Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
“I painted Nick,” I snap back before I can stop myself. “He inspired me to paint. Having a life again inspired me to paint.”
He goes very still. “You painted a portrait?”
“Yes. I did. And I might do more. I might do a lot of things, but not now. Now, I have to save the winery, and you know what, Josh? I know you need people who make money for you. I understand if you can’t wait this out with me.”
“I do need to make money, Faith. But more than anything, I need clients who are actively involved in the career I’m representing them for. You need to be painting. I need to be placing your work. I got a call after the show from a representative of the L.A. Art Forum. They’re interested in your work for next month’s show.”
My eyes go wide at the mention of one of the most prestigious events in the art world. “They are? They never—”
“They are now because you actually got out there and did something for your art. But I’m not saying yes when you’re telling me now is not the time. So think about that, Faith. How much can you fit in your life right now? Cut what won’t work, and if that’s your art and me, I need to know and know quickly.” He turns and walks away.
And I stand there, watching him cross to his white Porsche, because why wouldn’t my agent drive a Porsche like my ex, who he’s best friends with. Still pissed, really baffled about what just happened, I don’t wait for him to leave. I walk into the house. The minute I’m inside, Nick shuts the door and pulls me to him.
“That wasn’t about your art, sweetheart,” he says, his hands at my waist. “You know that, right?”
“I don’t know what the hell that was.”
“He wants to fuck you. He’s probably in love with you.”
I blanch. “What? No. No. No. He’s best friends with my ex.”
“Come on, Faith. Some part of you knows that man wants you. And you need a new agent.”
“Because you think he wants to fuck me?” I demand, angry all over again at these men trying to run my life. I push away from him, darting down the hallway, where I can have some coffee and get more wired and angry at the rest of the world.
Nick’s on my heels; I can feel him, a heavy force of alpha pain-in-my-ass man right now, which, while sexy as hell at moments, is not now. I enter the kitchen and round the island, fully intending to keep it between us, but he has other ideas. I turn, and he’s already with me, pressing me against the counter, his big, delicious, pain-in-my-ass body crowding mine.
“He wants to fuck you, Faith. He’s thinking with his dick, not his head. That isn’t good for you.”
“And what are you doing, Nick?”
“Sweetheart, I have no hesitation in telling you that I want to fuck you and then do it all over again. But this isn’t about me and you fucking. This is about your career.”
“You don’t know me enough to care about this.”
“When do I get to care, Faith? One week? One month? Two? Tell me. Because this is new fucking territory for me.”
“You can’t—”
“I do, and the one thing that your dickhead agent and I agree on is the fact that you need to paint. And I’m going to make you paint. And when you do, you need an agent who isn’t thinking about fucking you instead of selling you.”
“He’s my ex’s best friend,” I say, returning to the explanation I’ve given myself every time I felt awkward with Josh.
“You said that already, and it still changes nothing.”
“You want me to change agents because he wants to fuck me and so do you.”
“Sweetheart, I’m going to make sure you’re well enough fucked that he never has a shot. And that’s only going to piss him off more. Be ready. His wrath is coming, but before it comes, tell him to set up that show he mentioned.”
“It’s not that simple,” I argue. “You don’t understand.”
“I understand that I want to fuck an artist. So you’re going to be an artist.”
I blink at the ridiculousness of that statement. “So I have to be an artist because you want to fuck an artist?”
“You are an artist, Faith. End of story, and everything else you do is simply a distraction.”
“Including you?”
He strokes a lock of hair behind my ear. “I’m okay with being second to your art.”
Once again, Nick surprises me, delivering an answer that is nothing that I expect and everything I didn’t even know I want.
“Second to your art,” he adds. “But not another man. New hard limit.” He cups my face. “Whatever this is, it’s exclusive. You fuck no one else until we decide it’s over.”