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“I have to go there for a little bit.” I poke at my food, staring at the fork. “It’s how I work, you know?”
“That’s fine, but not for sixteen-hour stretches. You’ll work normal days. Nine to five, lots of breaks. Eight hours of sleep. An hour of exercise.”
“Are you making my schedule right now?”
“I was about to pencil in some fun time, but maybe not.”
I laugh, half with relief, and half with joy at the idea of this man taking care of me again. “You’re such a hard-ass.”
“Only because you’re a pain.”
“Please, you’d be nowhere without my skills.” I wiggle my fingers in the air. “I got all the talent.”
“You do,” he says more seriously than I expected. “Listen, today, why don’t you work on something else.”
“You got something in mind?”
“No, I don’t, but you should come up with something.”
“You mean, I should make my own art?” The idea hadn’t even occurred to me since coming here.
“I’d like that if you wanted to.”
“You want me to paint… just for myself?”
He nods and sips his coffee. “Yes, I’d love it.”
“Oh.” I lean back, considering. “Huh. Okay. Are you going to sell it?”
“No, it’ll be yours to keep, or I can find a buyer and the money will be yours.”
“You’re serious?”
“Very serious. I want you to be happy, Hellie. I don’t want you to forget why you make art.”
I shake my head, mystified. This gangster, this monster, the guy that freaking kidnapped me—doesn’t want me to get burned out on painting.
He wants me to create my own stuff purely for the pleasure of doing it.
What the hell?
But it almost makes sense. He’s been taking care of me from the start, even if I’ve been too oblivious to notice. Maybe this is part of him making sure I’m satisfied.
A warm feeling wraps around my guts. There are very few people in my life that have truly encouraged my painting, and now he’s one of them.
Which is confusing, because I’m supposed to hate him. He’s the enemy. He’s the reason I’m in this mess.
“Alright,” I say after a while. “I’ll paint. If I want to.”
“Good. I hope you do.” He stands, a piece of bacon between his teeth. “Have a good day, devil girl.” Then he’s gone, and I’m left with a pile of food and no appetite at all.
Chapter22
Erick
It’s late by the time I’m able to get back to the desert house. I’ve been busy as hell catching up on all the work I’ve neglected—running a casino isn’t fucking easy, there’s always a fire smoldering somewhere—but my mind’s been squarely back in that studio.
Back with Hellie.
