Читать книгу Night and Day - Andie J. Christopher - Страница 10

Chapter 3

When she walked into his studio the next day, Max didn’t tell her to take off her clothes. This would have been a relief, but for the way he looked at her over the rim of his steaming coffee cup. Like she was a dangerous animal that he needed to keep an eye on.

His reaction to her confused her, but it also made her curious. She’d never been one to romanticize the fucked-up origin stories of the artists she worked with. She was sensible, no nonsense. Got the job done without complaint. Because she was “nothing to look at,” her mother had always emphasized the need to make herself useful. So, she got more chores than her more attractive sister, Elena. Wouldn’t have happened if a guy had been interested in going out with her on a Friday night. Wouldn’t have been stuck scrubbing floors and organizing her mother’s closet, then.

And, even though she didn’t really believe her mother’s barbs about her appearance anymore, the habit of staying busy and useful had stuck.

“Do you have any more of that?” The caffeine would be a blessing, since sleep hadn’t come last night. She’d tossed and turned in partial excitement about her victory in getting him to agree to hire her. Lies. The excitement that hadn’t let her sleep was the kind between her legs. He’d wanted to see her naked. To draw her. And she didn’t know how she was supposed to forget that. It was impossible to get out of her head. As soon as she thought about him drawing her, thoughts of his hands against her skin sparked her libido back to life. Made it come alive in the first place.

“Aren’t the assistants supposed to get the coffee?” He shocked her by winking. Yesterday, she’d thought the wry twist of his lips was as emotive as he got. But today, when he smiled and winked at her over coffee, the skin around his eyes actually crinkled. His face was so beautiful when he smiled that she nearly lost her breath.

“I’m not that kind of assistant.”

He blew over the top of his coffee, and she couldn’t help but imagine his open lips against her skin. Simon had never stayed until morning so she could taste coffee on his lips. She’d never really wanted him to, but wondered how that would feel with Max. What would it be like to be with someone who didn’t need a bottle of wine just to tolerate fucking her?

“Back here.” When he motioned for her to follow and turned to walk into another room, she hesitated. How could she just go when his ass moved almost independent of his body? The man had buns. Back here, indeed.

She’d never been such a perv before, and it wouldn’t do to be one with her new boss. The b-word sobered her immediately. She needed some coffee in her, and then she could get back to being the professional dynamo she needed to be for her own survival.

“Coming?”

Not yet, but God willing. She hadn’t even noticed him stopping short of a back room she hadn’t noticed the day before.

“Yes.”

* * * *

Letty was even prettier today, somehow. Maybe her lips were fuller, and cheeks were rosier, and her comfortable-looking jeans and T-shirt seemed to sit over her body with more ease. It would help if he could coax her out of her clothes—just to draw her so his mind would stop short-circuiting. Anything more than a professional relationship was off the table, but seeing her made him think about nakedness. And sex. With Letty.

He couldn’t have any of those things, but he could get her coffee and let her work. When they got back to the kitchenette in his studio, he realized his mistake. Out in the warehouse, he didn’t have to smell her. In a large room, he could maneuver around her without feeling the heat of her body on his skin.

Two weeks. He could do it even if his dick fell off from continuous engorgement. He turned to fill a coffee cup for her. He’d stayed up until about two this morning making drawings and picking through materials for a new piece. He worked with found objects, and for hours into the night, nothing had seemed right—nothing had seemed good enough—to represent Letty.

He couldn’t explain his obsession with this woman, even to himself. Maybe he should go see that family therapist that his mother and sister had been talking about? Perhaps, a trained professional could help him figure out why he hadn’t wanted to make decent art for weeks until a woman had walked into his studio and demanded he pay her.

Even though his grandmother wouldn’t be getting any great-grandchildren out of the deal, he would have to send her flowers for giving him his inspiration back. It sounded so hokey, but it was true.

Turning back to her, he noticed the dark shadows under her eyes. The eyes he’d drawn on paper. Maybe he’d make a sculpture of just her eye, the flecks of gold and bronze and green would be like a sunburst. Jesus Christ. His hand shook as he offered her the cup.

