Page 27 of Pink Ink

Shaw stares at me as if expecting me to argue. I swear he short-circuits when I say, “I agree.”

He says nothing, eyes lingering on me before watching the scene play out again, until I’m on the floor, pointing at the camera.

“Big Brother is watching you? The take was interesting enough with the stalker aspect, but this concept is on the nose and overdone.”

I blink. “Have you read the written portion?”

“Miss Sinaga, you submitted your assignment six days ago. And if you’re suggesting that I need to read an essay in order to understand your so-called brilliance, then I suggest you quit while you’re ahead.”

Professor Douchebag is back.

I’m too stunned to be upset at the dig.Worse. I can feel my lips threatening to curve up into a smile because I couldn’t agree with his statement more.

“I’m wearing a nude camisole, a blue hairclip, and green nails,” I cautiously say.

He looks at me blankly. “That makes little sense from a cinematic point of view, and I don’t imagineVoguewill be covering your stylistic choice anytime soon.”

“Being in the nude, sky blue, green earth, pointing at an omniscient being…” I trail off, beginning to doubt every single choice I’ve made for this project. Maybe I got my hopes up too soon.

My project actually sucked.Hecan’t even see it.

Shaw raises his brows, a silent request to get to the point.

“It’sThe Creation of Adam.” The words come out more timidly than I intended.

He says nothing for a beat and glances at the screen for what has to be the longest ten seconds of my life. Then the room seems to plummet twenty degrees, and I’m bristling in alarm. Shaw swings his attention back on me, and I think I might pass away under his stare.

I can’t decipher the meaning behind the parting of his lips and the widening of his eyes. It seems more like bewilderment than rage. Within a heartbeat, it’s gone, and I’m left reeling, wondering if I imagined it.

A mask falls into place as he gives me his undivided attention. “What inspired you to kill someone in such a way?”

What a messed-up question. A good one nonetheless.

I scramble to find a diplomatic answer that doesn’t reveal that I’m re-creating a real murder. “I…”Come on, Reyna. “I recently saw an installation about reimaginingThe Creation of Adam.”

He leans forward an inch, but he may as well be invading every one of my senses. There’s a predatory glint in his eye that has me ensnared to the spot. The greens of his eyes darken with interest like I’ve caught the attention of a wolf.

“Really? Who’s the artist?”

I pale. Now would be a really good time for someone to come in or, better yet, for me to evaporate into thin air. I shift uncomfortably in my seat, and Shaw’s gaze drops, watching every minuscule movement I make, scrutinizing every inch of me as if I’m an art installation.

“He… uh… Böcklin’s Shadow.” I don’t mean to sound uncertain, but it comes out like that anyway.

“Where, pray tell, did you discover this…artist? I don’t believe I’ve heard of him.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“You wouldn’t have. He’s super niche. Up and coming. He, uh… he’s pretty low-key. I—I stumbled across him. You—You wouldn’t like him. It’s not your type of thing. You—”

Shut the fuck up, Reyna.

There’s no way he knows I’m basically stealing a serial killer’s art. I clear my throat and notice his attention flit down to my twisting hands. I quickly tuck them under my thighs and force a smile that I can only hope doesn’t make me look insane.

“Interesting,” he muses. “Maybe I’ll look him up.”

“No—”Not interesting at all. Be a lot less interested. I swallow. “I mean, yes, of course. Go ahead. But he doesn’t have a social-media presence or anything. So it’ll be hard. But I’m sure you’re good at research. So I’ll leave that to you to figure out. There isn’t much on him online. If anything. But his stuff is cool. So, I—yeah.”

Somebody sedate me. Please. I ambegging.