Page 51 of If You Give an Artist a Killer Muse

Perfect.

I straighten up and fluff my hair before walking over to him.

“So you’re alive,” I say, standing across from him.

Rurik’s eyes widen at seeing me before masking his face with a scowl. “Are you threatening me?”

“Don’t be silly, angel,” I wave my hand dismissively, “Unless you’re into the whole consensual non-consent kink.”

Rurik glares at me and turns to walk away. Silly man, doesn’t he know that I’ll just follow him?

“Where are we going?” I ask as I continue to walk beside him.

He glares at me, “We are not going anywhere. I need to talk to guests and promote an event next week.”

“I can help you,” I say with a shrug. “It’s for the Masquerade of the Arts event, right? That’s exciting! Are you going to include your work? How is it going to work? Is everyone anonymous, and once they win their bid, do you show off your face?”

Rurik remains silent, his scowl deepening. He’s so adorable. I want to squeeze and kiss his cheek.

Would he yell at me if I do that?

I don’t do it. He looks so tightly wound up that he might explode with a slight push.

Maybe a quick peck…

No.

“Come on, angel,” I continue talking to distract myself from jumping him in front of all these art people. “What must I do to get you to like me?”

“Leave me alone?”

“Why would I do that? I said I like you, not that I want to stay away from you. Do you need to make an appointment to get your ears checked?”

“I can’t do this with you.”

“What? Going to the doctor to get your ears checked? I don’t have to come with you.”

“You’re annoying.”

“You’re adorable.”

He makes an annoyed sound, and I can’t help but grin. He gathers some pamphlets for the masquerade event, and I follow suit by grabbing a stack of my own. We each hand out brochures to visitors, answering questions here and there. For a moment, we’re working together as a team. If I had questions about the event to pass on to the visitors, he would answer me. It feels nice standing next to him without having him snap or glare at me.

He’s so sweet.

When we finally have a quiet moment, I ask randomly, “Did you miss me, angel?”

“What are you talking about?” He sighs, sounding tired and annoyed.

“I’ve been texting you non-stop for the past week, and the one time I stopped, you finally replied.”

He frowns and glances at me, and I can’t stop the shit-eating grin on my face as he rolls his eyes.

“You’re really insane.”

“Love the way you flirt,” I say. A growl rumbles in his throat, and I’m not going to lie; it makes me want more. So I continue, “You miss me. Just admit it.”

“Fuck you.”

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