Page 156 of If You Give an Artist a Killer Muse

But he’s not doing any of those things. Instead, he’s looking at me as if he’s surprised, annoyed, and… nervous?

That’s definitely not the reaction I expected, especially after what Oscar said.

I raise a brow. “What does it look like, angel? I’m here to support my favorite artist.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says, mumbling against his glass as he pretends to sip. “Everyone can see us together.”

“So?”

“We’re supposed to act like strangers.”

“Then we’re strangers,” I shrug. “What’s the problem? People see me talking to Nat and Oscar. Everyone knows Oscar owns this gallery, so it’s not a stretch that you and I might know each other.”

Rurik sighs, shaking his head.

“You look really handsome today,” I purr, watching his cheeks flush red.

“Fuck off,” He mumbles, looking away to look unaffected.

“That’s not what you told me last night with my mouth around your cock.”

He chokes on his drink, attempting to smile at the people glancing at us, but it is more like a grimace. After clearing his throat, he turns to me, his eyes blazing.

Fucking gorgeous.

“What the fuck, Briar?” He hisses so only I can hear.

I playfully pout. “Sorry.”

“I don’t know how I feel about you being here with our friends. My family might show up, too.” Rurik snaps as he adjusts his collar. He clears his throat, “Can you leave, please?”

This asshole. I can’t believe I came over here to show my support for him.

My eyes narrow. “I’m a guest, Rurik. I’m here for Oscar, too. He’s my friend.”

“Then go talk to him and leave me alone.”

“What is wrong with you?”

Is he fucking serious? Like, what the fuck? This is the opposite of how he was the past few weeks when we were together.

You guys were alone together, that’s why.

I look away, trying to ignore the hurt that sneaks up on me.

Is he ashamed of me?

Of course, he is.

Rurik subtly nods in the opposite direction. “Go stand next to that painting.”

I scoff and glare at him. “You mean the one farthest away from you? Angel, I’m hurt.”

“Briar, please,” he says, his eyes widening when I approach him.

“You know what I find so adorable about you?” I ask, lightly brushing the hair off his forehead. “The fact that you think you can control me.”

His eyes flash, his lips pressed tight. “Please.”

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