Page 75 of Big Bad Bully
“So you’re going to beg?” I cross my legs, showing off the wicked slit in the dress. I don’t get dressed up often, but when circumstances call for it, I love to shine.
“Begging is always on the table. But it might not be me doing the begging.”
My breath catches as hot liquid pours through me. The thought of Billy kneeling between my legs, kissing my inner thighs, has me ready to combust. And he’s right–after a few minutes of torment by his talented tongue, I will be begging for more.
I squeeze my thighs together. Billy’s gaze flickers down. His eyes grow heavy, and he blinks, inhaling deeply. I search for a way to change the subject and distract us both before we’re tempted to have limo sex.
“Thanks for coming tonight. My parents wanted to come, but I asked them not to.”
“You don’t want them to see how you’ve become a corporate shill?”
I roll my eyes at him. “You’re the one who’s a poster child for capitalism.”
“You’ve done a good job diverting your money into art. Once you graduate, are you going to paint full time?”
I catch my breath. I wasn’t ready for a compliment and a serious question. I ponder it. “I do want to create art full time…”
“But?”
“I’d planned to become a lawyer. Like Jan, my mentor. I want to make a difference.”
“And art doesn’t make a difference?” His blue eyes are open and honest. He’s not baiting me, he’s genuinely curious.
“You know it does. I just…” I pause, trying to articulate why I never wanted to make art my career. When I think about it, I don’t really want to go to law school. I want to focus on art. I subconsciously decided that wasn’t possible.
Leave it to Billy to be the only one to question why.
“Until Sentience and now you, there was no money in it. I don’t need a lot of money, but this city is expensive. A lot of artists struggle. I’m lucky I even have a place in my apartment to paint. I guess I never thought about actually making it work.”
I gnaw my lip. I should hate sharing all this with Billy, but he’s a good listener. Better than I thought he’d be.
“If you keep finding shameless capitalists who will pay through the nose for your work, you would be golden.”
“I want more. I’d like to really help the community. Make sure everyone has an opportunity and space to make their art. I don’t know…” This is frustrating. These are big problems requiring big solutions. “I guess I thought becoming a public defender would be the best way to contribute to society.”
“Now who’s the capitalist? You don’t have to contribute to society. Your mere existence is a gift.” He blinks, as if he didn’t expect to say something so kind.
I want to joke that I am a gift, and he should be grateful for being in my presence, but instead, I say, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. And if you want a business plan on how to become a full time artist, my rate is a mere $100,000 an hour.”
“Oh fuck you.”
I’m smiling when we pull up to the Sentience building. They’ve hired a valet and rolled out a red carpet for their execs and the Who’s Who of New York they want to impress. My stomach drops to my feet as I remember why I’m here. It’s not to trade insults with Billy Billions. At some point in the party, I’m going to need to slip away and break into the subfloor server room.
How am I going to do that?
Billy helps me out of the limo and offers me his arm. We move up the red carpet and into the party. After a short meet and greet with the COO of Sentience and a few other execs, I’m no longer smiling. These people exploited artists to create a tech machine that will lead to more exploitation, but tonight they’re celebrating their “commitment to art.” Spending all this money on a mural and a party to show it off. “Look at us, we love artists. We’re not stealing from them at all.”
I can’t wait to take them down. I just have to figure out how to do it.
Billy gets me a glass of white wine and a G&T for himself. We sip our drinks and watch people ooh and ahh over my mural. I know I only took the gig to get access to Sentience, but knowing my art is being used as a form of color washing only makes my mood more sour.
Noticing my sober silence, Billy turns on the charm and makes excuses for us to leave and head to the open bar.
“Nervous?” He nudges me.
I’m busy thinking of how I’m going to sneak off unseen with all these people milling around. My throat is full of acid, but I swallow and sniff dismissively. “No.”
