Page 13 of Partnering with the Artist

After six years together, Harry only let me in his bedroom once. It was small, cramped, and stank of dirty laundry… The only place to sit was the bed, and I hesitated until he goaded me down beside him. I don’t really like thinking about the conversation that happened after it was clear what he wanted, and I saidno.

Marching past me while I’m struggling to take this scene in alongside memories I’d rather forget, Zakery steps up onto the dais and pulls a sheer white fabric over all the windows. “You’re sensitive to the sun, aren’t you?”

“I…um…yes. Is that…going to be a problem?”

“No, no. There are ways around it. Don’t worry. Is this stilltoo bright? I can pull the full blackout curtain if so.”

Since the room is significantly dimmer with the thin white covering, I remove my hat and sunglasses. “No, this should be okay.”

“Excellent. Take a seat for me, then. Right here.” Eyes heavy on me, he grazes his hand atop the swooping back of the daybed.

Feeling somewhat dirty and afraid because of how things went the last time I sat down in a man’s bedroom, I force myself up the step—proud when I don’t trip on it—and to the daybed. Sitting, I clasp my hands around my sunglasses and hat brim in my lap.

Zakery wastes no time plopping into his rolling chair and swinging himself away from the drawing tablet up to me. “Can I do anything to assuage your nerves, princess?”

“It just feels…weird. Like I’m selling my body. Or…something.”

His calm smile evaporates. “Well then. I know the cure for that one.” He rises, heads to his drawing tablet, and turns it on. Once he’s done fiddling, he approaches me with a partial-fingered glove. “Here you go. Swap with me.”

“Huh?”

He taps the rolling chair and offers the glove. “Draw me first.”

“Oh, I can’t… I don’t know how… And I’m sure your equipment is very expensive. I’ll break it. Or myself if I sit in a chair that moves, near, you know, aledge.”

He understands my point, but only partially, because—quite apparently—he has a stool that doesn’t roll in his bathroom. Setting it behind his tablet, he says, “Break it. I’ll buy a new one.” His hand extends, beckoning. “Come.”

Unable to refuse, I head toward the stool, exchange my hat and glasses for the glove, and squint at the blinding screen. “I’m so sorry… Is there a brightness setting on this? My eyes areespecially sensitive to light, too…”

He shows me how to adjust the brightness, walks me through the basics ofthis is drawandthis is eraseandthis is the undo/redo trigger, then he tosses my glasses and sunhat on his bed in order to sprawl upon the daybed. Hand dramatically placed against his forehead, he declares, “Draw me like one of your French girls, Maelin.” He pauses. “Well, actually, with clothes is preferred. All things considered, anatomy is hard.”

Yes. With clothes is very preferred. All things considered.

I swallow my nerves, look at him while he lies there, tall, spread fully across the sofa with one leg cast over the armrest. He mindlessly paints squiggles on the floor with a fingertip while he peers up at the ceiling. I test a stroke on the digital canvas. Undo it. Test another one.

I’ve only ever drawn through traditional mediums, sketching outfit ideas onto very thin figures that mimic fashion illustrations. Zakery might be slender in his build…but he is by no meansthin.

I test a few guides. Wince. Delete them. Squinting at Zakery, I try to find hisline of action. Which sounds like a very pretentious thought in my head, like I’m fooling myself into believing I know anything about art when I’m with a man who makes millions off his.

“Like I mentioned before,” Zakery murmurs after several minutes of sheer agony have gone by, “I’ll pay you fifty dollars every hour you’re with me here, in my studio. You’re free to clock out for breaks whenever’s reasonable. Given the single vehicle and that your sister will be here a while each day cleaning, it makes sense to me that we match her schedule. It could be long hours, but does that suit you?”

His chilling eyes slice my way, sending a shiver down my spine. I can’t get his head to look right. His clothing? Fabulous. Fabric drawing I’ve had some practice with. But what even is ahuman body, I swear to—

“Maelin?”

I blink. “Huh?” Right. He was talking about the terms of my working for him. I got distracted. “Yes. That’s fine with me.”

He stares a moment longer, then frees a gentle smile. “Having trouble, princess?”

“I’ve created nothing short of an abomination.” Maybe this would actually be easier if he were naked. I feel like that would make figuring out where in the world his neck stems from his body infinitely easier…

When I look up intending to death stare at his stupid neck some more, I find him missing from the daybed.

His voice coolly drifts into my ear from my other side. “Not bad. No anatomy classes, of course, but the skill that created your adorable fursuit shows. You’ve got a good eye.”

I flush. Whether it’s because he’s complimenting me or because he’s brought up the fursuit (another abomination I’m responsible for) is anyone’s guess.

“Are you some reassured that this isn’t anything to be ashamed of?” he asks. “The likelihood I’ll be over here cussing is high.”

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