“Are you okay?”

He shook his head, but said, “I’m fine. Just a late night last night.”

“You have a deadline.” She took a sip and smiled up at him, unaware that his hands had shaken out of the desire to turn her around and bend her over the counter so he could stop thinking about her witchy, beautiful eyes. “I’m sure the gallery owner is going to want to see your progress at least two weeks before the show. I’ve worked with them before.”

“Before?” He should be cutting off the small talk and walking out of the tiny kitchen, but he couldn’t tamp down his curiosity and leave. He had to know more about her.

But she winced at his question before straightening up her spine and leveling him with a gaze that erased all the vulnerability she’d seemed to carry around with her before like a cloak. “I used to work for Art Basel.”

“And you’re hustling for PA jobs now?” There had to be a story behind it.

“My previous boss decided that there was too much overhead, and I was laid off.” It had the stink of a practiced line, and he knew there had to be more behind it. Still, it was clear from the way she’d said it that she would say no more on the matter.

There was a story there, but he had two weeks to get her to tell him. It made no sense that he wanted to open her up and learn all her secrets, but his burst of creativity the night before compelled him to know more. He may not be able to get her to bare her body to him, but maybe if he knew more about what went on in her head, he could figure out what it was about her that had woken him up.

And maybe he would stop his dick filling up every time she looked at him. That might make meeting his deadline just a little bit easier. When she bit her plush lip, he realized that nothing would be easier, especially walking or sitting without pain.

“I’m glad you’re here now.” It was a totally uncharacteristic thing for him to say, but it was true.

She appeared to be just as surprised as he was that he’d said it. And she turned away and walked out the door as she said, “I’ll get to work then, and earn my keep.”

* * * *

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. The whole point of this fresh start was to leave everything that happened with Simon and her old job behind. But, talking to Max, everything had come back. Being around artists and helping them optimize their creativity fueled something in her that made her complete.

She had absolutely zero creative talent, but she could set the scene and make it easier for other people to do their best work. And that had value. Still, she shouldn’t have mentioned her work history. As she donned work gloves to pick through a pile of scrap metal, the curious look on Max’s face reminded her that the past was past and better left in the rearview mirror. All of those contacts she’d gained—all of those people she’d assumed were her friends—were lost to her now. No one she’d met through Simon and her job working for him answered her calls anymore. She doubted that they would give her a good reference if Max decided to start digging around. The fact that his grandmother hadn’t known enough to ask was sheer luck. She shuddered at the thought.

Max was relatively new to the art scene in Miami, so they’d never met. He was over thirty, and she wondered what he’d done or where he’d been before. Her thoughts and imagination drifted as she picked up a noodle of aluminum and thought about where to put it so that Max wouldn’t trip over it and smash his gorgeous face.

If they’d met at a party, would he even have talked to her? Surrounded by models and pretty, thin women who wanted an artist to notch their bedposts, would he look at her with the kind of hunger and curiosity that he’d focused on her almost as soon as she’d walked through the door? Probably not, but her mind made up a scenario where he did.

Too many times growing up around people who only wanted to hang out with her to get to her beautiful sister or her rich parents, she’d been fooled into believing that someone was interested in her only to be disappointed. Like when her prom date had failed to show up when he’d found out that they weren’t going in the same limo as Elena and her date. He’d actually thought that he could seduce her sister away from her date. And Letty’s feelings didn’t count. They’d never counted.

That’s why—even though she’d done so much work on her self-esteem—she’d been so vulnerable to someone like Simon, and why she had to keep her guard up around Max. Even though Simon didn’t think she was good enough for him, he’d been extremely jealous when any man had paid even passing attention to her. She might be chopped liver, but she’d been his cheap cut of meat. Now, she just thought that he’d wanted her to feel small so things could continue on to his advantage.

Which had gotten her here, picking through garbage in a temp job that would lead her back to begging for work in two weeks. Fantasies about what might have been had she and Max met under different circumstances wouldn’t lead to any different outcome, doing the best job possible just might.