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“Same goes for me.” I got in his face. “Got it, Mallick?”
The smirk returned.
“Sure,” he said, but I noticed that wasn’t a yes. That was probably as close as I’d get from him. “And before we do this, I got some additional rules.”
“Depends. Were those in the contract?”
I swear to God, I got a little bit of a growl from him at that, and his eye twitched a little. But surprising again, he didn’t check me on this. He wanted to and I saw that, but he didn’t.
Instead, he took a slow breath, the grimace etched on his face like a dark tattoo.
“This is my project,” he established. “Therefore, I call the terms.” He put a finger in my face. “Rule number one is I’m in charge. You do what I say, and you take my direction. This won’t work if you’re going rogue and acting up.”
He saw me as a child obviously, but what his bougie ass didn’t know was I was just as much of a serious artist as he clearly felt he was.
“Well, that’s a given.” I shrugged. “What else?”
“You don’t go in my house.” His expression was serious. “Our project’s out here. You stay out here.”
“Bathroom?”
He directed a finger toward a door in the garage. “Leads to the guesthouse. There’s a bathroom in here. Cooler for water. I even got fucking snacks. Basically, you have zero reasons to go inside my house.”
For someone who had raging parties during which people stayed over, he was pretty territorial about his space.
Maybe that’d been different before. Different with me. I hadn’t betrayed his friend then.
Ares was clearly hung up on this, and I was completely over trying to prove my innocence to him. He was a fucking asshole, and I was only here because he needed me.
His jaw clenched. “Understood?”
“Yeah.”
He nodded. “Good.” He waved a hand. “Now, follow me. I’ll show you what we’re doing.”
That’d be a breath of fresh air. I wouldn’t have to talk to him anymore. Once we got going, I could do my part while he did his. I could blast my music in my earbuds, and we could stay on our own sides of whatever this project was.
We headed over to the cars, one away from the rest on the far side of the garage. He had it under a tarp and pulled the thing off, unveiling an old muscle car. Painted white, the thing reminded me of my dad’s Chevelle, except it was brand new.
Ares balled up the tarp. “We’re starting here.”
“Um, what?”
He jutted a chin toward the pretty ride. The thing was a pearl white, immaculate. He tapped a hand on the front. “We’re going to paint the car. This is the canvas.”
My mouth parted as he walked behind it, pulling another tarp. This one had been over a plain canvas that was about the size of the actual wall. Actually, the canvas itself traveled the entire length of the car.
“And this too,” he said, my eyes flashing. He laughed. “Intimidated yet?”
Getting there.
I guess now I know why he needed the help.
“We’re going to paint the car,” he continued. He put a hand out. “Then blend it into the canvas behind it. It’ll create an interesting perspective and be perfect for my design school applications. It’ll show I’m multifaceted.”
I’ll say.
“What are we painting on them?” This actually sounded fun, real fun.
