Page 68 of Bad Luck Club

He shifted in his seat. “Making art is like making a widget, but it’s not a business unless yousellthe widgets.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Did you just compare my art to widgets?”

“If you’re making art for art’s sake, then concentrate on being an artist. If you want to make a living from your art, you need to figure out how to best market it. Once you make the art, it becomes a widget.”

She tilted her head, studying him. “And do you consider Buchanan beer a widget?”

“I definitely consider it to be a widget.” He paused. “I realize art is personal, but once it’s created and made visible, it’s no longer yours. It belongs to the world, so you might as well make money from it.” A corner of his mouth lifted. “Something I learned from Addy.”

She gave him a hard stare. “I struggle to imagine Addy saying that.”

“Okay, she just said the part about her art belonging to the world after she finished it. The rest is logic.”

“It’s capitalistic.”

“Exactly,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Isn’t that why we’re here?”

“I figured we’d make some cute little Facebook ads,” she said, frustration in her voice. “Spruce up my website with some moving animals that say things like, ‘I want to be your friend. Take me home.’”

He shrank back in his chair, but he felt the corners of his mouth tick up. “That’s not cute. That’s creepy.”

She threw her hands up. “Okay, then. Maybe some testimonials and photos of people with my creations.” She pulled her phone out of her pocket and swiped on the screen. “Like this,” she said, handing him the phone.

He took it and made a look of disgust. It was a photo of a middle-aged balding man holding an enormous octopus. He had wide eyes and a large, toothy smile. A Snickers was tucked into his front pocket, and in the background sat an unmarked white cargo van.

“Are you planning to market to pedophiles?”

“What?”

“He’s in front of a white van, and he literally has a Snickers in his pocket. All he needs is a sign that says free candy.”

She snatched her phone back. “What the hell?”

“It’s all about the image, Blue, and that is not the image you want to project.”

“So why don’t we work on that?”

“Wewill. Once we make your business plan.”

She got up from the table and moved into the kitchen, taking her nearly full cup of coffee with her. He followed her and found her standing at the sink in front of the window.

“That sounds like something Remy would say.” She took a breath. “The thing about capitalism, not saying Gabe looks like a pedophile.”

His heart skipped a beat. The last thing he wanted to do was remind her of her ex.

She turned around. “But in this case, I guess you’re right.” She gave him a wry smile. “That’s not easy for me to admit, you know.”

He took several steps toward her, stopping a few feet away. Close enough to smell her shampoo but far enough away that he couldn’t touch her unless he moved closer. “I’m sorry if I’m handling this wrong.” He put his hands in his pockets. “I wasn’t raised to be gentle. I speak fluent blunt.”

She grinned. “Sometimes I need blunt speaking. Just ask your sister or Maisie.”

“I’d rather not ask either of them anything about you,” he said. “I want to explore you on my own.”

Images of her flashed through his mind. Sitting with her on her sofa. Kissing her in her car. He hadn’t meant to use the word “explore,” but he wasn’t sorry. Especially when she drew in a sharp breath, her chest lifting with it. Was it too much to hope she was remembering their kiss too?

He wanted to close the distance between them, but he refused to make the first move. He was leaving it up to her this time, and more importantly, he didn’t want to send the wrong message. She needed his help, and he intended to give it. As crazy as it sounded, he would rather do that than seduce her.

“Ready to get to work?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows.

---