The Finished Masterpiece Boxed Set - Pepper Winters Page 0,8

given away all his secrets. Shoving hands into his hoodie pocket, he stormed toward a trestle table chock-full of glass jars containing brushes and rags. “She’s seeing things. I actually fear for her mental stability. Get rid of her, will you, Miller?”

My heart physically hiccupped as if he’d reached into my chest and squeezed.

It didn’t matter that his back rippled with stress. It didn’t matter that his body shook or his eyes gleamed with things he refused to say.

He was being undeniably nasty.

And I deserved better.

You should go.

My chin swooped up.

In a minute.

Brushing past Justin, I went to Gil as he grabbed a bottle of paint and shook it violently. His messy hair tangled around his forehead and ears. His harsh eyebrows tugged down over harsher eyes as if he could eradicate me from his life as he’d done in the past.

“I know I did something to make you hate me when we were kids, but...we’re adults now.” I ducked in front of him, wedging myself against the table.

His height and bulk pressed against me heavily, even though we didn’t touch. He shuddered. His hand rose as if to tuck hair behind my ear before falling into a fist by his thigh. “Is that what you think?” His voice roughened with bitterness. “That you did something to make me leave you?”

My knees turned to water. “Wasn’t it? I mean...it had to have been my fault. Why else did you—”

“Enough.” His tone strangled. He slammed the bottle of paint onto the table behind me. He stalked away as if he was two seconds from either punching me or punching himself.

I spoke to his retreating back. “I didn’t come to discuss the past, Gil.”

Liar.

“You’re looking for a model, and I’m looking for a job. I fit most of the attributes of your ad. How about we both agree to move on and focus on that?”

He spun to face me. His head cocked, causing more rogue hair to cascade over his forehead. A few dark locks tangled with black eyelashes, giving me the incredible urge to brush them away. “I don’t need a model anymore.”

“You do. I overheard you guys talking.”

“You eavesdropped as well as broke in?”

“Doesn’t change the fact that you need to start working on a project very soon.”

He looked at the paint-speckled concrete as if this conversation had drained him of all reserves. “I don’t want the job. Don’t need it. So I don’t need you.”

“You literally just said you needed the money.”

“You. Out.” His hand rose. “Immediately.”

“Okay, I think tempers have gotten a little hot over here.” Justin appeared between us, breaking whatever tense bubble that’d formed. “Let me get this straight. Olin offered to be a model, and you turned her down?” He shook his head. “Gilbert, man, what the fuck?”

Gil bared his teeth. “I told you. I’m not doing the commission.”

“What does she mean you were injured, by the way?” Justin’s tone lowered with worry. “Is that why you’re favouring your left arm?”

“I paint with my right. My left doesn’t matter.”

Justin huffed. “You’re a prick.”

Gil looked at the ceiling, shielding himself with rage. “Something I finally agree with. Now, can we wrap this up? I have something I need to do.”

I cleared my throat, ready to argue, but Justin fought my battle for me. He waved a hand in my direction. “Proportionally, she’d be a very good asset. A perfect canvas.”

“Not gonna happen.” Gil brushed past both of us, his boots heavy.

“Just take a look at her. Like I said, the money from Paradise Advertising is totally worthwhile.” Justin trotted after his friend. “It’s not gonna kill you to interview her, is it?”

“It might,” Gil grumbled.

I sucked in a breath, hating how my stomach fluttered with idiotic butterflies. I shuffled forward, letting my jacket fall off my shoulders, revealing my Lycra leggings and T-shirt.

Gil slammed to a halt, his gaze locking onto me.

Sexual tension sprang from nowhere, hissing in the chilly air.

I shivered as his gaze traced my figure almost unwillingly, as if his temper was protection. Protection from everything I made him feel.

“Just interview me, Gil,” I whispered, cursing the slight feather in my tone. The softness that shouldn’t be there.

He stiffened as he tore his eyes from my body. His left arm hung stiff and sore—totally obvious to me that he still suffered pain but not obvious to Justin who grabbed it and shook it as if he could shake common sense into a guy who’d never been good with the word.

If Gil had had