Page 17 of Art of Sin

8arrogance

An hour later,we take our first break. For basically standing around following orders, I’m surprisingly exhausted. Finn waits for me to pull on my dress, then guides me to the kitchen and grabs a couple of water bottles from the huge, industrial-sized fridge. Handing me one, he leans against a counter and checks his phone.

Another surprise—how comfortable I felt having Finn photograph me in the tiny, nude, sorry excuse for a bathing suit I picked up yesterday. After our initial hiccup when he saw my back and stomach, he spoke nothing of it. He’s obviously good at his job, easy to accommodate, and can maintain the boundary between business and pleasure. Unlike his friend. I actually feel a little bad about my first assessment of him when he answered the door.

Finn’s fingers are busy sending a text or email, so I take in our surroundings as I finish my water. The kitchen opens into a spacious living room, both areas done in a muted color palette of white, dove gray, and chocolate. The kitchen counters are white marble veined subtly with gray, and the appliances gleam like they’ve never been used.

It’s elegant but also bleak, little or no signs of everyday life. No forgotten shoes on the floor or receipts on the counters. No knickknacks in the living room or books on the coffee table. Only one painting occupies the otherwise white walls—a monstrous, abstract piece of red and black above the fireplace.

“How long has Gideon lived here?” I ask, staring at the empty shelves of a built-in unit near a huge, dark flat-screen.

Finn snorts. “From the looks of it, you’d think a few weeks, right?” I nod, turning my attention back to him. “It’s been about four years.”

When I stare open-mouthed, he laughs.

“As long as I’ve known him, he’s been pretty much an ascetic.” He glances into the living room, a small frown furrowing his brow. “But Lucy cleaned house. Literally. Took everything she could pay someone to carry.”

“Huh,” is all I say.

Finn tucks his phone away. “Gideon should be back in a few minutes. Do you need a snack or anything while we wait?”

I shake my head. “Why do we need to wait for Gideon?”

Finn gives me an odd look. “Because he’s going to do the posing. I hope you’re limber, because I’ve seen him pretzel people before.”

Fuck.

As I’m considering making a hasty escape courtesy of fake menstrual cramps, we hear the front door open and Maggie’s laughter.

Finn smirks. “Sounds like they’re getting along.”

“Sounds like,” I return flatly, then toss my water bottle in a nearby recycling bin.

Gideon and Maggie walk into the kitchen, their shoulders brushing. Both of them smiling. I’m annoyed by their easy rapport, jealous for a reason I don’t care to name, and further irritated by my irrational response.

“I take it you had a productive meeting?” I ask archly.

Maggie blushes. “Yes, actually. I think I have a firm grasp on presenting Gideon in his best light.”

Finn guffaws, tossing his bottle down by mine. “You ready, G?”

Gideon nods, his gaze finally finding my face. He hesitates, head tilting. “Are you ready?”

Nope.

I push off the counter with bravado I don’t feel. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Do you need me to stay?” asks Maggie, uncertain gaze bouncing between me and Gideon.

“It’s fine,” I lie. “I’ll Uber home.”

It doesn’t feel fine. It feels dangerous. But I’m powerless over my recklessness in this moment, my willful flirtation with the edge of reason.

I’d thought this version of myself dead and buried, but here it is, bucking beneath my skin like a caged beast.

“I’ll see you in the office tomorrow.”

My calm, firm tone has the desired result.

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