Bare, p.3
Bare, page 3
I look to my left at a series of sculptures displayed next to the window that faces the street. Again, I’m the wrong person to be judging the value of the pieces. I walk closer to them and realize that someone thinks they’re worth more than most new cars. The price tags are staggering.
“I’m Bridget Grant.” The blonde is next to me. “Is there something I can help you with?”
I look over her head to where the man is still standing in front of the watercolor painting. “I can wait if you’re busy.”
“He’s considering his options.” She smiles softly. “Is there a particular sculpture that you’re interested in?”
I turn my back to the pieces of art and face her directly, so there’s no misinterpretation. “I’m not here for the sculptures. I’m looking for Piper Ellis.”
She looks over at her customer before she turns her attention back to me. “Piper’s classes begin the week after next. There’s a signup form on our website or I can take care of the registration for you now.”
The older guy starts his approach toward us so I finish up our conversation. “Thanks for your time. I’ll check out the website.”
It’s a lie. Piper may be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, but I’m not about to enroll in an art class just to get laid. I’ll find another way to connect with the stunning brunette.
Chapter 7
Piper
I look at my new watch. I’ve been here for a little more than two hours, but it feels like twelve. I’ve only ever had to do this twice before and both of those times, I had a professor next to me to guide me through the process.
I’m on my own this time. I’m the one teaching the art class, so it’s up to me to prepare everything associated with it.
That includes finding nude models.
You’d think the interview process would be fun.
It’s not.
I’ve seen more pictures of naked cocks and breasts this evening than I care to remember.
Right now, I’m trying not to make eye contact with a man who is hotter than most nude models I’ve ever come across. That’s not surprising since his most recent day job consists of modeling for a newly launched underwear line.
“I’ll need you for three hours two evenings a week, Rufus.” I look over his impressive portfolio on the tablet in front of me. He emailed me the link after the resource center at a local art school sent me his details.
They had a list of models that had posed for classes in the past. I need a model. It was Bridget who suggested I contact them since she has found a few portrait models through them.
“Does the pay I quoted in the email work for you?” I finally look up at his face.
“It works.” He flashes me a killer smile.
“I have a standard contract for you to look over and if you’re comfortable with it, we can start next Monday.”
“Monday works and I’ll sign anything you need me to. I’m saving for a vacation in Hawaii.”
I instantly picture a nude beach with dozens of muscular blue-eyed, blond-haired men that look like him playing volleyball.
“You’re free to go,” I say with a grin.
“Cool.” He stands and extends a hand toward me. “It was good to meet you, Piper. I think we’ll work well together.”
I shake his hand. Since he’ll be frozen in place while I’m guiding my students on the finer points of drawing the human form, he’s probably right. We will work well together if he can stay still and not flirt with every woman in the class.
“So, I’ll catch you on Monday?” he asks as he shoulders the navy blue backpack he brought with him. “You’ll email me the contract before then?”
“Monday it is and I’ll email the contract to you tomorrow.”
“I’m stoked.” He looks around the almost empty room that I’ll transform into a studio for students. “I think we’re going to make magic in here.”
That’s wishful thinking. All I’m hoping for is that a group of people will show up with a passion for art that runs as deep as mine.
***
Until now, I haven’t understood the appeal of man in a three-piece suit. Specifically, a man in a gray three-piece suit with a black dress shirt and a gray patterned tie.
I’ve never been attracted to corporate types. All of the men I’ve been involved with have had a passion for creativity. I always believed that the pull toward them stemmed from our mutual interest in the arts or their laid-back style.
Griffin Kent has neither of those, but I can’t take my eyes off of him.
He’s standing near an open office door talking to a woman with long black hair. Her back is to me and his eyes are pinned to her face. A twinge of envy rolls through me. I wish to hell he was looking at me with the same intensity in his gaze.
My sole purpose when I came to the offices of Kent & Colt today was to return the forty dollars that Griffin’s assistant, Joyce, loaned me.
Since no one is at the reception desk, I’ve been standing next to it, eyeing up Griffin since he stepped out of one of the offices with the dark-haired woman. He has yet to notice me staring at him. I’m grateful for that.
I thought I’d hand Joyce the cash and be out of here in thirty seconds flat. That’s why I’m wearing ripped jeans, a gray University of Denver T-shirt and a wrinkled black blazer I found at the bottom of my suitcase as I was unpacking more of my stuff this morning.
At least I straightened my hair and brushed my teeth.
My plan today was to stay home so I could work on the lesson plan for my class. When my dad called me an hour ago to ask if I was still alive and if I needed any cash to make ends meet, it dawned on me that I hadn’t paid Joyce back.
I was dressed and on the subway within fifteen minutes headed here.
I now wish I had used the number she gave me and called her before I left my place. If I had done that, I wouldn’t be standing here looking like a lost puppy.
My gaze scans the reception desk for an envelope. If I can find one, I’ll shove the two twenty dollar bills inside and address it to Joyce from me. She’ll know exactly what it is.
