blocked Evelyn without a second glance.
Then I texted Michael back. [Fine. Enjoy taking care of her.]
After sending the message, I switched my phone to silent and started tidying up the materials in the restoration studio.
The Northel Mural Restoration Initiative was picking up speed.
The train was set to leave early in two days.
I needed to wrap up and hand off the porcelain pieces I'd been working on to my coworkers within two days.
Nathan Thompson, the senior restorer, leaned in and asked me in a low voice. "Ms. Jennings, are you really heading out Northel? What about Mr. Lane?"
"He's got someone else to take care of now. I'm not even on his radar anymore," I replied.
Nathan set down his soft brush and clicked his tongue.
"Evelyn's really something, huh? Every time you and Michael have something important going on, she always manages to cause some drama," he said.
The door swung open.
Evelyn walked in, clutching her chest, her face pale in an almost exaggerated way.
Michael was right behind her, steadying her, his voice full of urgency. "Claire, Evelyn wants to see the Antique Necked Vase you've been restoring."
I shot Michael a cold look.
"No outsiders allowed in the restoration studio," I said flatly.
Evelyn let out a couple of weak coughs, then clung to Michael's sleeve.
"Michael, just let it go. Claire has every right to be upset. Last night was all my fault," Evelyn said softly, sounding pitiful.
Michael's brow furrowed immediately.
"Claire, stop giving Evelyn attitude. She just needs a little inspiration for the city's youth pottery show next week," he said.
"If she needs inspiration, she can go to the gallery, read a book, or do some research. The artifacts on the restoration table are strictly off-limits," I said.
Evelyn whispered, "I'll just take a quick look from afar, I promise I won't touch anything."
Nathan cut in. "Rules are rules; doesn't matter who you are, nobody gets special treatment."
Michael shot Nathan a look.
"I'm the lead partner for this exhibition. I have clearance to be here," he said.
I snapped the checklist shut and set it aside.
"You've got clearance for the exhibition hall, not the restoration studio," I said, my tone firm.
Evelyn lowered her head, her voice sweet and fragile as spun sugar. "Michael, don't put Claire on the spot. She's probably still upset with me, since you weren't with her last night."
Michael's face darkened.
"Claire, don't drag your personal drama into work. Evelyn's not feeling well. Are you seriously going to leave her standing out in the hallway? Is that what you want?" he said.
I stood blocking the doorway.
"Get out," I said coldly.
Evelyn's tears started flowing the moment she wanted them to, like she could turn them on at will.
"Claire, I just want to take a look at that vase," Evelyn whimpered, her voice shaky and pitiful. "My teacher said if I can recreate that ancient feel, the prize at the exhibition is basically mine."
Michael reached out and grabbed the restoration logbook from the table.
"Let me take a look at the restoration plan. Evelyn could use it as inspiration for her exhibition," he said.
I pressed my hand down on the logbook, refusing to let go.
"Michael, that's not yours to take," I said coldly.
His hand froze in midair, his face flushing with embarrassment.
"What, you think I'm some kind of thief now?" he barked.
"Restoration records can't be taken out, copied, or viewed without permission. If you're not a thief, then don't act like one," I shot back.
A small crowd had gathered at the entrance of the restoration studio.
Evelyn shrank behind Michael, clinging to him for support.