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“Looks like it,” I murmur, weak from his tenderness.
I want to be angry, but I don’t knowhow, not with him.
“And it’s about grits.” He chuckles. Chuckles!
I give him a fake glare. “It’s a little more than about grits, Jace Reed.”
His smell makes my head spin. He makes my heart swell. Deep inside, I’m hurt he chose not to tell me things, but now that I know, I’ll have to tell him aboutSharki. And, oh, is it scary to be honest…
He keeps planting little pecks around my mouth, and I’m reeling with the need for more.
“Do you see what you are doing, Jace?” I whisper, running my hand through his hair, and he leans into it.
“Tell me,” he whispers back, teasing me with his kisses.
“You are avoiding the conversation.”
“I’m not.”
Another soft kiss.
How can a guy be such a tease?
“You won’t get off so easily, Jace. Not with these kinda kisses.”
He chuckles, but his smile falls. “Lu, the night we met—”
The doorbell rings.
It’s the gallery guys, sent to pick up my paintings that are already wrapped up and ready to go.
My stomach twists in a knot as they clear out my bedroom.
This is it, my big moment tomorrow, my solo exhibit. I should be happy but feel empty, looking around my room. The only artworks left are the smaller ones I worked on for myself, the ones of Jace, and the giant gothic portrait propped against the wall.
My phone rings.
“When it rains, it pours,” I murmur, sensing something else is coming my way.
It’s Becky.
“Hey, there,” I sigh into the phone.
She tells me that my gothic portrait order was canceled, and my mind instantly flares with shock.
“What do you mean? I’m almost done! They can’t do this to me, B! Talk to them!”
“They don’t want it unless it’s promoted, Lu. Sorry. I tried. You get to keep the deposit.”
“So, that’s it? I don’t promote my work that was done privately, don’t makethemtrendy, and they drop the commission?”
No one wants my art. They wantme, my popularity, and the number of likes on my social media pages.
Becky tries to persuade me once again to use my social power to turn things around.
I won’t. I refuse to be a glossy magazine image for someone else’s sake.
My gaze lingers on Jace, who leans on the doorway, his hands in his pockets.