“If you tell me what you’re looking for, I’ll point you in the right direction.”
There’s no mistaking that deep, raspy voice. I know exactly who it belongs to. I look up to see Griffin approaching as the woman he was talking to turns to look right at me, disappointment washing over her expression.
“Joyce,” I answer quickly. “I need to talk to Joyce.”
“About?” he questions with a raise of his eyebrow.
I deflect. “Is she here? Can you find her for me?”
The phone on the desk starts ringing but his gaze never leaves mine. “Why do need to talk to Joyce?”
“Aren’t you going to answer that?” I point at the phone.
“No.” His eyes drop to the front of my T-shirt. “My partner’s assistant will pick it up.”
As if on cue the phone stops mid-ring. I turn my attention back to him. “I came here to see Joyce.”
“She has the day off.” He shoves both of his hands into the front pockets of his pants. “It looks like you’ll need to settle for me.”
Chapter 8
Piper
I open my black leather wallet and slide out forty dollars. I look down at it. “Joyce loaned me this the day I was robbed. I’ve been meaning to stop by to repay her, but it kept slipping my mind.”
Griffin leans closer, his voice lowering, his breath skirting over my cheek. “I’ve already reimbursed Joyce. Keep it.”
I won’t knowingly be indebted to anyone. I hold out the bills in front of me. “Take it.”
His hands stay hidden within the pockets of his perfectly tailored pants. “No, Piper. I insist on you keeping it. You’re already out the money that bastard took from you. Consider this an offering to make up for that.”
I clutch the two twenty dollar bills in my fist. “I don’t expect you to replace what he took from me. You had nothing to do with what happened that night.”
He finally tugs his hands free before he crosses his arms over his broad chest. “The son of a bitch was carrying around my business card.”
“How does that matter?” I question with a tilt of my head. “You’re not responsible for what he did. Joyce loaned me this money so I want to give it back to her.”
It takes a beat but he extends his hand, his large palm outstretched.
I push the bills into it but he’s too quick. He closes his hand over mine. I stare up into his face, my eyes searching his for any sign that he feels the same sudden spark inside that I do.
“Let’s compromise, Piper,” he says quietly. “This isn’t enough for a good dinner, but it will cover a drink. Meet me tonight at the bar around the corner. We’ll call it even after that.”
I try to jerk my hand free but his grip is too tight. He wants more than a drink. I see it in his eyes and feel it in his touch. He’s looking at me with the same lust that he did that first day I stood in this office.
The only thing he knows about me is that I wear short dresses when I’m out partying and I slept with a stranger. That’s not who I am. My one-night stand was a one-time deal. I won’t go down that road again and I sense that one fuck is all that Griffin is looking for.
“I appreciate the offer.” I give my hand a hard yank and he lets it drop. “We’re even now. I paid back what I owed.”
“I’d like to buy you a drink.”
I know that lawyers are notorious for being persistent, so I don’t take it as a compliment that he’s still pressing for more. “I’m not interested.”
A cocky smile slides over his full lips. “You’re interested.”
“I’m busy.” I tuck my wallet back into the brown leather bag slung over my shoulder. “I have a lot of work to do. Please thank Joyce for me. She really helped me out.”
“Work?” He arches a brow in response. “Joyce mentioned that you’re an artist.”
The details I gave Joyce were sparse. I told her I got a job at the Grant Gallery and that I was an artist. I didn’t expand on that because the stilted grin on her face at the time, told me that she didn’t care. I can always tell if art strikes a chord in a person when I first mention that I create it.
I nod. “I am.”
“I’m not, but I appreciate genuine talent when I see it.”
I scan the walls of the reception area and the generic framed prints that are hung there. “Do you think the artwork in here reflects genuine talent?”
“I think the art in my apartment does.”
A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. “I take it no one has ever accused you of being subtle? Are you inviting me back to your place to see your paintings?”
“That’s not what I meant, but if you’re offering to come to my place...”
“I’ll pass,” I interrupt with no hesitation. He’s obviously hot-as-hell, but he’s also a distraction that I don’t currently need. “Thanks for loaning me your assistant when I got into trouble. Have a good day, Mr. Kent.”
“Griffin,” he corrects me. “Good luck with everything, Piper.”
I’ll need it. I’m three days away from teaching my first art class in New York City. The next two months will make or break my career. I can’t let anything screw this up, not even a sexy-as-sin lawyer in an expensive suit.
***
“Are you planning on sitting in for my first class?” I ask Bridget as she adjusts the frame on one of her portraits that she just hung up.
She’s sold two today. I admit I envy her. I can’t imagine the rush in knowing that someone is willing to pay a small fortune to own a piece of your work.
I’ve sold some of my drawings in the past, but those were at art fairs in Denver where no one was willing to pay more than twenty dollars for an unframed sketch.
“I wish I could.” She brushes a piece of lint from the frame in front of her. “I promised my boys I’d be at their soccer practice tonight.”
