Page 4 of Dating His Brother

Iwas kicking myself as I left the Heartstring building after my meeting with Jada. I was normally considered to be pretty intimidating, and I was good at getting what I wanted. So how did someone as sheepish and sensitive as Jada keep managing to convince me to do these ridiculous campaigns for the company?

Deep down, I knew it had nothing to do with her. I was a sucker for Jack, and everyone knew it—especially him. Which meant his wife knew it too. And they were all too willing to use that in their favor to get me to agree.

The reason behind it didn’t make the end result feel any better though, and I was having major regrets as I walked toward my car and driver waiting out front. They were eating at me so much that when I reached out for the handle, I stopped. I had a better idea.

“No thanks,” I waved them on. “I’m going to walk today.”

My driver looked surprised. Taking spontaneous afternoon walks wasn’t really my style. But it was a beautiful sunny day and I needed something to clear my head and cheer myself up.

The car drove off and I started walking, but not straight home. I meandered along the sidewalks to nowhere in particular until I ended up near the park, in the arts district.

I was no stranger to fancy galleries and big openings full of expensive, coveted works by the top artists working at the time. But I had never personally explored the arts district, nor was I necessarily a huge art lover…as far as I was aware. But I started to explore the area anyway, thinking this was what I needed. Something fresh and new and foreign. After all of my travels, I was starting to feel like I had seen it all, and those qualities were getting harder to find in anything. Nothing surprised me anymore.

As I walked down the narrow sidewalk, surrounded on either side by artists and their easels and makeshift walls put up to show off their work, I found myself being drawn to one painting in particular. It was of a woman looking out a window. Her body was turned toward the view, but her face was turned toward the artist. She was nude and didn’t wear any make-up. She looked so free and at peace. She lookedhappy.

It seemed ridiculous to be jealous of a model in a painting, but nonetheless I was transfixed. I stood there, envying her, unable to look away.

“Could I interest you in a portrait?” a man’s voice appeared suddenly.

I turned around to see a tall, rather striking gentleman standing there. He smiled at me and his brown eyes sparked with something mischievous and daring. At first glance, he reminded me of some kind of conman, but maybe I was just prejudiced about broke artists peddling their work on the street corner.

“Oh,” I replied, looking back to the painting. “Is this one of yours?”

“Indeed it is,” he nodded, circling around the easel to face me from behind the painting. “But I was asking about paintingyourportrait. Do me the honor of posing for me?”

I looked around at the other passersby who had been roped into sitting awkwardly on stools, frozen in waiting as an artist scribbled sloppy renderings of their features on cheap paper. I wasn’t falling for it.

“No thank you,” I answered, turning to walk away.

“I’d do it for free!” he offered. “No charge. I just find you to be…captivating. And I’d like to paint you.”

I faced him again, laughing. “You think I’m so vain that once you’ve painted me, I’ll just have to own the piece. So I’ll end up paying you for it anyway.”

“Not at all,” he insisted. “What I said before stands true. I just think you’re a very alluring subject, and I want to capture what I see in you.”

I raised a brow, feeling curious. “How much do you usually charge a person? The people youdon’tfind so alluring and captivating.”

“One hundred bucks.”

“You’re a horrible businessman if you’d pass up a chance to make a hundred dollars without even trying to get me to pay before offering to do it for free.”

“You’re right,” he grinned. “Because I’m not a businessman. I’m an artist.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. Of course, the woman in the painting I liked was nude. And I considered the likely possibility that his whole spiel was just how he conned women into taking their clothes off for him. I wasn’t falling for it, but he ranted on regardless.

“I create based on what I find inspiring. Sure, I try to squeeze some money out of it too. Just to get by…so I can pay my bills and have more time to do what I love. But money isn’t my motivation or my end goal. I do this for the love of art. And my love for painting. You’re too good of a subject to let pass me by.”

“I hate to break it to you, but money is kind of a necessity in this world. And sorry to disappoint, but I’m not going to sit for your portrait.” I glanced over the painting that originally drew me in one more time, feeling a tinge of regret. Because it really was lovely. Maybe if the guy didn’t seem so cocky and arrogant, I would have gone ahead and bought it.

But instead I turned to leave once again, determined to get away from him this time. “Have a great day though. I’m sure someone even more inspiring will come along.”

I carried on down the sidewalk, feeling his eyes burn into my back as I went. I didn’t make the same mistake of lingering around any of the other booths again. I didn’t want to get stuck in another unwanted chat with a pretentious artist trying to get my money for art I didn’t need, or even really want.

At the end of the rows of art displays were several food vendors, and I stopped to buy some ice cream to eat on the way home. Just as I reached out to pay the man for my cone, the pesky artist’s voice appeared again.

“How about I buy you a drink to go with that?” He leaned next to me with a smile. “I know of a great bar around the corner that makes a cream cocktail that’s perfect for washing down ice cream.”

My face wrinkled. “Oh, it’s you again. Where did you come from?”

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