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Needing something to do, I reached for the coffee nearest my seat and took a sip. “Oh wow, this is good.”
Sebastian nodded. “It’s from the Coffee Library, a new chain that just made its way here from Ohio.”
“I love it. I’ll have to check it out when I come back to the city.”
Another silence descended on us.
This was going to be painful.
Just talk to him like he’s any other person, Faith. You’re good at peopling.
“Is there an art supply store near your house that we could stop at once I get settled? I’ll need more canvases if I’m going to hit my quota.”
Sebastian glanced over at me. “There’s a place in town I can take you to.”
“Well, that’s good since they are pretty essential to my career but don’t worry I can just call an Uber to take me. No need to serve as my personal chauffeur,” I joked.
“It’s safer if I go with you.”
I clicked my tongue. “It’s not like the paparazzi will bombard me at a random art supply store upstate.”
“It’s still a good idea. Either I go with you, or I send a bodyguard with you. Your choice.”
I scoffed. “Excuse me? I’m crashing at your place. This isn’t some weird Beauty and the Beast fantasy where you hold me captive.”
He chuckled, lowering his glasses enough for his eyes to connect with mine.
I gulped. Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing to be his captive.
Ugh, you’re doing it again, Faith.
I cleared my throat and focused my attention out the window, watching as we crossed the George Washington Bridge out of the city.
“What’s the project you're working on?” Sebastian asked.
I tried not to act too excited that he was actively engaging in conversation. “I have an upcoming exhibit I need to prepare for.”
“From what I gathered last night, you still have a lot of work to do?”
I sighed, sinking into my seat. “Yeah, it’s been a weird time lately. Dad had his heart attack right after my first art show. I’d done so well that the gallery owner insisted I show again, and soon, but it means I actually need to produce and not just sit on my ass like I’ve been doing.”
He rubbed a hand across his jaw. “Your dad had a heart attack. It’s not like you’ve been sitting around and twiddling your thumbs.”
“I might not have been twiddling my thumbs, but it wasn’t like I was producing anything either. I have nothing to show for it.”
“And you want something to show for it? Can’t you just go back to modeling and doing appearances?” he asked, although by his tone I could tell what he thought about that idea. There was the disdain I remembered from our previous interactions.
“Even vapid socialites have to settle down and get a real job eventually,” I quipped with a tight smile.
His jaw tightened, but he stayed quiet.
Good decision.
Now if only he could stay quiet the rest of the way.
SEVEN
SEBASTIAN