She told me this morning that she has two sons. I waited while she scrolled through the picture library on her phone to find just the right image to show me. They’re gorgeous and judging by the big smiles on their faces in the photograph, they’re also very happy.
“You need to be at that practice,” I stress the point. “My class will go off without a hitch.”
She turns her attention to the sleeveless black dress I’m wearing. She skims her hand over the belt before she adjusts the collar. “You look sophisticated. Your students are going to be impressed from the moment they walk into the studio.”
I know I have more than an hour before class starts but my nerves are already in high gear. I spent most of the weekend preparing the studio, the supplies and the lights. I have everything set to go, including a brief introductory speech about myself. I also want to touch on what I hope my students will get out of the class.
“I’m going to run up to the studio and double check that I have all bases covered.” I smooth my hair over my shoulders. “Wish me luck.”
“You don’t need luck, Piper. You have something better than luck. Talent. You’re going to blow your students away tonight. Mark my words.”
Chapter 9
Griffin
The last thing you want to see when you walk into a room is the woman you’re interested in talking to a naked guy.
That’s the sight that greeted me when I took my seat in the small studio at Grant Gallery. I was let into the gallery by a security guard who brought me up here. I admit I was late. On a good day I leave my office by nine p.m., so making it here by seven was a stretch. I slid onto the stool behind the empty easel at half-past seven and by then Piper was engaged in a conversation with a guy with a semi-hard dick.
That seems to be finishing up now since she’s pointing at a small stage at the front of the studio that she apparently wants him to get up on.
He does. He strikes a pose with his arms over his head, his abs flexed and a side view of his cock.
I’m not coming into this blindly. I read the course outline this afternoon before I hit the registration button. In my imagination, I thought a beautiful woman would be resting on her back on a velvet sofa eating grapes.
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Piper since she showed up at my office on Friday. I don’t go out of my way to get any woman into bed, but after researching Piper online, I signed up for her class. I doubt like hell I’ll make it past tonight, but that’s all the time I need to convince her to have a drink with me. Besides, I wanted to see for myself what she’s like when she’s leading a group of aspiring artists.
I peek around the easel when Piper starts talking. “Since you all have varying degrees of experience, I thought tonight we’d focus on your vision of what you see before you. I want you to draw Rufus just as you see him. Don’t concern yourself with details. This is simply an exercise meant to help me determine how you view the model.”
I stare at the blank paper in front of me.
If I had a clue where to start, I might, but instead, I lean over to look at the paper of the woman sitting next to me.
“This isn’t Algebra. You can’t cheat.” She shoots me a look. “I’m Brenda. You’re late.”
“I’m lost,” I admit. “Have you taken one of these classes before?”
She sets her charcoal pencil down. “I’m a first-timer too. Let’s say we pair up as study buddies. You can come over to my place after class so we can practice drawing. I’ll be your model if you’ll be mine.”
I’m getting hit on while a naked man is less than twenty feet away. I’ll take the ego boost.
“I’ll have to pass.” I look over to where Piper is standing next to another student. It’s a man around my age. I’m tempted to call her over, but I didn’t come here to disrupt her work. I came here to learn more about her.
“Suit yourself.” She points at my three-piece navy blue suit. “By the way, you have excellent taste in clothing.”
I nod in appreciation as I turn back to the easel.
“Pick up the pencil and let the subject speak to you.” Piper’s voice carries from behind me. “Don’t restrict yourself by your own expectations. Let your creativity lead you where it wants to.”
It takes a beat before I realize she’s talking to me so I respond. “What if my creativity fucked off a long time ago?”
I hear her breath catch. A moment later she steps into the spot next to my stool. “Mr. Kent? Is that you?”
I turn to her and smile. “Hello again, Piper.”
Her gaze falls to the blank paper in front of me before she eyes me. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m here to learn. You’re here to teach. Let’s get started, shall we?”
***
“What’s the verdict?” I stand in front of my easel. “Do you think I have a future in charcoal art?”
Piper picks up my sketchpad and holds it in her hands as her gaze takes in every line. “I see promise.”
She’s polite. My drawing is elementary, at best. I know it. I’ve never professed to have a talent in the arts. I may hang around for another class or two if it means I can convince her to go out with me.
She places the drawing back before she pivots to face me. “I printed out the list of students who enrolled this morning, your name wasn’t on there.”
“I’m not crashing.” I clear my throat. “I signed up late this afternoon.”
“Why?” She flinches as she looks back at my easel before her gaze settles on my face. “Joyce told me that you aren’t a fan of art.”
“How exactly did that come up in conversation with my assistant? “I ask in a low tone. “Were you asking her about me?”
Her cheeks blush with the question. “No. I mean...yes...we were talking about a lot of things. Art happened to be one of them.”
“Have a drink with me tonight and fill me in on what else you and Joyce talked about.”
“I can’t.”
“You can’t?” I step a little closer.
