The Collector | 18+

【22】Big Girl Pants

Vick stayed with us part of the afternoon and then left to get their fill of rest. It was clear that Gigi liked them, but it was my understanding that nothing had happened between them. Vick had come home with us, and they'd spent the night talking and reinventing the world from our couch. It was unlike Gigi to be so platonic with someone she brought home, so I figured she really liked Vick.

We were comatose on the couch when my phone buzzed on the table. After I'd failed to retrieve it with a whimper, Gigi rolled her eyes and grabbed it for me. I cringed hard upon seeing it was a text from Mr. Westergaard. Crap, I still couldn't recall what we'd spoken of during our phone call.

I opened the message, praying to God that it wasn't going to bring more confusion and shame. So, have you changed your mind?

"About what?" Gigi asked, having read the text as well.

"I have no idea. We spoke on the phone yesterday, but I don't know what we said."

The phone vibrated again, and that new text brought some more clarity. I'll have to make a few arrangements if you still want to browse through my collection, so let me know as soon as you decide.

"Oh... I guess we spoke about him lending me some of his stuff for my exhibit."

"That's still on the table?"

"Looks like it. I don't know what to do, though. It feels weird after...last night."

"It doesn't have to be, sweets. It can be a professional thing, unrelated to your personal history."

With a sigh, I lay down on the couch, my temple resting on her thigh as I absentmindedly stared at the show unfolding on the TV. She began brushing my hair with her fingers, which appeased the remnants of my headache.

"I really need to borrow from someone, or my exhibit will be very underwhelming," I explained. "I contacted two of the most prominent Viking museums in the country, but they didn't have much to offer."

"And you think Ulrik's private collection will?"

"I believe so, yeah."

"Then do it. Take his offer, make it clear that it'll be strictly professional, and make your very first exhibit something to be remembered. After the way he's been acting, it shouldn't be too hard to keep him at bay."

She was right, and even though I already knew all that, it was helpful to hear it laid out like this. Things didn't have to be complicated. And I might actually end up dealing with whoever handled his collection more than with him. They'd send me the inventory list, I'd pick what I needed, and then, after a few contracts had been signed, they'd send it all over.

It could all be very clean, simple, and efficient. But most importantly, it could save the first gallery I was curating from being an absolute fiasco.

Determined to be the bigger woman and not let our weird history come in the way, I typed my reply to him. Still a go on my side. I'll need to pick the items as quickly as possible, so I have enough time to incorporate everything into the exhibition by January. Keep me updated on how things are looking on your end.

Now, all I needed to do was to remember that, despite his charming facade, Ulrik Westergaard was a dick. I was too strong a woman to fall for it again, too clever to forget.

He was now in my private life's past and in my work life's future. And while the personal side of things had proven severely disappointing, I suspected the professional one would be a lot more lucrative.

By Monday, I had recuperated from my night out, fresh and well-rested. Other than a text to confirm he would do what was needed for the loan, I hadn't gotten any news from Mr. Westergaard. From my experience, these proceedings could take a while, so I had to be patient about it.