Page 47 of Wicked Design
“I appreciate you cheerleading my work, but did you ever consider Lauren’s looking ahead and protecting herself? When my stuff doesn’t sell, she can say it’s because the prices were too high. Gets her off the hook and makes me feel as if it’s not my fault.”
“Is she that twisted? Come on, show me your work. If you managed to stay awake this long, we can eat and check out your stuff at the same time.”
“Fine.” He stood and offered his hand. “But no equivocating, or worse, lying. I want you to be honest.”
She shook her head. “You want me to hurt you like your folks did. That’s what you’re used to. I refuse.”
Of course, she did. Digging into his soul and knowing what made him tick better than he did was more fun for her. He pushed away his unease, polished off his cheeseburger, and grabbed his burrito. “I don’t think I like it when you’re right.”
She patted his ass. “You’ll get used to it.”
“Did you study psychology before jewelry? Did you go to a shrink?” Given her background that seemed likely.
“I read online articles. Mainly success ones that asked if fame was worth pursuing. And would I be able to handle the downsides of wealth and adoration?” She made a face. “Given my current financial situation that seemed like an incredibly dense question, but hey, what do I know? Anyway, those articles questioned if I was sabotaging myself. If I have been, I want to stop. I’d rather not spend forty years chasing a dream I don’t want. My dad and mom couldn’t be happier with the paths they chose. I want to be the same, but I’m not them, and you’re not me. Is art your life? Do you need it to exist? Are you bummed when you don’t work on your projects? Can you give it up, ever?”
“Hell no. I don’t even want to try.”
“Then what are you waiting for? I showed you mine. Wow me with yours.”
He hugged her but still wished this were about sex, not his talent. Days ago he would have dreaded proving both.
His male prowess wasn’t in question any longer. She’d effortlessly released his horny beast. With any luck, she’d make his other head swell concerning his art. “Want some music first to put you in the mood? Something dark and gloomy?”
“Your moans and groans will be enough.” She slipped her arm through his, pulled him down the hall, and opened the door to the bathroom. “Let’s go in.”
“To shower?”
“Later. I love to look through medicine cabinets at other people’s houses. You?”
“Are you serious?”
Laughing, she tugged him across the hall.
The only furniture in the room was a double bed, nightstand, and lamp. He’d stacked his paintings everywhere else, even in the closet.
She padded to a smaller work, a landscape in pale greens and pink.
He joined her. “I got the idea for the colors from Vase with Pink Roses. The real Van Gogh painted it in 1890.”
“This is beautiful. It’d make a great mural. Have you ever done one?”
“Of Jasmina on the parlor front door.”
“You did that?” Clover glanced at his paintings. “It’s not your style.”
“Frank, the original owner, offered me two hundred bucks for something sexy. I gave him what he wanted. Beggars can’t be choosers. I did a mural in the break room, too. Be right back. Hold this.” He shoved his burrito at her. “Wait.” He took a huge bite of the thing, gave the rest to her, then hurried to the living room.
Cell phone in hand, he returned and brought up shots he’d taken of the break room when Lauren talked about selling the place. At the time, Van Gogh expected to use the photos for his portfolio. If he couldn’t find another gig as an ink artist, he’d planned to paint murals in houses and churches, or portraits in a mall. “Next time you’re at Wicked Brand I’ll show you this in person.”
He gave her his phone.
She scrolled through the pictures.
The mural created an illusion of standing on an ancient terrace and provided a three-hundred-and-sixty degree view of the sea. Water stretched endlessly to distant mountains. Vines with white, pink, and purple flowers clung to graceful arches. On the ceiling he had simulated pitted stone.
“Wow.” She tapped the picture. “This is amazing.”
“It’s lame. Any competent artist could do it.”
