If Kelso wants a realistic spread eagle, I have to find out what one looks like. It's not an image I think I can stomach under normal circumstances. But right now I feel like I'm drunk on Lawson and selling my art. Put those two things together, Lawson and art, and you get one frisky Skye who can handle a bit of full frontal.
The search results bring up pages and pages of results. Of course. There's all sorts, from amateur to professional to just plain nasty. I pick one that seems artistic-ish: a woman propped up on her elbows with her knees bent. At least I can get some height on the canvas.
While I sketch, I wonder what Lawson will think of me. Or if I'm being too presumptuous. Just because he kissed me, with a big erection digging into me, doesn't mean I should assume where the evening will head.
Maybe he'll be freaked out and turned off by the stupid artist who's clearly desperate to finally have sex. I need to manage my expectations.
The buzz of the evening doesn't wear off for hours, and I keep on sketching until just before two. I'd had enough foresight to pick up an extra canvas, so I'll do all the early work at home and only take it to his creepy bedroom when I have to. I just need to make sure Ava doesn't come across it while it's still here; that would be awkward, in the extreme.
In the morning, I hide the sketches in the bottom drawer of my dresser and delete my internet history, just in case.
As I arrive at the colonnaded monument to the absurd, my stomach turns in a knot. Please don't let me see Kelso. Or at very least don't let me see him alone. I'm here to paint as fast as I can and collect my money.
The workmen have left the front door ajar, and I tiptoe into the entrance lobby. My canvas is still propped on the easel off the the side. Good, no one has moved my stuff. I like everything to be organized in a certain way.
I've decided on an ancient Greek temple scene for the lobby, to echo the columns on this oversized house. Except I'm depicting the temple as it stands today: in ruins. Will the irony be lost on Kelso? Probably.
Using the image of the temple that Gordon printed out for me, I go over it one last time with my pencil. My goal is to crank out one of these paintings a week, and it's already Wednesday so this one is late. Though, to be fair, I didn't get much done Monday or Tuesday because of Kelso.
It's nearly ten and I still haven't seen any sign of another person. Which suits me just fine.
Enough with the sketching, I decide it's time to slap some paint on this canvas. The dollar amount hits me once again: five whole thousand dollars for this one painting! The mere thought brightens my mood, and I hum as I go about getting my paints laid out.
The doorbell rings, though the door is still ajar. I ignore it and carry on preparing my paints. Kelso will no doubt appear, and with any luck he'll be too busy answering the door to hassle me.
A few minutes pass and no one comes. Should I answer it? I wouldn't know what to say to the kind of person who would want to come here.
A few seconds later, there's a firm knocking, which pushes the ajar door all the way open. My mouth drops.
Lawson stands in the doorframe, dressed in a dark blue suit tailored to his muscular frame.
Wow.
For a moment I forget about the oppression of the workers that the suit represents and enjoy the view. He looks seriously hot, made hotter by the fact that I know underneath the material is all that ink.
His brow furrows and he looks at me sideways. He appears as confused as I am.
"Hi," I say, half greeting, half questioning.
"What are you doing here?" he snaps.
"Yeah, I'm wondering the same."
"Why are you here?"
"Nice to see you too."
"Huh?"
"It's what you usually say when you run into someone."
Lawson peers around, but no one else has come.
"You shouldn't be here," he says in a hushed tone, walking toward me.
"I've been commissioned to create paintings for Kelso Wilson." I take a step back, my hands on my hips.
"Kelso Wilson is scum, you need to stay away from him."
"I'm here to do a job. An artist job for good money, plus a funded gallery show."
"So?"
"So, this is what I want to do! It's been my dream since I was five years old."
"Kelso is nothing but trouble."
"How do you know that? How do you know him? What are you even doing here?"
He holds my gaze with his and says, "He used to be my business partner."
My arms drop to my sides while I struggle to understand what he said. I give up and say, "I don't understand."
"We were business partners. I'm Lawson Heywood." When he utters his name an explosion goes off in my head.
