Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 27128 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27128 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Now the bubbles of my first sip of champagne tickle my lips. Hell, I’m tickled pink all over. I bask in satisfaction, staring at a watercolor of my awakening to sunrise and a sea of “imperfect” canvases. I’m caught off guard when a man with a dreamy, calming Japanese accent propositions me. “I would like to purchase all of your art, Ms. Tavers.”
I look up. Almond eyes arrest my attention. I hadn’t fancied men with long hair until Antonio. But the alluring stranger has me ready to campaign for all man buns. Antonio’s whisper dances over my shoulder as he claims my suddenly hot body in his arms. “Are you enjoying the view, preciosa?”
Alexis told me to keep my eyes out for a mysterious and sexy man, but... Damn, Essence, respond to your man. Or the stranger. I clear my parched throat. “Let’s definitely discuss.”
“Yes,” Poppy cuts in. I haven’t laid eyes on her since she snatched Antonio aside earlier. “Essence, do you have an office where we may all chat?”
My soft, airy laughter lifts around me. “Your input won’t be necessary.” You and I never had a contract, and you were tight-fisting your money so...
“Ms. Tavers,” the stranger’s forearm firmly slides Poppy to the side. Although polite, dark ambition laces into his demeanor. I imagine him discarding a juicy hunk of filet mignon that’s five degrees too hot with the same callous posture.
In a suit that drapes over raw muscles, the stranger steps closer, though respecting what he perceives as my relationship with Antonio. “I’m Ryoichi Ziatso. Ms. Tavers, Mr. Silva—unless I’m permitted to call you Manny yet... Ah, I see. Not yet.”
“Not yet,” Antonio reiterates, causing me to wonder what that’s about.
He adds, “Name your price for all the paintings, please.”
A billion dollars is on the tip of my tongue when a familiar, quiet voice cuts in.
“I’m sorry, you may not have them all,” Ryann says, stepping around Ryoichi. “Essey, the piece entitled Gaze...”
“Ryann. You came,” I exclaim, pulling my oldest friend into an affectionate embrace. Unlike Poppy, Ryoichi doesn’t snub Ry but eyes her keenly—or at least attempts to. Only a single coil of her kinky tresses is unleashed from a leopard scarf. A birthday gift she once told me was not her style, on account that she claimed it was too bold. I imagine Ryann meant to go incognito, pairing it with shades and a pea coat; my girl fits in. Except for the Reebok classics she’s worn since the 90s.
Without looking Ryoichi’s way, Ryann adds, “Unless you plan to offer more than $20k on it.”
Girl. I would give it to you for free after asking Antonio, though. He’s the artistic genius behind the painting, the entire friggen mood!
While Ryoichi’s gander flickers over Ryann, he says, “All of them but ‘Gaze,’ then. And yes, each art piece will exceed that amount. I’m still awaiting a price.”
I gesture for Antonio to entertain the handsome, wealthy man, then pull Ryann over a few paces. A purplish bruise fans out over her warm brown tone, unable to be concealed around the rim of her glasses. This looks bad. Like a dude whooped her ass. I expect the men, who frequently glance our way as they speak, have the same concern.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Girl, I’m not charging you shit. You know that.”
“Your talents were tacked all over my room as a kid, Essey. I got your Cashapp ID, anyway. Try refunding the money, I’ma send it back to your ass.”
“People with nicknames like Ry Pie aren’t stubborn,” I groan.
“I’m still the same affectionate sistah, you know. In fact, my new mantra is: invest in yourself and the ones you love, Essey. My trip is investing in me. My momma came home to one of those handbags she’s harped about for ages. The first time she’d ever cried happy tears. Now, I’m investing in you. Deal with it.”
I undertone, “This new demeanor will help tomorrow when you venture off.”
She snort-chuckles. “Yup. We’ll chat morning and night. If I don't reach out...”
“I’ll go straight to the consulate.” I smirk jokingly.
Ryoichi Ziatso dropped an obscene amount for all the paintings. All but one. As nightlife in the city streams into the windows of my loft, I realize people have continued to believe in me long after I stopped.
My girl Ry’s the main one.
The other’s my man, Antonio. He leans against the headboard, muscles stacked to perfection. No, what’s even more mesmerizing is the salute of his dick.
Naked, I move astride his thick waist, fingertips brushing his ripped chest. “Can’t stop imagining us in bed with all that money—even though it was a wire transfer.”
Antonio finishes his champagne and asks, “Although I regret declining Benedict’s deal—no, the feeling is gone now. Just kidding. I regret nothing. Anyway, it might be more money than can fit on the mattress.”