The Billionaire's Princess - Ava Ryan Page 0,60
you just sell another painting?” Michele asks in a shocked whisper at my show the following night. “You’re not going to have any inventory left to sell online. And we’re going to have to send you home in an armored car tonight with all your new coins and Benjamins.”
We enjoy one of our girlish conspiratorial giggles together, although I like to think we’re much more sophisticated than the college freshman we used to be, whispering about the handsome guys we passed as we walked to classes. For tonight’s launch of my soon-to-be art empire, we both wear sexy little black dresses with heels. We’ve both enjoyed a healthy serving of champagne. And we both know how hard I’ve worked for this moment and how much it means to me and my career hopes.
“I did sell another painting!”
“Which one?”
“Existential Threat,” I say, pointing to the large painting that consists mainly of angry slashes and swoops in every dark color in my arsenal. Basically a scream on canvas. As she well knows, I began the painting my junior year, after a particularly nasty disagreement with my father, who wondered why I kept resisting his efforts to get me to transfer to Oxford to finish school. “Who would have ever thought that my emotional turmoil would bring me such a pretty penny all these years later?”
“I know, right?” She sips her champagne, gazing thoughtfully at the canvas. “And, no offense, but what kind of person wants to stare at that all day? It’s like the one piece of artwork guaranteed to make you hide in bed all day if you stare at it too long.”
“I don’t ask questions,” I say, laughing. “I just accept checks.”
“Have you broken six figures yet tonight?”
“Just did,” I say triumphantly, unable to believe my enormous good fortune or that I might possibly be able to make a career out of something I love as much as I love painting.
“Cheers to that.”
We toast each other. Sip while the well-dressed and well-connected crowd of art lovers mills around us and studies my work. One woman makes a face and backs away from one of my precious babies as though the thing has offended her. Just like that, all my simmering anxieties rise to the surface and cause me to question whether I can earn a living this way.
“I hate this,” I say, rubbing my roiling belly. “It’s like watching a teacher grade my paper and give me failing marks.”
“You want to be an artist? You’ve got big dreams? Well, suck it up like the rest of us.”
“Thank you for that utter lack of sympathy,” I say, shooting her a glare.
“So how are things going with Damon?” She discreetly tips her head at where he’s standing near the bar with his brothers. “He’s looking stupid handsome tonight in his dark suit and dark shirt, I must say. Why wear a tie when you can pull off the George Clooney look?”
As though he feels the weight of our attention, Damon looks in my direction and gives me a slow once-over that culminates in a sexy bite of his lip that tells me exactly what he’s thinking and what he plans to do with me later, all of it X-rated. Naturally, I blush as I try to smother my responsive grin.
Naturally, Michele notices.
“You’re in love with him,” she says.
I keep sipping and say nothing. I don’t dare risk it. By now my face is positively alight. I can only be grateful that the ensuing inferno won’t ruin my paintings, which are in water-based acrylics.
“I knew it!” she says with unmitigated glee. “You are!”
“Is now the time for this intensely personal conversation?” I ask, trying to maintain some dignity.
“Yes! So is he in love with you? Has he told you yet?”
“No,” I say glumly. “I’m starting to think he’s allergic to love. And it doesn’t help that we had a huge fight last night.”
“About what?”
I hesitate, knowing what’s coming. “Percy.”
“I knew it.” She scowls in the general direction of the appetizer table, where Percy and my father are engaged in deep conversation. “I don’t know why you had to invite him. Stubborn redhead. Maybe one of these days you’ll start listening to me.”
“Like I’ve told you a million times, I want to mend bridges with him. I can’t stand the idea of him hating me. We’ve been friends our whole lives.” I hesitate. “Plus, I never actually thought he’d come.”
“Yeah, well, I’d love to see how understanding you’d feel if Damon rolled up with