HIS PRICE OF DESIRE

The fluorescent lights in the coffee shop gave everything a sickly pale color. I was wiping down the same chunk of counter I'd wiped twice already, my mind a million miles away from the espresso machine chuffing behind me. Three weeks. That's when everything went to hell. "Lila, six needs to be cleared," Sarah yelled back from the register. I grabbed a tray and headed to the window booth that a couple had just left. I piled up their cups and plates and caught a glimpse of myself in the glass for an instant. Dark rings under my eyes. Hair slicked back in a dirty bun. Paint stains on my jeans that would never wash out. This was where I was at now: aprons with coffee stains and student loans I'd never be able to repay. My phone buzzed inside the apron pocket. Most likely Maya asking me what I was having for dinner. We'd been eating ramen for two weeks straight because that's all we could afford. I should have left it alone and made it through my shift, but some part of me made me pull it out. The title of the email halted me: "Urgent - Unique Opportunity." It was from Professor Chen. My art teacher. The one who'd spoken to me privately last week in the hall between classes and asked nicely if I was okay, if there was anything the school could do to help with my "situation." I'd lied to him and said I was fine, that I had everything taken care of. I had nothing taken care of. My fingers were nervously shaking as I opened the message. I read it thrice before the words finally registered. *Lila, I've had a call from a collector who wishes to specifically employ you for a modeling job. This does not happen, but the client is genuine and high-profile in the art scene. The money would be quite good. May you call me right away? This could potentially solve your financial problem. - Professor Chen* "You okay?" Sarah placed her hand on my shoulder, which made me jump. I stuffed the phone back into my pocket. "Yeah. Just tired." But I wasn't tired. My heart was thudding. My mind was already spinning with what-ifs and questions and that small, hurting voice that breathed: *This might save you.* "You look like you've seen a ghost," Sarah said, looking at me cautiously. "I'm fine. Seriously." I slapped a smile onto my face and carried the tray back into the kitchen. But I wasn't alright. Any of this wasn't alright. Someone wanted to hire me specifically? Why? I was no one. Another desperate art student in a city filled with them. My work was good, maybe even great on my better days, but I was a student. Still finding my voice. *The pay would be impressive.* How big? Big enough to cover tuition next semester? Big enough to end the constant worry that woke me up at three in the morning, redoing figures that never amounted to anything but failure? The rest of my shift was a blur. I smiled at customers and reached for lattes and played it cool, but in my mind, I was somewhere else. I was creating scenarios, more and more outlandish. Maybe it was a misunderstanding. Maybe Professor Chen had confused the student. Maybe this was an extortion scheme. When I logged out at six, I'd already rationalized myself out of getting my hopes up. I'd call Professor Chen tomorrow and have them explain to me that this was a case of mistaken identity. Someone was after one of the more skilled students, someone with talent and a portfolio that didn't scream "amateur." The subway ride home to Brooklyn took forty minutes. I sat the entire time staring at my phone, reading this email over again. *Good and legitimate in art circles.* What was it that even said? There were collectors everywhere in New York, gallery owners, wealthy individuals who bought paintings like other individuals bought groceries. My building was a five-story walk-up in the neighborhood the real estate listings politely called "emerging." Maya and I lived in the fourth-floor studio, which was basically one big room with a bathroom. We had subdivided the area with a bookshelf and curtain to make it look like two bedrooms. Maya was already home, sitting cross-legged on her bed with her computer in front of her and design files strewn around. She looked up when I came in, and I could see her snag my face immediately. "What's wrong?" she asked, shutting down her laptop. "Nothing. Possibly nothing. I don't know." I dropped my bag and took out my phone, holding it out to her with the email still open. She read it quietly, her face changing several times: bewildered, intrigued, alarmed, and landing on suspicion. "A private collector wants to hire you personally?" She looked up at me. "Why?" "That's what I'm trying to find out." "Did you call Professor Chen?" "Not yet. I just got an e-mail during my shift." Maya handed the phone back. "This does not feel right, Lila." "Weird how?" "I don't know. Just weird. Why not use proper means? Why call your professor and not you first off?" Good questions. Questions I might have been asking instead of jumping to salvation and rescue right off. "Maybe they looked at my art in the student exhibit," I said out loud. "Professor Chen organized that show. He has all of our contact information." "Maybe." Maya didn't sound so sure. "What kind of modeling?" "The email doesn't say." "And the money is substantial. That can be anything from five hundred to fifty thousand." Fifty thousand. The number hung between us like a prayer. With fifty thousand dollars, I could finish school. I could stop working double shifts at the coffee house. I could sleep at night instead of waking, helpless, and performing impossible math. "I'm calling him," I said, recalling Professor Chen's number before my fear took over. "Lila, wait…" Too late. I was already punching in his number. It rang three times before he picked up. "Lila, thank you for calling so soon." Professor Chen's voice was full of appreciation. "I was hoping to hear from you tonight." "Your message indicated someone wants to hire me?" "Yes. It's a peculiar case, but I've checked everything twice. The client is Damien Vale. He's…" "The billionaire?" The words had slipped out before I could keep them back. Professor Chen paused. "Do you know of him?" Everyone in the art community recognized Damien Vale. He was a legend, a ghost, a name mentioned in auction houses and galleries. He'd made a fortune in tech before the age of thirty, and then vanished off the face of the planet to devote himself to his personal collection of art. No one ever laid eyes on it. No one even knew where he was living. And he wanted to employ me. "This has to be an error," I told him. "It isn't. He requested you specifically after seeing your work. Lila, you will be paid fifty thousand dollars." The figure hit me like ice water. I sat firmly onto my bed, and Maya's eyes expanded. "Fifty thousand," I uttered numbly. "For three months' worth of work. Three times a week, two to three hours per session. He wants to paint you himself." Paint me. Damien Vale wanted to paint me. "Why?" My voice was a whisper. "He spoke about your self-portrait from the exhibition. That he noticed something about it that reminded him of classical portraiture." Lila, this is incredible news. It was. I knew it. This could mean everything could be salvaged. So why did I feel like I was standing at the top of a cliff? "There's a confidentiality clause," said Professor Chen. "He's very private. But I've seen the contract and all is on the up-and-up. Professional. If you'd like to see him, he'd like to meet with you tomorrow night." Tomorrow. Less than twenty-four hours to determine if I was going to enter Damien Vale's circle. "Can I think about it?" I said. "Certainly. But Lila?" Professor Chen's voice softened. "I see your situation. This could completely change your life." When I hung up, Maya and I sat in silence. She was staring at me with an expression I couldn't read. Concern, maybe. Or fear. "Fifty thousand dollars," she said finally. "I know." "To model for a billionaire nobody knows anything about." "I know." "Lila, this has a little bit of a." "Like just what I need," I interrupted. "Maya, I'm three weeks away from failing out. Three weeks away from giving up on everything I've ever worked for. This is…" My voice cracked. "This might be the only chance I have." She squeezed my hand. "Then we need to find out as much as we can about Damien Vale before you go see him." I nodded and opened my laptop. We started searching together. What we found made my blood run cold.