There Is No Devil Sinners Duet Book 2 By Sophie Lark-pdfread

As I carry a backbreaking load of mimosas past them, I hear Cole saying,
“I’m setting up a show for Mara in December. You should come, I’ll put your
name on the list …”
The thought of Arthur coming to see my new series is too much to bear.
The more intimate and personal my work, the more it frightens me for other
people to see it. Especially people who know me. Paradoxical as it seems, I’d
rather strangers view it, because they won’t know how deeply self-referential
my work has become. They won’t recognize how I’ve opened myself up, guts
and all, laying myself bare across the canvas.
It feels good to work for money again, in a direct exchange, where a tray of
food carried out equals a five-dollar tip. I’m puffing and sweating, but in a
nice way. The way of good, honest labor.
Cole has never had to work for money at a menial job. That’s why money is
only an abstract concept to him. He knows its power, of course, and wields it
like a weapon. But he has no attachment to it. It comes easily to him, and he
can always get more.
I don’t know if his way is better than mine.
In so many things, there is no better or worse. Just differences.
Cole will never feel the wild thrill of opening up a billfold and seeing a
twenty-dollar tip on a fifty-dollar bill.
One thing I know for sure about myself: wherever I go in life, however rich I
become, I’m always going to tip big. I know what it means to the server.
How it can change their whole day, or even their week. How it gives hope far
beyond any dollar amount.
Another useful thing about waitressing: you’re too busy to worry about
anything else for long. I can’t stress over what Cole might be telling Arthur,
or vice versa, when I have ten tables shouting requests.
The six-hour shift flies by in a moment.
Soon the tables are clearing out once more, and Cole has eaten the meal I
ordered for him, and Arthur has drunk way too many cups of coffee. He