Page 21 of Paint Me Love
There is thought behind each of them, a mastery of technique that he takes full advantage of. His works are not perfect of course; they have their flaws and mistakes—that’s just how art is—but they touch something deep within me in a way nothing in this fucked-up world ever could.
That’s it, what finally does it. I lose the fight with myself and find my way to my texting app.
Me: I can’t wait to see what you are working on.
God, this is so unlike me. I’m not needy like that, usually. Nothing grabs my attention so viciously.
Daniel doesn’t reply immediately, which ticks me off a bit. To keep myself distracted, and because I have given up on pretending I can focus on the report, I look him up online. Little appears, but I eventually navigate my way to his blog. It’s new, and there isn’t much. His other social media accounts are the same, but the few posts that are up tell me he’s been trying to improve his presence online.
Honestly, I don’t blame him for failing. If not for the team I have in place to deal with social media, I wouldn’t be posting at all.
Somehow, I do get some work done even if it feels like there are needles under my ass all day. As five p.m. rolls around, my VP, Anthony, pops by my office.
“Up for a few rounds at the Atrium? After the gym?”
I raise an eyebrow, slightly intrigued. “Who’s going?”
“Terry, Simon, Zander, me and Ben.”
Ah, that’s the ex-jocks from Engineering. They are big fun when they get tipsy, though it usually doesn’t last as they are all kind of lightweight and get shitfaced shortly after. Still, I don’t feel like being alone with my thoughts or listening to Adam complaining about the handbag he wanted to buy being out of stock again. He wouldn’t stop texting me about it all afternoon.
“Sure. What time?”
He checks the time on hisRolex. “At around nine?”
Once he leaves, I absentmindedly skim through meeting minutes from earlier. Nothing registers and half an hour later, I finally cave in to the urge within me.
“Uh, hello, Mr. Salinger?” Daniel says from the other end of the phone call, his voice apprehensive.
“Derek,” I correct him.
“Derek, sorry. Did you need something?”
Did I? Not really, but he is also yet to reply to my text. I deem myself a patient man, but he’s kept me on read all day. Anyone would get curious why, no?
“You never replied to my message.”
Is being direct the right approach? I don’t know. I’m at a loss when it comes to Daniel, but even so, I still need to crack him. To understand him, to see what makes him tick, to figure out why he is how he is and why I’m drawn to him like a fly to a honey trap.
There is a pause and a small scoff. I can literally see the eye roll that accompanies it. “I’m at work. Besides, there wasn’t much to reply to that.”
I suppose he’s right. I didn’t frame my text in a way that would require a response. “When do you finish?”
“In about two hours.”
“You work too much.”
He blows air out of his nose. “I need the money. Besides, you are one to talk. I bet you are still in the office, you workaholic.”
My grin is so wide my face hurts. There’s that sass that I love so much. “I can make you rich.”
He hums. “I know and I am very grateful for the opportunity to be featured in your gallery. I mean it.”
That’s not quite what I meant, but he’s got a point. “How’s the painting going? Promise you won’t finish it before my visit. I’d love to see the process.”
He laughs. “I wish I could work that fast! But the paint needs to dry before I can move onto the details, so you are safe. It won’t be finished by Sunday.”
I hear some voices in the background, a door closing, too. “Are you on a break?”
