Page 54 of Hard to Love
That brought his head up. “Does it make me a dick if I like the sound of that?”
“Don’t play with me. In case you haven’t read the research, sex isn’t supposed to work this way.”
“What way?”
“Women are hard-wired to say no. Men are programmed to say yes. And I’ll be damned if I’ve been able to get you to say yes to me yet. Not about the resident artist thing. And not about sex.”
“I said yes to the competition, didn’t I?”
“I backed you into a corner.”
The way his mouth quirked up on one side said he wouldn’t mind her backing him into a corner and doing all kinds of things with him. “I’ve thought about it, the resident artist thing.”
“And?”
“And I’m willing to try it.”
Her heart inflated. She started to throw her arms around him but remembered they were still surrounded by his competition. “Oh, Alex—”
“On one condition.”
“Okay.”
“If I buy in, then I get a cut of the overall revenue.”
“I wasn’t insinuating I expected you to pay to be part of—”
“I won’t be part of something I’m not financially invested in. That’s a good way to get elbowed out of decisions.”
“And profit?”
“That too.”
“I thought you said I would fail.”
“No, I said you were taking a risk that you had no idea if it would pay off.”
“What changed your mind?”
“I read the business paperwork you threw at me.”
“And?”
“And as talented an artist as you are, Greer, you might be an even better businesswoman.”
Well, that was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard. Yes, Wild Card needed to pay for itself, pay for her rent. But it was all about the art. Once she got it up and running, she’d establish her own booth, split her time between her current studio and here.
Even as she thought it, excitement welled up in her. She could keep blowing glass in town and establish a new pursuit—maybe some folk art or metalworking—out here. The perfect way to keep herself from getting bored. “I’m an artist,” she told him.
“I’m not denying that you do some decent work.”Decent?Her face must’ve shown her reaction, because Alex hurried to say, “Okay, more than good. Much more. But have you ever considered that art may not be your passion?”
Greer glanced down at her watch. “It’s 10:58. If I don’t herd people out of here, they won’t pay a bit of attention to the hours I set.”
Alex leaned back, propped a hip against his worktable.
“That means you too,” she said. “Drive your car up to the cabin and I’ll be up that way in a bit to pick you up.”
“Does that mean you’re spending the night?”
