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It’s more stressful than fun, and it’s not even my own home I’m trashing.
I feel horrible, but I pretend not to. I flick and splatter my way across the pictures in front of me, then I scoot over and begin on the next ones.
Hollis stands with his hands clasped in front of him, the way I imagine a secret service agent might when they’re standing guard over the president. He looks over as Calvin enters the room, then immediately looks back at me.
I flash Calvin the brightest smile, holding up my paint brush. “You’re home.”
His gaze rakes over me in his pricey dress shirt, now splattered and dyed with various shades of paint. I watch his eyes register the damage to the rug, and as he walks around the couch, he notices that, too.
As he gets closer to me, my heart begins to race, but I try not to let it show. I don’t want him to know he’s making me nervous. He’s not even trying to, I just feel like a child who knows I’ve misbehaved and now I’ll surely be punished.
And with him, I’m not sure what that punishment might be.
He says nothing about the mess I’ve made. His gaze flickers to the pages I illustrated, spaced out across his rug. “Lovely.”
I blink. “Oh. You think so?”
“Mm-hmm. I like your color choices. The snow is a perfect finishing touch.” He leans down to kiss me on the cheek. “I like you wearing my shirt, too. I see youdidmiss me today. Needed my scent all over your body.” He caresses my cheek, looking more amused than annoyed. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’ll get plenty of it later.”
I blink up at him, confused. He’s not even mad.
Rats.
I know hesawthe paint I flicked all over the place, but just in case he missed it—the paintiswhite, like the couch, so maybe he didn’t notice that.
“I got paint everywhere. I hope you don’t mind. I’m quite messy when I’m working.”
He smiles faintly. “Not at all, my love. We can turn one of the spare bedrooms into your studio if you’d like.”
Goddammit, why isn’t he mad?
I scowl up at him and he smiles back, then he turns away and walks into his office with his briefcase.
I’m still sitting on my legs holding a paintbrush and pouting when he comes back in.
“Chef Ryan will be here soon,” Calvin says, flicking a glance at my outfit, his gaze lingering on the swatch of skin exposed below my neck. “You should finish what you’re working on so you can clean yourself up before dinner.”
“I ruined the couch,” I state, still clinging to the idea that perhaps he doesn’t realize the extent of the damage. “The rug, too. This won’t wash out.”
“Yes,” he says dryly. “Your creative way of telling me you’d like to remodel has been noted. It’s your home now, too; if you don’t like the furnishings, just tell me and we’ll pick something out together.”
Well, that didn’t go to plan at all.
Sighing, I give up on annoying him and finish splattering my pages. Once I’m finished, I gather up all my paint supplies, wash out my brushes, and move my pictures to the long dining table we didn’t use before so they can dry.
Marie wakes up from her nap while I’m doing that and notices Calvin is home. She eyes him up, then prances right over and rubs up against his leg.
“Hey, girl,” he says, leaning down to pet her.
She purrs and pushes her head against his hand.
“Traitor,” I mutter.
“I’ll get Marie dinner while you shower and clean up for dinner,” Calvin says.
“What are we having tonight? Another five course meal, I presume?”
“Tonight we’re having vegetable tempura for an appetizer, then chicken teriyaki and teriyaki beef short ribs—two separate courses.”