Lawson Heywood. Of the worldwide hotel chain Heywoods. Even I know that.
A rich bastard.
Fuck.
And I trashed talked the rich right to his face. Repeatedly. Mortified, my cheeks burn and my stomach twists. I step backwards, knocking over my paints. The crash echoes around the entrance hall.
Chapter Ten
Spilled Paint (Lawson)
I reach out to steady Skye before she tumbles into her paints. My hands grab her elbows, and I hold her firmly.
This wasn't the way I wanted to tell her I'm one of these horrible rich people she seems to hate so much.
When I arrived here this morning, she was the absolute last person I expected to find in Kelso's half-finished house. The asshole can't even finish his own house on time. I'll be sure to point that out to him.
Right now, I need to figure out a way to convince Skye to leave. I know Kelso, he won't leave his hands off her for long, whether he has her consent or not. Not that any of his antics would ever make it into the newspapers; he must've spent more money in buying women's silence than he has on this house.
There's no way I'll let him lay a finger on Skye.
"Thanks," she says, looking at the floor.
I grab her chin and tilt it up to my face. Her cheeks are red and she keeps her eyes shifted down.
"Look at me."
Skye remains frozen but I don't let go of her chin. I rub my thumb over her bottom lip, in an attempt to sooth her. At last her eyes slide up my face, until they meet mine.
"I have to clean up my stuff," she says.
"Let me help."
Supplies are scattered over the floor, and I crouch to pick whatever up I can. Skye crawls on her hands and knees, gathering things. It's distracting to watch her, and it makes me want to move behind her and pull her ass against my crotch.
We set back up the table she's fastened out of a board and two folding chairs. Different paint colors now stain my right pant leg and the cuffs of both my arms. It doesn't matter, I'd rather make her feel at ease. The faster I can do that, the sooner I can convince her to get out of here.
Once we're satisfied the board is steady, we start loading it up. Skye seems to have some organization system. I pass the fallen pieces to her and she puts the item where she wants it.
"What's he paying you? I'll triple it." I say.
Her lips snarls. "No way, I'm not having you pay me off. I'm going to earn my way in life."
"Oh?"
"Yes. I'm not part of your entitled crowd. I prefer to earn my place."
"What? You think I haven't worked for everything I have?"
"No, but-"
"But what? I've worked hundred hour weeks for the past decade. Does that meet with your approval?"
"Yes, but-"
"But what? It doesn't fit with your little narrative?
"I don't know what happens to you when you put on a suit, but it sure turns you into a prick."
"It's not me who changes, it's you. I'm exactly the exact same. You, on the other hand, see what you want to see."
Skye stops what she's doing and stands, turning to face me with a small frown. "I do no such thing."
I set down her brushes and cup her cheeks. Her eyelids become heavy, half shielding her brown eyes.
"You do, I'll show you," I say. I bring my lips to hers, and she readily submits to me. Our kiss deepens and I slide one hand behind her head, working my fingers through her hair to hold her in place.
She tastes so good I could stay like this all day, but I can't risk Kelso coming in and seeing us kiss. That would only spur on any plans he has for Skye.
I pull my head back, trying to break the kiss, but she goes up on her toes, not letting me go. Enough. I hold her head in place with my hand and stand to my full height.
Out of her reach, I look down at her and ask, "Still seeing the big, bad rich guy?"
Her shoulders raise in a shrug, and she flashes a coy smile. "Maybe."
"Is that an attempt to get me to kiss you again?"
Skye's smile increases, revealing her perfect teeth. I release my hand from her hair and run my fingers down until I reach the small of her back. I snap her to me, the length of our bodies tight against each other.
Leaning, I put my face to the top of her hair. The flowery smell is divine and I inhale several breaths of it.
Skye is quiet, and I notice she's trembling in my arms.
I kiss over her hair and bring my lips to her ears. I say, "I worry about you, is all. Trust me, Kelso is a first rate scumbag."