Release Me
Page 58
“Boys!” I’m beginning to feel like the paid chattel I am.
“Actually, that looks good,” Blaine says. “Stay there. I think I’m having a moment of brilliance.”
I try hard not to move, while at the same time looking sideways at him.
“How do you feel about a reflection?” Blaine asks Damien, then brushes past me before Damien can respond. “I swear, this is going to be amazing.” He pulls out one of the window panels, leaving the wall mostly open except for one pane of glass in front of me. “You see? I’m right, aren’t I?”
He moves back toward the humongous canvas he’s propped up against a table. He shifts a bit as if looking for something, then points. “There. Her reflection on the glass, the breeze, and the woman herself facing out. It will be stunning.”
“Her face?” Damien asks.
“Hidden. Probably looking down. And the reflection will be muted. Nothing graphic. Trust me. It will look exceptional.”
“I like it,” Damien says. “Nikki?”
I force myself not to turn to face him, in case that messes up the composition. “I have a say?” I ask playfully. “I thought you bought me lock, stock, and barrel.”
“Stocks are tempting,” he growls, moving into my line of sight. He glares at Blaine. “Yes. I want the reflection. I want as much of her as I can get. I haven’t had enough this morning.”
My cheeks flame because that’s a rather private joke. We’d been in the shower when Blaine had pounded on the front door. And not just getting clean. I’d been about to follow up my breakfast of fruit and cheese with a delicious serving of Damien. But Blaine’s arrival put a damper on that—and I’m afraid it left Damien a little grumpy.
I smile sweetly again. “By the way, isn’t it Tuesday? Aren’t you supposed to be out of town?” I remember Carl saying that the original meeting was bumped to Saturday because Damien would be away on business at the time of the originally scheduled slot.
He looks at me blankly, and then his face clears. “No,” he says. “I have no plans outside of the office today.”
“Oh.” It takes me a second, but I figure out what he’d done. He wanted to see me sooner rather than later, and he’d lied to Carl to make that happen.
“Somebody broke a rule,” I say. “No lying.”
His grin is pure evil. “I never said the rule applied to me.”
Blaine laughs, and so do I. But some small part of me can’t help but cringe. I never said the rule applied to me.
I know he’s teasing, but at the same time, I’m certain he means it. The rule doesn’t apply to him. Has Damien been lying to me? Maybe not maliciously, but simply because he can? Because sometimes it’s easier?
I think about the questions he’s avoided, the times he’s shifted our conversations. Is he just being a guy? Silent and unsharing? Is he simply inscrutable?
Or is he hiding something?
I recall what else Evelyn said. About how after Damien’s rough youth she couldn’t blame him for being closed off. For being a little damaged.
I think about the Damien who’s held me and kissed me and laughed with me and teased me. I’ve seen a lighter side of Damien Stark. A side that most people don’t know. But have I yet to see the dark?
“Yo. Blondie!”
Blaine’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. He’s motioning for me to move again. I do, and then finally—finally—settle into what Blaine deems the perfect pose.
Damien slides in to press a kiss to my forehead. “Tonight,” he says. “I have meetings all day, but I’ll text you with the details. Edward’s ready to take you home whenever you’re done.”
“I could keep her here all day,” Blaine says. “She’s a fabulous subject.”
“All day?” I squeak. I’ve been posing for no time at all, and my muscles are already stiff.
“I said I could,” Blaine clarifies. “I think Mr. Big Shot Businessman will fire me if I tire you out or keep you too long.”
“I certainly will,” Damien says. He lowers his voice. “I have plans for her.” His voice curls around me, running through me, sending blood pulsing to all sorts of interesting places.
“There you go,” Blaine says. “I like that color on your cheeks, Blondie.”
I can’t move, of course, but I’m seething as Damien leaves, chuckling softly as he descends the marble staircase.
After he’s gone, Blaine is a whirlwind of activity, in constant motion, looking, sketching, giving orders, adjusting lights. Despite the overtly erotic nature of his work, he’s actually a hoot to work with, and as far as I can tell there’s not a dark bone in his body.
“Evelyn’s dying to see you again,” he says when we’re finally wrapping up. “She wants the gossip on Damien.”
I slip the robe back on and tie the sash around my waist. “Really? I get the feeling she’s the one who has all the gossip. On Damien and on everybody else.”
“Sounds to me like you’ve got my lady nailed.”
