Page 1 of Be Mine Forever

Chapter One

Cameron Mitchell had never been fond of bright lights. He squinted against the glare of the lighting kit poised above his head. The dark hid all his demons, and the brightness left him feeling like a cockroach when the lights come on without warning. So did the probing stare of the woman seated across from him.

“Cam, so glad to have you on the show today.” The interviewer, Shelby Jennings, offered him a grin she probably practiced in the mirror every morning.

“Glad to be here.” Cam waxed a smile onto his face, relaxing the muscles in his shoulders and shifting on the overstuffed couch of the studio set.

“You’re the first artist ever to make our Thirty Under Thirty List.”

She raised her ice-thin brows and smiled like she was waiting for a response. What did she expect him to do? Curtsy? Shit sunshine?

“Great.”

Cam saw her disappointment at his barely there response for only a moment before she slid her reporter’s face back into place. Just the right amount of curiosity and concern.

“Your street art in Paris made you a YouTube sensation. Tell us a little about that.”

“I was studying at the Sorbonne, which was amazing, and I met some graffiti artists. Paris has a rich street scene, and I was immediately drawn to it.”

“Did it take you back to your roots?”

Cam raised his own brows and cocked his head, determined to make her voice the condescension smeared all over her face.

“I mean…you know…in the…in the…”

With much effort, Cam pulled the smile fighting its way to the surface back under.

“I believe the word you’re searching for is ‘hood.’ I grew up in the hood.”

“No, I mean. I know, but I wasn’t—”

“It’s okay. That’s where I’m from. I’m not ashamed of it.” Cam shrugged, slouching another inch deeper into the cushions. “I discovered my talent for art in those streets. I grew up in Barfield projects, not too far from Durham, North Carolina. Bridges and the sides of buildings were the only canvases I knew back then. And a can of spray paint had to do.”

“So that’s why you were so drawn to the street scene?”

She said the word “street” so quickly, like it tasted rank in her mouth and she couldn’t wait to spit it out. She glanced at him with her Upper East Side suspicion. Like any moment he’d grab his crotch and start singing Drake’s “Started from the Bottom.”

“More or less. By then, of course, I’d studied art in college. Studied at the Sorbonne. I understood and could execute several art forms. I didn’t default to graffiti. Iranback to it. It’s the rawest, most organic art form I’ve ever experienced. Kind of my first love.”

“And the viral YouTube? How’d that happen?”

“I was painting in the streets of Paris one night, and some kid walked up behind me with a camera. Said he was making a documentary. Asked if he could follow me around while I painted.”

Cam paused a moment, still absorbing the incredible turn of events that had thrust him into a narrow, niched fame he hadn’t seen coming and that had landed him on this very list.

“That night turned into a few weeks. He uploaded the videos, and they went viral. He won at Sundance. The rest is history.”

“Now your art has been featured in several hip-hop videos and in two blockbuster movies. You’re a darling of the art world and on the cusp of your first exhibit. That’s some journey.”

Started from the bottom…

He could feel her eyes doing what everyone’s did. Assessing. Weighing. He was an ethnic enigma. Folks speculated—was he was Italian, Puerto Rican, Cuban? His olive skin and dark hair made some sense, and then they’d come to his eyes, which were like a flash of blue-gray lightning in his face. Scratching their heads. And when they gave up on staring and asked, well, how the hell was he supposed to know? His father was some john his mother probably fucked for twenty bucks. And when people got past his face and dug a little deeper, they were even less sure how to peg him.

Art had been his solace in Barfield projects from the shit storm at home. Running the streets at night, too young to be hanging with the older guys teaching him about graffiti. Dodging cops at nine years old. Darting through dangerous streets, spraying buildings and bridges. Coaxing beauty out of grime. Even when he’d learned about the use of light, used fine paints and expensive canvases, perfected a gift he wouldn’t have even known to ask for, there was nothing like those early days, when he’d stumbled onto his talent like a gold coin in a pile of shit.

He’d lived in the projects until he was twelve years old but just years later found himself vacationing in Vail with the Bennetts and Walshes, two of the country’s most prominent families. He was a little bit of everything people assumed he was, and everything they would never suspect.

Cam could practically hear Shelby’s lips smacking she was kissing his ass so hard. Blowing all kinds of smoke about him being the second coming for the art world. He nodded, keeping his mouth straight while he waited for the real questions to start. He knew she had them, and even though his agent had assured him she wouldn’t ask him about—

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