Page 24 of Paint Me Love
“Where are you going?” Adam demands as he gestures for the driver to place the bags on the bench, his tone sharp.
I finish tying my shoes before I reply. “Out.”
He removes his sunglasses. A frown is already in place. “Out where?”
“To check out a painting,” I elaborate, giving him a quick once-over. Wine-red pants and a chiffon blouse match hislipstick and eyeshadow, while the black platforms and shawl he’s wearing complement his dark hair.
“Please don’t tell me it’s that stupid artist again,” he groans, brushing past me. “I can’t believe you went ahead and had his paintings put up.”
He hasn’t shut up about it since finding out, and to be honest, I kind of get why. It was an impulsive decision, one that isn’t like me at all. But I don’t regret it one bit.
“They are good.”
Adam turns on his heel and crosses his arms. “I saw them. They are nothing special. And even if they were, it’s no guarantee they will sell,” he counters, his argument a hundred percent correct, because more often than not, it’s not the good stuff that sells.
I muse over that and the reasons behind it, a philosophical exercise of my mind that seems to drag on for too long if the scowl on Adam’s face is anything to go by. I must have left him hanging for longer than what is acceptable.
“You are, of course, right. But even if they don’t, it won’t really hurt the gallery or Cassandra wouldn’t have agreed to it.” I might have not given her much of a choice in the matter, but she’d sat me down afterwards and we’d discussed it, agreeing that it was a negligible loss even if it flopped. Not that I think it will. “Relax. It’s been just a couple of days. The paintings will sell.”
I feel a thrill down my spine as the words leave me. If the paintings don’t sell, then I could buy them all at the end and put them up on the barren walls of my penthouse.
Adam clicks his tongue. “They better and fast. I’m negotiating with this AI artist that’s blowing up currently. He seems willing to do an exclusive with the right gallery.” He raises his hand when I open my mouth. “Yes, I know AI stuff is very controversial at the moment, but all the big corporationsare into it. They are our customer base, Derek, not actual art enthusiasts.”
“I am aware, yes.”
“Stop wasting your time with this, then,” he clips, smacking his red lips together. “Also, I have that dinner gala auction at nine-thirty tonight, in case you forgot. Make sure you are back on time, so we aren’t late. The media will be there, so we need to look the part.”
I feel a slight clench in my jaw. We do, he’s right. It makes us both more relatable to the masses if we have a partner. More grounded. The arrangement with Adam has worked well for years, and his quips don’t bother me. We agree on the things that matter, we play the game and get what we want from people and each other. So why am I finding him extra irritating today when this is all just part of our usual dynamic?
“I’ve found someone I’m interested in,” I blurt out, surprised by my own words.
Adam scowls, tapping his manicured fingers against his elbow. “I knew there was more to that artist than your obsession with his paintings. Is it serious?”
I consider that. “I don’t know, but I can’t get him out of my head.”
“Does he know?” He tilts his chin up. “About our arrangement.”
“No, I haven’t told him. Yet.”
“Will you?”
Will I? Probably, if I wanted to pursue this. My arrangement with Adam is rather unconventional, but I’m sure that if I explained, Daniel would understand. Maybe. Would he judge me? Tell me I’m crazy for using someone like this? It’s all mutual and consensual between me and Adam, and we both know that we can’t keep the farce up forever, so, really, there are no hard feelings.
“You don’t know yet,” Adam surmises, losing a fraction of that tense frown. “I’d appreciate it if you kept me informed. And if you do anything, please be careful not to tip off the media, will you? This will be a lot easier to navigate if we have a plan in place.”
See, Adam can be reasonable. Logical, the opposite of the drama queen he can be sometimes. He knows where he stands when it matters, as do I. This thing between us is purely transactional, it has always been. Neither of us has had any reason to change that so far, but my gut tells me things are about to get a lot more complicated.
“I’ll be careful. See you tonight.”
I leave driving to Daniel’s place to the person I’ve hired to do such a job. My mind swims in a circle, trying to figure out how to approach this mess of my own making. I’ve been on edge since the gallery opening, something inside me building up and up to the point where now I’m feeling like it’s about to overflow. To burst out of me and flood everything in its way. What it is, I don’t know, but it’s both refreshing and horrifying, rearing its head as I get out of the car and hit the call button of the intercom.
“Hello,” Daniel’s voice chirps through the speakers, scrambled and robotic.
I glance at the time on the small screen. It’s dingy and full of scratches, just like the apartment complex itself. “Hey, it’s Derek Salinger.”
“You’re early,” he points out. “It’s not even six yet.”
Was I supposed to be here at six-thirty, seven or seven-thirty? Either way, he’s not wrong. “I had a change of plans.”
