Page 71 of Trailer Park Billionaire
A closer look at the schedule reveals it’s pretty straightforward: breakfast, work, dinner, illegal activities, sleep, and a few breaks in between. He’s even drawn bars to track our progress on various tasks.
“Impressed?” he asks eventually, wiggling his eyebrows. “I make a pretty good?—”
“I swear to God, if you say'boyfriend’, I will stab you with the Civil War dagger Elaine gave me at work today.”
Ben laughs out loud, stepping up from behind me so that we’re nearly shoulder to shoulder. He leans in to whisper, “I was going to say partner in crime. But if you’re looking for a partner anyway…”
Oh, boy.
What had been the plan again?
Shutting my mouth?
Why can’t I seem to stick to my own stupid intentions anymore?
My brain must have still been stuck in the conversation with Elaine earlier.
I decide to just ignore his teasing and move on like someone who doesn’t get fazed by any of this. “It’s a good plan. Good routine. We can do it like this.” I take off my jacket and he hangs it on the coat rack for me. “So, what does Belena’s Routine say we should be doing now?”
“Ah,” Ben grins, “you should be setting up your workstation so you can get started on the forgeries while I finish cooking dinner. I already prepped everything. It should be done in about fifteen minutes.”
Without a word, I do as the routine demands and set up the easel, arrange the correct paints, get water and rags, and a chair for me to sit. Just as I finish, Ben brings out two steaming bowls of homemade curry and sets them down on the table in the living room. I take a seat. He sits next to me. We both face the easel across the room.
“So,” he says, motioning for me to eat, “how was work today, partner? What’d you get up to?”
I give him a side-eye when he emphasizes the wordpartner,then I dig into the food. Breakfast might be his passion, but dinner is just as delicious.
“Well, I took photos of the painting.” I pull my phone from my pocket and open the gallery app. “They should work well as reference images.” I start swiping through them, showing Ben different angles and intricate details of the work I’ll do my best to emulate. “Maybe you could get us a printer? So I can print them out and pin them up by the easel.”
“Certainly,” Ben nods, his eyes fixed on the screen as I keep swiping. “I could also?—”
Fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Instead of the painting, a very different kind of art just appeared on the screen.
My art.
Of myself.
In a state of undress.
I slam the phone down onto the table—petrified.
I forgot I took those.
Very slowly, I tilt the phone up, peeking at the screen.
Ben leans in, rests his head lightly on my shoulder, and looks too.
It automatically swipes to another picture of myself, the cracked screen censoring the most revealing parts.
I gently put the damned thing face down again.
“A printer and a new phone screen, then?” he asks softly, his scent drifting straight into my ovaries.
I nod. “Let me know what I owe you.”
