Page 10 of Beautifully Deranged

“You’re something, all right.”

“Flatter me more.”

“Careful, sweetheart. You might start thinking I actually like you.”

She laughs, bumping her hip into mine before turning back to the stove. Eventually, she plates two servings of creamy Cajun shrimp pasta for us.

“Not bad,” I admit after the first bite.

She gasps dramatically. “Was that… a compliment?”

“Don’t get used to it.”

We eat in comfortable silence for a moment before I nod toward her. “So, tell me about this painting thing. What do you actually work on?”

She twirls her fork in her pasta, eyes lighting up. “Abstract art, mostly. It helps when I need to get out of my head.”

I file that information away. “Big projects?”

She shrugs. “A few commissions. Nothing massive. Yet. It’s why I moved to New York, actually.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Needed to be somewhere that could actually push my career forward. This city has everything. Opportunity, inspiration… even grumpy assholes like you.”

“Lucky me.”

I can practically hear the screws turning in her head. “What?” I mutter, setting my fork down.

Her lips curl. “I want to paint you.”

“No.”

“Oh, come on. You’d make a great subject. The whole broody, mysterious thing? Artists would kill for that.”

“Not happening.”

“What if I promise to make you look good?”

I scoff. “I already look good.”

“Arrogant.” She grins. “Come on, handsome.’”

She called me handsome.

“Still no.”

“Pretty please?” She pouts.

I don’t answer.

“So, you’ll do it?”

“I never said that.”

“But you didn’t say no this time.” She pushes her plate aside. “Come on, Mikhail. What’s the harm?”

The harm is that this is a bad idea. She already has too much of my attention. Still, when she looks at me like that, expectant, amused, waiting for me to break…I do. “Fine.”

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