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“In record time,” I said. “And Jane Oxley is my new agent. I’m going to have a show in April, all because of you.”
His smile froze, and he looked away. “I’m so glad.”
The driver parked at the curb in front of Chelsea Gardens. Ambri climbed slowly out of the car, wincing with every limping step. My jaw clenched. I offered him my arm and he slid his hand into the crook of my elbow.
“Look at us,” he mused. “A devil and an angel, the perfect couple’s costume. Next year’s Halloween is all set.”
“Stop making jokes. Who did this to you?” I hissed as the driver walked ahead to open the front door. “Tell me the truth.”
“I already have,” Ambri said through gritted teeth, giving a nod to Jerome at the front desk as we made our way slowly to the elevators. “I needed a reminder.”
“Ofwhat?”
He didn’t answer, but his grip on my arm tightened.
Inside his place, I helped Ambri onto the couch, noticing the room was short one chair that had been by the fire.
“Barnard, be a dove and show Cole to his room,” he said, removing his gloves.
I followed the driver to the spare bedroom I’d slept in the other night. It had been converted so that half of it was living space, the other half a painting studio, complete with an easel, a tarp, and enough supplies to open an art school. The driver—Barnard—gave me a nod and went out.
“This is fucking nuts.”
A quick inspection showed me the dressers were full of clothes, the closet hung with everything from suits to casual jeans and shirts. The en suite, I knew without looking, was stocked with everything I needed.
I went back to the living room in time to see Barnard leave, shutting the door behind him.
“What the hell, Ambri? How long have you been planning this?”
He rolled his eyes. “It doesn’t take a seer to predict your pitiful flat wouldn’t survive a drizzle, never mind a monsoon,” he said, flapping a glove at the storm raging against the window. “Stop complaining, Cole. You now have space to work without the threat of a house collapsing on you.”
I took off my glasses and scrubbed my hands over my face. “I can’t stay here.”
“Why not?”
“You know why not. You and I—”
“There is noyou and I,” Ambri snapped. “You don’t have feelings for me, Cole, you have attraction, which is expected given that it’sme. Add a pinch of sympathy thanks to my sad little story and a touch of gratitude for the rest, and that’s all there is.”
“Ambri—”
“Don’t be a fool. You know that anything between the likes of you and me is ludicrous.” He tried for a sly grin. “Of course, I’ll never say no to a no-strings-attached roll in the sack. Give me a shout. I’ll be just down the hall.”
“I don’t believe you,” I said. “Yes, it’s fucking crazy but—”
“Not crazy, impossible,” he said, his voice hard. “You will paint my portrait because that’s all I want out of you. If that’s too difficult a task, go and I’ll find someone else.”
“You’re full of shit,” I spat back. “You don’t want someone else. You want…” I bit off the words and fought for calm. “There’s a reason you told me about your past. Why you’re helping me and why you brought me here. Why you need areminderabout who you are.”
He drummed his fingers on the cane handle. “I admit, I let myself get carried away by you, Cole Matheson. For a brief moment, I let your disarming nature—not to mention your impressive blowjob skills—trick me into thinking you’re not like every other human.”
“I’m not—”
“You are. You want what you want and will burn a city to the ground if you don’t get it.”
“That’s bullshit,” I snapped. “That’s the lie you tell yourself so you don’t have to feelanything real.”
He held my gaze, unmoved. “I want my portrait. If we so happen to fuck now and then, I won’t complain. But that’s all it will be. Fucking.”
