Page 14 of Paint Me Love
After I finish my food and wash up, I daydream a little about all the places I’d love to visit and draw. Just imagining sitting on a chair outside and capturing what I can see on paper fills my chest with fluttering sparks. I’m sure I’ll make that dream a reality one day if I work hard enough. Maybe I won’t get to see every country, but even if it’s just a few I get to draw, I think I can die happy. With that thought and giddy anticipationfor Tuesday, I go to bed, curling under my covers as the wind bellows outside my window.
I got this, even if I am a little nervous. Cassandra is nice and she’s clearly seen something in me, so, honestly, I can only benefit from this arrangement.
8
Derek
Idon’tgetnervous.I’m never on edge. I know exactly what I walk into and how to steer things so they go my way. I also don’t stand in front of the mirror, frowning at myself and wondering if the cracks I see in my façade will be visible to others, too. Usually.
But today is different. Fuck, was this a mistake? I should’ve let my little artist go while I could, but it’s too late now.
My skin feels tight and my heart rate is slightly elevated. I woke up at five in the morning. I never wake up that early. I did my jog, then followed up with a thirty-minute workout in my home gym, then even swam ten lengths of the massive pool on my roof terrace, managing all of that before Adam was even up. He offered to fuck—we do that every so often when we both have an itch to scratch—but I just wasn’t feeling it, so instead I gave him my credit card and he got us breakfast from some Italian place he likes. The delicious food didn’t help even a bit.
The way I can’t seem to get myself under control fully is irritating, but at the same time it’s something I haven’t had to deal with before. Things rarely affect me, yet meeting the manI’ve been chatting with has me all wound up. It’s… perhaps exhilarating might be the right word for it, if I felt like throwing such big words around. At any rate, since the day of the opening when I had the first epiphany of my life, I’ve been off my game. Not in a way that would ruin things for me work-wise of course, since I am too much of a professional to allow that, but my mood has been affected. Daniel is all I can think about, and no matter how hard I try, I’ve not been able to shake off that hum he’s caused within me. The prickles and the tingles invade my skin whenever I allow myself a moment of downtime, and just like it’s hard to get his lovely smile and dick out of my head, it’s nearly impossible not to think back to his soul-touching mural.
It’s silly, and yet I can’t help it. It’s one of those experiences where something just clicks for you. It’s unexpected, catches you off-guard, too.
I lift the mug to my mouth and finish the last of my coffee just as Adam saunters into the lounge in a tight burgundy suit that I’m sure will have whoever he is meeting with sport an erection within thirty seconds. We sort of keep things open between us—he’s free to fuck whoever he wants and so am I.
“You are still here?” he says, two perfectly plucked eyebrows slanting down in slight disapproval.
That’s very observant of him, though I don’t mention it since I’m not feeling like having an argument. “I’m heading out soon.” I push myself off the upholstered chair. “The board meeting’s not until eleven, and then it’s lunch with that guy from the fuel place. What was his name? Ivan?”
“Iliya from Vosneft,” he corrects in a clipped tone. Ah, yes, the German oligarch that one of Adam’s contacts put in touch with me.
I squint at him, wondering if they’d fucked in the past. He seems to know this Iliya, but he didn’t come to our introductorymeeting, which tells me all I need to know. Whatever happened between them didn’t end so well.
“Right, him.” I wave Adam off. “Where are you off to?” I add because I should probably ask and pretend that I care.
“Layla and I are going shopping.” He plucks my credit card off the marble breakfast counter where it’s lying, tucking it into his designer wallet. “Then I’m meeting with the models for the new line, so can you pick my new suit up from Tash’s boutique in Pacific Place? It should be ready after three-thirty.”
“I’ll be at the gallery then. Can’t you ask your driver?”
He clenches his jaw. “I’d need to phone the boutique and have him approved for collection.”
I shrug and grab my empty mug so I can toss it in the dishwasher. “Do that then. I can’t make it.”
Adam sighs loudly enough so I can hear how much my refusal is messing with his plans. “Why are you wasting your time meeting some stupid artist, Derek?” he whines, the cadence of his voice pitching up. “As if you don’t have anything better to do with your time.”
Like what? Picking his clothes up or making more money that he can spend? Well, to be fair, I knew what I was getting into before we started posing as partners. Adam has never hidden the fact that he likes money, and I commend him for it when so many people pretend otherwise because society has decided it’s shameful to admit it. I like money too, and spending lots of it used to get my blood pumping when I was younger. Not that I am old now, but once you pass twenty-five, things change. I still wouldn’t give it up of course—it makes life easier and more worth living if you have no walls standing between you and your enjoyment of it.
When I don’t say anything, Adam blabbers on, “I can’t believe you are having Cassandra waste time with this when she could be focusing on selling the pieces we have.”
“She is doing that already. We’ve got a third accounted for and it’s not even been two weeks,” I point out.
Adam doesn’t appreciate that, pouting his filler-enhanced lips. “Again. It doesn’t explain why you are meeting with some unknown nobody instead of focusing on the artists that matter.”
Great point, Adam. I’d like to know that, too.But you see, this here defies logic or the rules I’ve set up for myself. It’s an urge, an impulse I can’t quite kill, a need to know who the person behind those paintings is. I know part of him, but the need to crack him open and see everything that hides inside is just too strong to resist. And fuck it, I admit—I want to see those paintings in person, to touch them and relive that moment where my entire being got ripped from the Earth and thrown into some abyss of existence that transcends the limits of this sad state of being we call reality.
Because that’s what Daniel’s art does to me. Not just the mural—his entire portfolio has me feeling stuff I haven’t felt in years.
Damn, that was deep. Maybe I should be a poet.
“I just tossed the idea to her. She jumped right on, and actually, it was her idea to offer mentorship. I didn’t see any harm in it, so I let her do it.” I stare out the window at the skyline. “Think of it this way—if this guy is half as good as both me and Cassandra think, we can make money off him. You know people in our circles love to wave their protégés around. Plus, the PR angle is good too—Salinger Tech takes in a poor artist and turns him into a superstar.”
He considers my words, nods begrudgingly and puffs out his cheeks. “Fine. Whatever. I guess it could be beneficial, depending on how we go about it.”
I knew he’d come around. He always does. And because he ‘let me win’, I suspect he’s going to shop for more than new clothes. Maybe a new car again? But it’s fine—he can spend a fewthousand, or a hundred thousand, because I’ve already made a million today. And it’s not even lunchtime yet.
