“Your art is for you. What I think about your paintings has nothing to do with the paintings. What if I told you they were all garbage, that you should burn them?”
My chest tightened.
“I don’t… I mean, they’re not that bad, are they?”
Jake stepped toward me, a smile spreading on his face.
“What if I told you I wanted to buy them? All of them? Five thousand dollars apiece.”
“What? That’s way too much!” I cried, gripping the paintbrush in my hands.
“See?”
Jake reached out to me and cradled my face in one hand. For a moment I thought he might… but no. He wouldn’t kiss me. He turned and gestured back idly at the canvases.
“These are yours. Yours alone. Don’t ever let anyone judge them.”
He gave me a quick kiss on the forehead.
“Now go wash up for dinner. Get dressed in something that’s not one of these damn robes. They’re too tempting.”
I was glad that he was still tempted by me, or at least willing to lie to me about it. But I wasn’t about to let him have the upper hand just yet.
“All you have is dresses—”
“Wear a dress. And no panties. Understood?”
I stared baldly at him before giving up. If he wanted me in a dress, I’d have to wear a dress.
“Understood,” I said. I was beginning to see a pattern here. “Your wish is my command,” I muttered.
“That’s exactly right,” Jake said, his emerald eyes glinting with satisfaction as he smacked me on the rear.
***
I changed out of the paint-flecked terrycloth robe and put on the first dress I grabbed out of the dozens in my closet. I felt a bit bad that I’d already ruined two of his robes with paint. I told myself that I’d keep this one for painting.
Look at me. Making myself feel at home.
I shrugged off the faint feeling of jealousy and longing. This was my home for the week, at least, and I should enjoy it while I had the chance to. When I came out of the bedroom to the kitchen, Jake was putting away his cell phone. He whistled a low whistle when he saw me, then lifted his phone in the air.
“I thought that we could order in,” Jake said, waving the phone in his hand. “So that you don’t die of starvation in the middle of New York City. How does that sound?”
“Sure,” I said. “What do you feel like?”
“Sushi. I already ordered.”
“Well, thanks for making all of my decisions so easy,” I said.
“Did you want something else?” Jake asked, one eyebrow raised.
“Sushi is good.”
My stomach growled with the force of a thousand lions.
“And anyway,” I said, looking down at my tummy. “I definitely should have eaten lunch. Although I don’t know, maybe this is a good way for me to diet.”
“What, getting so engrossed in your painting that you forget to eat lunch?”
“I’ll call it the Artist’s Diet,” I said. “I’ll make millions off of the website with affiliate sales. Paint the pounds away.”
Jake laughed.
“Don’t get too skinny,” he said, coming around to place his palms on my hips. He caressed me gently and his voice growled in my ear. “I like this too much.”
The doorbell rang, and I started back, stepping on Jake’s feet. I jumped off immediately and bumped my hip against the table.
“Ow,” I said.
“That must be the chef,” Jake said.
“The chef?”
Jake returned with a Japanese man in a chef’s hat and apron following him. The chef had a black suitcase in tow. I watched as he placed the suitcase on the kitchen counter and opened it up. A row of gleaming silver knifes unrolled from one side, and in the other was an ice-packed array of…
“Is that fish?” I asked, leaning closer. Jake sat on one of the kitchen stools next to me. From here we could see everything the chef did.
“Fresh,” the sushi chef said. “Caught this morning. You like tuna?”
“I love tuna.”
“Good.”
The chef made his way around the kitchen like it was his own, and I realized that this must not be the first time he’d come here. Jake poured out three glasses of something clear and steaming from a ceramic carafe. He pushed one of the glasses to me and another to the chef, who was busy setting up a pot full of rice to boil.
“Cheers,” he said, lifting his glass. The chef held his glass up in appreciation and drank. I did the same. Then I bent over, coughing.
“Oh my God!” I cried. The drink had seared my throat, but not because of the heat. I felt the alcohol hit my system after the first sip. “What is this?”
“Sake,” Jake said, smiling at me. “Have you never had any?”