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“Thank you for the lunch.” She grabbed her purse. “I wish I could say it was a pleasure meeting you—”
“Sit,” he commanded.
“What?”
“You do know how to sit, don’t you?”
She crossed her arms. “I’m not a dog.”
“I never said you were,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Please sit down. We have much to talk about. You are not my only client.”
“About that,” she said, taking a deep breath, “I appreciate your help, but—”
“Megan hired me,” he said, pointing to a chair. “Please sit; people are starting to stare.”
“We wouldn’t want that.” She plopped down. “Look, how can she hire you without my consent? I’m the artist.”
“So, I’ve been told, yet I haven’t seen any of your work. Did you bring a portfolio?”
“What?”
He sighed. “Don’t tell me you went to a business meeting without it. Oh, let me guess, you don’t even have one, am I right?”
She bit her lip. He was, but she wasn’t about to give him that satisfaction of admitting it. She was right about him. He was a total suit. Just like her dad. What had she been thinking? She should have outright refused Megan.
“I see I have my work cut out,” he muttered, glancing at his watch. “Let’s meet tomorrow.”
“Look, I appreciate you, but—”
“You’re stuck with me at least until your first big sale.”
She leaned forward. “How much is my sister paying you?”
“Not a cent.” His eyes narrowed.
“Well, let’s go our separate ways and be done with this nonsense.
“Ah, as much as that idea appeals to me, I promised your sister I would help you. And I shall.”
“I don’t need—”
“Why did I know this was a mistake,” he muttered, setting his napkin aside. “As much as you like to live in a fairytale, from what Megan told me, you desperately need me. I am your best shot at not giving up your dream. I hear your dad is cutting you off by next month. So, unless you want to end up sleeping on your sister’s pullout couch and finding your beloved cat a new home because Megan’s husband is allergic to the little guy, I suggest you sign the contract, and let’s be done with this nonsense.”
“I thought Megan hired you.”
He rolled his eyes again as he pushed a contract toward her. “As you mentioned, you are the artist. I am representing you, not your sister.”
“What do you get?”
“Forty percent of what you sell.”
“Ah, I see. I do all the work, and you get paid.”
“Trust me.” He sighed. “I will be working harder than you to sell your work. Just sign it. I need to leave. Some of us like to be on time for our appointments.”
“I need to think about it.”
“Fine.” He stood. “Call me to set up our appointment once you do.”
