Page 13 of If You Give an Artist a Killer Muse

“Greene.”

I stiffen at the name. “Senator… Greene?”

Nat says something, but I can't focus on her because I'm staring at Rurik Campbell's back again.

Sure, Greene is a common last name here. His stepdad could be any of those Greenes. But I know only one Greene who became a Senator after working as a family chef.

Chapter 2

Rurik

Smile. Just keep on smiling.

I keep reminding myself to smile at everyone here, showering me with praise for my artwork. I'm honestly proud of the work I do. But I can't fully enjoy the moment with a migraine in the form of a petite woman creeping up behind me.

I pretend to study my painting, but my gaze keeps drifting to the side. With a heavy sigh of relief, I notice that Briar, the migraine-turned-woman engaged in conversation with her friend, is no longer paying attention to me.

What is it about that woman that makes me feel weird?

Despite my telling her I don’t know her, I do.

Okay, I don’t exactly know her, but I know of her. At first, when I saw her, I thought she looked familiar and couldn't quite place where I'd seen her. But when Oscar said her name, realization punched me in the face.

I saw her face plastered on my stepdad’s emails months ago. Despite the pictures looking a little grainy, her photographs took my breath away, and I was rendered speechless by how she was the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life. How could I not? Her long, wavy black hair, sun-kissed skin, and caramel-looking eyes—which I can now confirm—have specks of gold when the light shines on them.

She's so beautiful, it makes my chest ache.

It’s her eyes.

They remind me of someone I met years ago when I first arrived in New York—the one with the disposable face mask and pink duffle bag. But I highly doubt she’s Briar. Also, anyone could have light brown eyes that look like caramel, right?

My stepdad told me to stay away from her because she was crazy. He wouldn’t tell me what she does, but I know she’s involved with dangerous and murderous people who call themselves the Charons. The type of people my stepdad has been trying to bring down.

Any attraction I had disappeared into the ether after his warning.

Am I an asshole for assuming she’s a murderer herself? Even if she’s not, she’s guilty by association, right?

The fact that Oscar knows her makes me question him, too. But I know Oscar. I’ve known him since I graduated from University. He offered me a job at the gallery when I had no idea what I was doing with the rest of my life. No, he’s cool. Just because he’s friends with her doesn’t really mean he’s like her, right? I’ve never seen him in any of my stepdad’s files.

There’s just something about her that makes my head go crazy and my insides lurch.

“How are you feeling, man?”

I shake out of my thoughts and turn to my friend Oscar. His eyes are soft and friendly, making me feel immediately guilty for thinking he was like Briar.

“Great!” I say with a smile. “I still can’t believe this is happening. I want to thank you for the opportunity to showcase my art in your gallery.”

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Oscar chuckles. “You don't have to thank me.”

“You’re not letting me give you a percentage of my sales. C’mon, there must be something I can do,” I insist, shaking my head. “Please. Name it.”

Oscar sighs heavily, studying me for a moment. He shrugs. “It would be cool to have an artist live painting at my wedding.”

I cock my head. “You mean I get to paint my surroundings as they happen to live?”

Oscar nod. “Yeah, you can paint people dancing at the reception or when my future wife walks down the aisle—whatever you think needs to be captured.”

I had never done that before. I'm used to painting landscapes, where the view remains still forever. But with live painting, I have seconds to capture a moment in my mind and transfer it onto canvas.

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