Page 19 of His Dark Desires

I'm still gathering scattered brushes when a pair of paint-stained boots stops in front of me. My stomach drops as I recognize those scuffed leather toes.

"Still clumsy as ever, Soph?" Daniel's warm, raspy voice carries that familiar hint of condescension beneath the amusement.

I keep my eyes down, taking in his worn jeans and the splashes of cobalt blue across his shoes. Some things never change. He's probably been in his studio all day, losing track of time like he always did.

"Daniel."

I straighten up slowly, clutching the brushes to my chest. He looks exactly as I remember—that perpetually messy light brown hair falling across his forehead, those calculating brown eyes that can switch from soulful to cold in an instant. His broad shoulders fill out a flannel shirt with rolled-up sleeves, revealing forearms marked with paint smudges.

He shifts his weight, adopting that casual pose I used to find charming, one thumb hooked in his pocket, head tilted slightly. The ghost of a smirk plays at the corners of his mouth.

"I heard you've been making waves." He reaches down to pick up a brush I missed, turning it over in his hands. "Something about a big commission?"

I pluck the brush from his fingers, careful not to let our hands touch. "Just working on some new pieces." I keep my voice neutral, sliding the brushes back into their container.

"Come on, Soph. The whole art scene is buzzing about Adrian Vale taking an interest in your work." His eyes narrow slightly, studying my reaction.

I busy myself with arranging the brushes, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me rattled. Inside, my heart is racing. How does he know about Adrian already?

"It's a small project," I lie, turning back to my cart. The metallic powders mock me from their perch atop my supplies. Nothing about this commission is small.

"Funny, I heard differently." Daniel steps closer, forcing me to look up at him. "Vale doesn't do small projects. Word, is he bought half your pieces at the gallery showing."

My fingers tighten around the handle of my cart. Of course, Daniel would know about the sales. He still has connections throughout the local art scene. I start walking down the aisle, but he keeps pace.

"I'm happy for you, really." His voice carries that patronizing tone I remember too well. "Though I'm surprised you'd work with someone like Vale. Didn't you always say art should be pure, untainted by corporate influence?"

"People change." I grab a pack of brushes without checking the price, just to keep moving.

"Do they?" He reaches past me to grab a tube of paint, his arm brushing mine. "Or do they just get better at compromising their principles?"

I jerk away from his touch. "I need to get going."

"Come on, Soph. We should catch up properly. Get coffee, talk about old times—"

"No," I spit out, unable to mask my annoyance. "I'm busy with the commission."

"Right. The commission." He offers me a dead smile. "Well, don't let me keep you from your corporate patron. Just be careful. Guys like Vale always have ulterior motives."

I abandon my cart and head for the exit, my cheeks burning. Behind me, I hear Daniel's low chuckle, and it follows me all the way to the street.

I lean against the brick wall outside Art Haven, taking deep breaths of the crisp morning air. My hands are still shaking. Trust Daniel to show up at exactly the wrong moment, acting like he knows what's best for me. Again.

The supply run can wait. I'll come back later tonight, when there's less chance of running into him. The store stays open until 10, plenty of time to get what I need without dealing with unwanted opinions about my choices.

His words about Adrian nag at me, though. How did Daniel know so much about the gallery sales? And that comment about ulterior motives...

The anonymous email flashes through my mind. Its warnings about Adrian's long-term interest in my work suddenly feel less like paranoid ramblings and more like something Daniel would write. He always did have a flair for the dramatic, especially when trying to "protect" me from myself.

I pull out my phone and reread the email. The writing style could be his, that mix of concern and condescension I know so well. But why wouldn't he just sign it? Daniel never had trouble expressing his opinions to my face before.

Unless he's trying to drive a wedge between me and Adrian without directly involving himself. That would be just like him, manipulating from the shadows while maintaining plausible deniability.

My finger hovers over the delete button, but I save the email instead. Whether Daniel sent it or not, something about this situation doesn't feel right. I just need to figure out what.

* * *

I slam the apartment door behind me, my empty hands giving away my cowardice at the store. Daniel's smug face keeps flashing in my mind, that familiar twist of his lips when he's trying to appear supportive while actually judging.

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