Mr. Imperfect

chapter 27



Exiting the baggage area, Rori inhaled the tang of smog and unwashed bodies. Ah, New York. She made her way to a man wearing a simple black suit and holding a paper with her name on it. When he made eye contact with her, Rori gave him a nod of acknowledgment. His response was to fold the paper in half and turn to throw it in the trash.

Rori’s mom would have had a fit in the face of such matters, but Rori had come to a point where she found brusque New York manners charming. What the city lacked in refinement it more than made up for in diversity. It was the one place in the world where Rori smiled when someone was outrageously inconsiderate. Because it was New York. A place where most people either looked at you and saw either a buck or a speed bump. A place where you earned respect one person at a time, without anyone really cutting you any breaks along the way.

Rori didn’t know what it said about her that she liked the challenge of that mentality.

It was also a place where friends sent town cars to pick you up at the airport rather than picking you up themselves. Who had the time?

In New York, no one.

Unbeckoned, the image of Mike Cannon leaning against a faux marble wall in the Salt Lake airport sprang to mind. She’d spotted him from the top of the escalator as he scanned the crowd for Luke’s face before looking back down at his phone.

She could have sketched the scene from memory—a massive lobby where everyone moved to and fro, toting luggage, and talking. A large, extended family at the bottom of the escalator holding a sign that read in large letters, Welcome home, Nate! The entire lobby had been alive with energy, which was why Mike had stood out, reclined and resigned against the far wall. Loyal, but annoyed.

Mike would never send a town car to pick up a friend.

“Miss Townsend?”

Rori blinked herself back to reality, and sent a smile to the town car driver. “Yes.”

“Your bag,” he said, holding out his hand to take her luggage. She handed it over and followed him to the car. She took a deep breath once they stepped outside, then quickly let it out again. Smog. For the next three months it would have to qualify as air, just like pigeons and leashed dogs would have to qualify as nature.

When the driver opened the door, Rori slid into the car and immediately pulled out her phone to text Fredrik. Arrived safely. Found the driver you sent for me. See you at the school in a few.

Fredrik. It would be a blessing to see the man. He’d already agreed to go out and get a little drunk with her that night. Heaven knew she needed it, and there wasn’t a person she’d rather tell her crazy tale to than Fredrik. He was one of those melodramatic listeners who gasped, sighed, and threw fits on your behalf as you walked him through a story.

Rori wasn’t sure yet what parts of the story she was going to tell yet. Time would tell. As would her blood-alcohol level, most likely.

When her driver pulled away from the curb, Rori let her head fall back against the back of the seat and closed her eyes. She needed a nap. Her jetlag was mostly gone, but that last flight hadn’t helped it any. So Rori saved herself the stress of witnessing the daredevil driving tactics of New Yorkers by closing her eyes and checking out for a minute for the drive to the art school.

It was time to get back to normal—back to the people she adored, the life she knew, and the career she loved. It had been an interesting weekend, but it was over. Time to get back to reality and focus in on her very first American art show.