“I really do need to give her a call,” I admit. “I’ve been wanting to see her, too. Maybe we can see each other tomorrow.”
He gives me an odd look and shakes his head. “Get out of here, Blondie. You’re messing with my concentration.”
“Oh.” I’m not sure how the conversation slipped away, but maybe Blaine is just showing off an artistic temperament. “You’re sure it’s okay if I go? I mean, how can you paint me if there’s no me to paint?”
“It’s amazing how much of painting from life doesn’t actually require the living to be present.” He makes a shooing gesture with his paintbrush. “Go. Edward’s probably bored out of his mind.”
“He’s just waiting out there?” I had assumed I’d need to call him or something.
I get dressed quickly, then grab my stuff and hurry down the stairs, but before I do I also grab the Leica and take a few quick shots of the room, of the painting in progress, and of Blaine. “This kind of thing doesn’t happen to me often. I’m keeping a record.”
“Blondie,” Blaine says, “I know the feeling.”
Edward isn’t at all put out by how long I’ve taken. Apparently he likes to sit in the Town Car and listen to audiobooks. “Last week it was Tom Clancy,” he says. “This week, Stephen King.”
On the ride from Malibu back to Studio City, Edward listens to his book and I listen to my thoughts. Or I try to. There’s so much going on in my head—Damien, my job search, Damien, the portrait, the million dollars, Damien, Jamie and Ollie. And, oh yeah, Damien.
I lean my head back, half-dozing and half-thinking, and before I know it, Edward has pulled up in front of the condo and is walking around to open the door for me.
“Thanks for the lift,” I say as I climb out.
“It was my pleasure. And Mr. Stark asked me to be sure you got this. He said to tell you it’s for this evening.” He hands me a white box tied with a piece of white twine. I take it from him, surprised to find there is essentially no weight to the box at all.
I’m curious about the box, but I’m more curious about my job prospects, so I toss the box on the bed as I enter my room, where I immediately fire up my computer and pull up my resume. This probably qualifies as anal, but I don’t want to call Thom, my headhunter, without having my resume in front of me. What if he has a question about the exact date one of my apps went on sale? What if he needs to know the title of the research paper I presented during my summer internship two years ago. What if he wants me to change the font and then resubmit the thing?
“Actually, that looks good,” Blaine says. “Stay there. I think I’m having a moment of brilliance.”
I try hard not to move, while at the same time looking sideways at him.
“How do you feel about a reflection?” Blaine asks Damien, then brushes past me before Damien can respond. “I swear, this is going to be amazing.” He pulls out one of the window panels, leaving the wall mostly open except for one pane of glass in front of me. “You see? I’m right, aren’t I?”
He moves back toward the humongous canvas he’s propped up against a table. He shifts a bit as if looking for something, then points. “There. Her reflection on the glass, the breeze, and the woman herself facing out. It will be stunning.”
“Her face?” Damien asks.
“Hidden. Probably looking down. And the reflection will be muted. Nothing graphic. Trust me. It will look exceptional.”
“I like it,” Damien says. “Nikki?”
I force myself not to turn to face him, in case that messes up the composition. “I have a say?” I ask playfully. “I thought you bought me lock, stock, and barrel.”
“Stocks are tempting,” he growls, moving into my line of sight. He glares at Blaine. “Yes. I want the reflection. I want as much of her as I can get. I haven’t had enough this morning.”
My cheeks flame because that’s a rather private joke. We’d been in the shower when Blaine had pounded on the front door. And not just getting clean. I’d been about to follow up my breakfast of fruit and cheese with a delicious serving of Damien. But Blaine’s arrival put a damper on that—and I’m afraid it left Damien a little grumpy.
I smile sweetly again. “By the way, isn’t it Tuesday? Aren’t you supposed to be out of town?” I remember Carl saying that the original meeting was bumped to Saturday because Damien would be away on business at the time of the originally scheduled slot.
He looks at me blankly, and then his face clears. “No,” he says. “I have no plans outside of the office today.”
“Oh.” It takes me a second, but I figure out what he’d done. He wanted to see me sooner rather than later, and he’d lied to Carl to make that happen.
“Somebody broke a rule,” I say. “No lying.”
His grin is pure evil. “I never said the rule applied to me.”
Blaine laughs, and so do I. But some small part of me can’t help but cringe. I never said the rule applied to me.
