Page 62 of If You Give an Artist a Killer Muse

His friend practically pushes him against me, and I have to turn my head away so he isn’t breathing down my face. But instead of puking like my body is begging me to, I plaster the most charming, dazzling smile on him. He relaxes immediately.

“What's your name, handsome?” I say, placing my hands on his waist and then trailing them upward, exploring his back before returning to his waist. I then move to his covered arms, tracing them lightly before moving up to his shoulders. Finally, I link my hands behind his neck.

I could have just patted him down to check for hidden weapons and made it more obvious that way, but judging by his pleased grin; my touches have the desired effect. I inwardly roll my eyes. Men are such simple creatures, aren’t they?

Except for Rurik.

I scowl. Fucking Rurik.

Fox mask man clears his throat, “Sorry, am I upsetting you?”

Shit.

I beam at him, “Not at all! I'm sorry. What did you say your name was again?”

“Charlie.” He says, his hands resting on my lower back.

“Nice,” I smile, letting him take the lead as we dance across the floor.

Let him think he’s wooing me with his nasty ass teeth. It’ll be easier to get him to talk when he thinks I would do no harm to him.

“So,” Charlie starts minutes later as we glide around. He continuously gulps down his drink.

I’m not gonna lie. He’s not a bad dancer. If he wasn’t such a piece of shit to my best friend and found family, I may have given him a chance after making him go on a strict diet and forcing him to visit the dentist daily.

“What do you do?” He asks me.

Well, Charlie, I’ll tell you. I go around fucking shit up who wronged my found family, AKA The Rogers. Unfortunately, you’re one of those people, so what do I do? As of today, I’m going to fuck you up.

Insert cute, adorable smiley face.

But I can’t say that shit, so instead, I say, “Oh, I'm in the business of... handling delicate matters. You know, offering unique solutions to unique challenges.”

“I see,” Charlie says, deciding that he's brave enough to let his hands wander around my ass.

His breath already reeks of alcohol, so what do I do? The most responsible thing, of course. I signal for a staff member to come over with more drinks. I figure Charlie needs it so he can relax around me and be more inclined to go along with what I say.

I watch him greedily drink one, two, or five back to back. Jesus. Either he loves the booze, or I make him that nervous. My eyes narrow, but I maintain my grin.

“So, Charlie,” I say, “since we're on the subject of unique challenges and businesses... I believe you owe my boss some things?”

He freezes. The redness that had tinged his neck and face vanishes, leaving his complexion ashen. “Your boss?”

“Yeah!” I beam, keeping my hands locked behind his neck in case I get myself a runner. “You might know him? His daughter is my best friend. Natalie Rogers?”

He blinks, his throat bobbing up and down. It’s funny; when Rurik does that, I go fucking feral. But when Charlie the fox man does it? I want to punch his face in.

“That’s… good to know.”

“You must know that her fiancé also owns this gallery, right?”

“I, uh, I was invited by my friend you met earlier. I didn’t know this event was run by the De Luca’s.”

“It’s not. Oscar Guerrero runs it,” I sigh. “He and his friend, Rurik, worked hard for this. Give them the respect they deserve, Charlie.”

He nods furiously like an idiot. He shoves his empty glass at a random staff member walking past us. “Y-yes, r-right! Of course. Congrats to your friends, uh… Sorry, what was your name?”

My grin spreads widely, knowing I probably look like some crazy-ass evil bitch right about now.

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