Page 12 of If You Give an Artist a Killer Muse

Again.

So I follow him again.

“You keep walking away from me. But that’s okay, I like the view. I’ve never seen a man’s ass looking so squeezable as yours.”

Rurik stops abruptly and whirls around to face me. He stares at me like he's never seen a fantastic woman, a.k.a. me, in his life. “Are you stupid or something?”

“Struck stupid by how overwhelmingly charming you are,” I chuckle. “Can I take you out, angel?”

Rurik stares at me as if I had grown another set of heads.

“What? N-No,” He sputters. His neck and the tip of his ears turn bright pink. “You can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not interested.” He swallows his throat, making his Adam’s apple go up and down.

I grin, “How do you know if you haven’t given us a chance?”

I earn a dirty look, to which I return with another sweet smile.

“I don’t need to.”

“Why not?” I ask again.

“I don’t go out with bloodthirsty murderers like yourself.”

I freeze. Now, what the fuck does he mean by that?

I like to boast about how easily I can control my inner emotions. I could be shaking with fury inside, but appear like I’m having the time of my life outside. So imagine my surprise when a wave of sharp rage washes over me, making my fingers physically itch to grab the small dagger I have hidden under my dress.

What? Yes, I have a dagger hidden away. I have multiple daggers in my collection. They’re sometimes pink, sparkly, and floral. They’re beautiful.

Sometimes, when working, I pretend I’m the main character in a fantasy world. Guns are fast and efficient, but when the target is right before me, they look so pretty with my pink-decorated dagger protruding from their chest.

“What the fuck did you just call me?” I ask, my tone quiet so only he can hear me.

Rurik lifts his chin like he’s tough shit. “You heard me.”

I blink, my gaze lingering as I size him up. Our eyes lock, and a slow smile creeps across my face before I lick my lips. “Are you flirting with me?”

Rurik’s face drops before he makes a disgusted sound. “Leave me alone. I don’t want to be seen associated with the likes of you.”

Before I could respond, he walks away again. This time, I let him.

What the fuck is his problem? And what the hell does he mean by “the likes of me”?

I feel soft fingers wrap around mine.

I sigh and turn to my best friend. “What the hell just happened?”

Nat groans, “It’s my fault. I should have told you who Rurik is.”

“Okay? And who the hell is he?”

“He’s the senator’s stepson,” Nat murmurs, tucking a hair behind her ear as she smiles at the people around us.

“Senator. Which one?”

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