I know he’s teasing, but at the same time, I’m certain he means it. The rule doesn’t apply to him. Has Damien been lying to me? Maybe not maliciously, but simply because he can? Because sometimes it’s easier?
I think about the questions he’s avoided, the times he’s shifted our conversations. Is he just being a guy? Silent and unsharing? Is he simply inscrutable?
Or is he hiding something?
I recall what else Evelyn said. About how after Damien’s rough youth she couldn’t blame him for being closed off. For being a little damaged.
I think about the Damien who’s held me and kissed me and laughed with me and teased me. I’ve seen a lighter side of Damien Stark. A side that most people don’t know. But have I yet to see the dark?
“Yo. Blondie!”
Blaine’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. He’s motioning for me to move again. I do, and then finally—finally—settle into what Blaine deems the perfect pose.
Damien slides in to press a kiss to my forehead. “Tonight,” he says. “I have meetings all day, but I’ll text you with the details. Edward’s ready to take you home whenever you’re done.”
“I could keep her here all day,” Blaine says. “She’s a fabulous subject.”
“All day?” I squeak. I’ve been posing for no time at all, and my muscles are already stiff.
“I said I could,” Blaine clarifies. “I think Mr. Big Shot Businessman will fire me if I tire you out or keep you too long.”
“I certainly will,” Damien says. He lowers his voice. “I have plans for her.” His voice curls around me, running through me, sending blood pulsing to all sorts of interesting places.
“There you go,” Blaine says. “I like that color on your cheeks, Blondie.”
I can’t move, of course, but I’m seething as Damien leaves, chuckling softly as he descends the marble staircase.
After he’s gone, Blaine is a whirlwind of activity, in constant motion, looking, sketching, giving orders, adjusting lights. Despite the overtly erotic nature of his work, he’s actually a hoot to work with, and as far as I can tell there’s not a dark bone in his body.
“Evelyn’s dying to see you again,” he says when we’re finally wrapping up. “She wants the gossip on Damien.”
I slip the robe back on and tie the sash around my waist. “Really? I get the feeling she’s the one who has all the gossip. On Damien and on everybody else.”
“Sounds to me like you’ve got my lady nailed.”
“I really do need to give her a call,” I admit. “I’ve been wanting to see her, too. Maybe we can see each other tomorrow.”
He gives me an odd look and shakes his head. “Get out of here, Blondie. You’re messing with my concentration.”
“Oh.” I’m not sure how the conversation slipped away, but maybe Blaine is just showing off an artistic temperament. “You’re sure it’s okay if I go? I mean, how can you paint me if there’s no me to paint?”
“It’s amazing how much of painting from life doesn’t actually require the living to be present.” He makes a shooing gesture with his paintbrush. “Go. Edward’s probably bored out of his mind.”
“He’s just waiting out there?” I had assumed I’d need to call him or something.
I get dressed quickly, then grab my stuff and hurry down the stairs, but before I do I also grab the Leica and take a few quick shots of the room, of the painting in progress, and of Blaine. “This kind of thing doesn’t happen to me often. I’m keeping a record.”
“Blondie,” Blaine says, “I know the feeling.”
Edward isn’t at all put out by how long I’ve taken. Apparently he likes to sit in the Town Car and listen to audiobooks. “Last week it was Tom Clancy,” he says. “This week, Stephen King.”
On the ride from Malibu back to Studio City, Edward listens to his book and I listen to my thoughts. Or I try to. There’s so much going on in my head—Damien, my job search, Damien, the portrait, the million dollars, Damien, Jamie and Ollie. And, oh yeah, Damien.
I lean my head back, half-dozing and half-thinking, and before I know it, Edward has pulled up in front of the condo and is walking around to open the door for me.
“Thanks for the lift,” I say as I climb out.
“It was my pleasure. And Mr. Stark asked me to be sure you got this. He said to tell you it’s for this evening.” He hands me a white box tied with a piece of white twine. I take it from him, surprised to find there is essentially no weight to the box at all.
I’m curious about the box, but I’m more curious about my job prospects, so I toss the box on the bed as I enter my room, where I immediately fire up my computer and pull up my resume. This probably qualifies as anal, but I don’t want to call Thom, my headhunter, without having my resume in front of me. What if he has a question about the exact date one of my apps went on sale? What if he needs to know the title of the research paper I presented during my summer internship two years ago. What if he wants me to change the font and then resubmit the thing?
