Page 4 of Forbidden Desires

“Or maybe a witch with an interesting green thumb,” I countered, risking a little humor. “Maybe there’s a reason she cultivates death flowers.”

Eric chuckled beside me, the sound shocking me. I chanced another look up toward the man and couldn’t stop the warmth that tickled the tips of my ears at the fact that he was still looking down at me. Was he interested or did he think I was foolish? I hated how I couldn’t quite get a read on him.

“Dominique told me that you were a bit of an artiste,” he continued, his gaze taking in my facial features, but his own expression giving nothing away. “Admittedly, I didn’t expect much out of the assertion. Many like to call themselves such without any real backing for such a claim.”

I managed, just barely, not to bristle at his comment. “And you can tell that I am one just because I have thoughts about a painting?” I asked saucily, rather than stating what I really wanted to ask.Was it surprising because he didn’t assume a sex worker would know shit about art?

The corner of his mouth twitched…with a smile? Or was that annoyance?

“I can tell by the way you speak about art,” he amended. “There’s a certain tone that people have when they’re speaking on something they’re knowledgeable about, or something they’re passionate about, rather than something they’ve forced themselves to learn for the sake of conversation. You carry the former tone with you. Most of the women in your profession put on a pretense, expecting me to believe it.”

Quiet fell between us after that last insulting remark, and I wondered if this was the reason why he had such poor luck in finding someone suitable as a partner. He started off by saying something that sounded almost like a compliment…only to finish it with a dig.

Not sure what to think of this man, I continued to look at the painting, following the curves of the woman depicted in it, watching how the flowers flowed like water around them. Had Dominique really thought that this man and I were a good match? Spending one night with him for a work event was one thing, but a long-term arrangement with someone who seemed to have a low opinion of others felt like it was pushing a little too hard into the realm of impossibility.

Surely Dominique had made some sort of mistake?

I remained quiet, and moments passed before Eric spoke again.

“I have a showing here I’m sponsoring in a week,” he said in a more formal, business-like tone. “There will be artists from all over Florida, many of marginalized backgrounds and all withimmense talent. I respect all whose work will be shown here, and I would like company while their work is being admired and critiqued. I would like that company to be able to engage with the artists, but also myself.” Then, he exhaled a deep sigh. “I don’t need someone who is obviously here being paid for their lip service. That isn’t the point. I want someone who can interact and blend in seamlessly. Do you think you’d be comfortable with that?”

His question made me raise a brow. Was he embarrassed by having an escort mingling with the artists in this venue? If so, he was certainly bold in choosing to hire one while also having specific tastes and requirements.

I immediately wondered if I’d read this entire exchange wrong. Maybe he wasn’t being as open as I thought he was. I had to be right, I was sure of it, that his directness was masking something else. That at the core of things, he didn’t think much of escorts—and thus why he was surprised one might know about art—while still being a man who sought one. It was a contradictory situation I couldn’t make sense of.

Or maybe he simply couldn’t keep an actual girlfriend because he was a condescending jerk, and that’s why he was in this situation.

I said nothing of that observation, and instead, nodded.

“If you want a discreet date, it’s definitely something I can do,” I said, equally businesslike. “Especially around something that I know a good deal about.”

That little tug at the corner of his mouth happened again, giving me no clue as to the emotion behind it. “I thought you only knew enough to know when an artist has mixed their own paint?”

I clicked my tongue. “Maybe a little bit more. I have done my own work, in the past.”

Interest flickered in his eyes. “Yet you guarded the answer to that question close to yourself with deflection.”

I gave a small shrug. “We all have things that are personal to ourselves, don’t we?”

When he didn’t immediately answer, I worried that I might have been too blunt in the way that I spoke to him. At the very least, I didn’t want this meeting to end in a waste of time I wouldn’t see a benefit out of. But when I looked up, he had a faint smile that curved his full lips.

“I think we’ll get along well, Miss Greene.”

I resisted rolling my eyes. This man was going to be a major pain in my ass, I just knew it. “Just call me Jasmine,” I said in a cheeky tone. “No need to be so formal, right?”

If Eric Maxim was taken aback by my impudence, he didn’t let on that he was, and that was certainly fine by me.

CHAPTER 3

Jasmine

After our meeting, Eric and I exchanged contact details. He’d sent over his own requirements for the evening in terms of dress, time and place, as well as etiquette. It was all very precise and direct. Much like his demeanor at the art gallery.

Though he didn’t seem to be a cruel man—just arrogant and demanding, and maybe a bit jaded—I did wonder if he would prove to be more exacting should his particulars not be fully met. Especially since I still couldn’t tell if his specific conditions were a product of being peculiar in taste, as Dominique told me, or if he simply didn’t have respect for the line of work—mine—he was so willing to throw money at.

Regardless, a substantial contract was drawn up for my time and appearance at the event, and everything was signed two days after our meeting, with the upfront payment hitting my account not long after. At least the man was prompt.

For the remaining week, my curiosity followed me, and I couldn’t shake it. Our interaction had been brief, but I wanted to know more about this mysterious Eric Maxim. Why was he so interested in the arts? Why, if he was a man who entertained escorts, did he have a desire for one who would appear as more than just that?

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