Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 65137 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65137 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
“You have an interesting face. That’s why I look at you.”
Blinking in confusion, Miles looked at Caldwell. Predictably, he found Caldwell already looking at him. “An interesting face? Are we talking about my resemblance to your ex-wife again?”
Caldwell shook his head. “The resemblance is actually superficial,” he said, scrutinizing Miles’s face. “Her face is beautiful, but her features are perfect—boring. Yours aren’t. At certain angles, your face looks too sharp, almost ugly, but then you turn your head a little and it looks ridiculously beautiful. It’s really fascinating. It makes me want to…”
“What?” Miles said when Caldwell had trailed off.
“Want to draw you,” Caldwell said, his gaze still fixated on Miles’s face.
Miles stared at him in amazement. “You’re an artist?”
Caldwell snorted a laugh. “Hardly. But sometimes I draw. Why are you so surprised? Can’t I have a hobby?”
“Of course you can,” Miles said, building the tower again. “But billionaires usually have hobbies like sleeping around or drinking.”
There was amusement in those blue eyes now. “And how many billionaires have you met?”
Miles laughed. “Okay, point. Just you and Derek Rutledge, actually, but he doesn’t fit the stereotype, either.”
He couldn’t help but notice that Caldwell’s eyes grew significantly colder at the mention of Rutledge.
Miles was wondering if he actually had the nerve to ask his employer about it when Caldwell said, “I want to draw you.”
Miles scrunched up his nose. “Will I have to sit still for hours? If so, that’s a hard pass for me.”
“You won’t have to sit still. Just let me look at you.”
Miles chuckled. You’ve been doing it anyway. He shrugged. “Okay. As long as you don’t want to draw me naked or something.”
Caldwell’s lips twisted. “I’m not interested in seeing you naked, Miles.”
Miles grinned, batting his eyelashes exaggeratedly. “I thought I was ‘ridiculously beautiful?’” A part of him, a very distant part of him that wasn’t currently busy flirting with his prick of a boss, wondered what the hell he was doing. “You sure you don’t want to see me naked?”
“Very,” Caldwell said wryly. “I’m straight.”
“Good for you,” Miles said. “But what does being straight have to do with art? Can’t you be interested in drawing naked people as an artist?”
Caldwell snorted. “Personally, I think artists that like drawing naked people just use it as an excuse to ogle the models. You draw something that’s interesting to you and inspires you. Art can’t be impersonal and objective.”
“You just managed to accuse hundreds of great artists of being lecherous perverts.”
Caldwell shrugged. “Not necessarily lecherous perverts, but you know what I mean. Why did Titian keep painting women with brownish-orange hair? Not because he objectively found them interesting.”
Miles laughed. “Okay, whatever you say. I’m not going to argue with you for the sake of arguing when I understand nothing about art.”
At that moment, Liam made a war cry and destroyed the almost-finished tower again, to Miles exasperation.
“Liam!” he said.
The boy grinned, blue eyes wide and full of glee.
Miles couldn’t help but smile back. The kid was just so adorable; it was impossible to be annoyed with him.
Caldwell cleared his throat. He stood up, glancing at his watch. “I have to go to the office, but I’ll be back in the afternoon. Wait for me in the right wing on the third floor. I have something of a studio there.”
“Okay,” Miles said and watched Caldwell tentatively approach his son.
“Bye, Liam,” he said, his voice significantly softer than his usual uncompromising tone.
Liam shot his father a look that was a mix of shy and apprehensive before quickly turning back to his toys and acting like his father wasn’t there.
A deep furrow appeared between Caldwell’s brows. Grimacing, he turned away and strode out of the room. Miles felt a little bad for him.
When he looked back at Liam, the kid was watching the spot his father had just been with a strange expression on his cherubic face.
“You should be nicer to your dad, you know,” Miles said. “He’s trying.”
Liam looked at him and then looked back at his toys.
Miles gave him an unimpressed look. “I know you understand me, kiddo.”
Still no reaction.
Miles sighed. Sometimes he felt so out of his depth with Liam he wasn’t sure what Caldwell was paying him for.
***
After Liam finally fell asleep late in the afternoon, Miles left a maid by the boy’s side and headed to the right wing of the mansion.
He wasn’t sure what to expect when he finally found Caldwell’s “something of a studio.”
Just a hobby, right, Miles thought as he gazed around the well-lit, well-equipped studio many serious artists would salivate over.
But then again, with Caldwell’s money and resources, he could more than afford to indulge his every whim, even if it wasn’t serious.
Miles looked around curiously before flopping down on the comfy couch, prepared to wait. Although Caldwell said he would be back in the afternoon, Miles wasn’t surprised that he was still nowhere to be seen—he knew first-hand just how much work Caldwell had. Frankly, Miles was a little surprised that the guy spent so much of his very busy schedule on his son. It seemed out of character for such an important, cold man, but then again, what did Miles know about being a father?