“Is there something wrong with your brother?” I asked, hoping it wasn’t rude.
He sighed and his expression changed. Tenderness would probably be the best word. “Not wrong exactly, but he’s special.”
Our meal came and we dug in. He and I enjoyed the best wine I’d ever tasted, and by the end of our lunch, I agreed to do the painting. I also accepted his offer to buy my work. I wasn’t sure what I was getting myself into, but I was willing to take this adventure.
Throughout our lunch, KP had shown respect. He treated me with dignity and listened attentively as I talked about the inspiration for my work. I explained how my observations of people in society sparked my interest in expressing their humanity in a raw and sometimes dark way.
He smiled and said he hoped that I would find some happier inspiration soon. Of course, he was alluding to a possible relationship with him, but I let the comment slide. I hoped he understood that to mean that I still wasn’t interested.
I made sure to thank him for the opportunity to quit working at the diner. I explained the money would afford me the chance to focus my attention on Gran and shared her health problems. Maybe it was the wine, but I also opened up about school and how I’d been saving to attend.
“What about your family?” he asked.
“It’s not something I’m comfortable sharing,” I explained.
A tiny smile played on his lips. “Another mystery.”
“Can’t spill all the beans,” I teased.
“Or even one bean, god forbid,” he threw back at me.
I smirked. “You won’t talk about your family, and I told you about Gran,” I countered.
“True. I’m happy the money will provide you time to be with your grandmother and the opportunity to further your career. I’m excited to see where your talent will take you. Your paintings are going in my offices, one at work and the other at home. I find them inspirational. I hope they remind me to look at things with my heart rather than my ruthlessness, but I also pray that altering my temperament doesn’t bankrupt me.”
“Yeah that would suck,” I added, laughing with him.
“Suck? Yes, very much,” he said in a sultry way.
“Don’t do that,” I playfully warned.
His eyes narrowed. “Then don’t say words that might lead me down that path.”
“Resist,” I hissed at him.
He lifted a shoulder. “Fine. We’ll stay on topics like the weather and the painting you’re doing for me.”
“Exactly.”
He tapped his fingers on the table. “So, not only am I not having sex with you anytime in the near future, I also can’t talk about it?”
I threw up my hands. “Oh my god, you’re such a baby. Sex is like a fraction of what people talk about. There are a billion other things to say to one another. What are you? A sex maniac or something?”
“Not a maniac, no. I’m just very good at it, and also enjoy it a great deal. It’s great exercise.”
Exercise? He just said that sex was great exercise. What a piece of work.
“Exercise, really! Okay, I think this might be a good time to point out that this’ll be strictly a business relationship. Imagine if you asked Steven Spielberg about sucking anything… how would he react?”
“Well—”
“Think about talking to him like that. Not gonna happen, right? So then don’t let it happen with me.”
And that round goes to moi.
“But I don’t want to have sex with Steven Spielberg. I very much want to have sex with you. And maybe people don’t talk about sex. That’s people, not me. I talk about it a lot. I really like it, and I’d like to show you how much fun it is.” He eyes blazed, threatening to burn into my soul. “I could really, you know? Worship you. Make you scream my name.”
I was having a hard time breathing. “I know that sex is fun. I just don’t want to do it with you.”
Bam. I had this.
“Try it.”
“Oh my god. You think you’re god’s gift to everything. Just because you want me doesn’t mean I’m gonna drop my panties for you. I don’t want to have sex. I don’t want to fuck, get pumped, done, laid, bent over, or anything else. I’m sure it’s a lot of fun, but I get plenty of exercise. When I find someone who loves me and shares with me the kind of mutual respect and understanding that is uniquely crafted between lovers and soul mates, I’ll gladly make love to that person, every day and in every way we can. You, my friend, and I use that term lightly, are not that person.”
Whew… okay, there it was, all out on the table.
“I could be that person, you know.”
God, I wanted him to be that person.
“How about we just stick to the weather and painting,” I suggested and fiddled with the napkin on my lap.
He looked like he was going to argue, but nodded instead. We had reached a standstill and there wasn’t much else to say on the matter, and he knew it. The rest of the meal was quiet, and when we finished, he took me back to my car.
“I’ll have my lawyer draw up the papers for the sale. I should be able to have a portion of the money sent to you by this afternoon. You can work out how you’d like the funds deposited when my accountant calls you. Also, I know you’ll have to pay taxes on the money, so I’ve made one payment to charity for the gallery, a non-taxable gift, and the other for your services. I hope you don’t take that the wrong way. I just want you to get more of the million than the government. I give them plenty, trust me.”
I felt myself softening toward him. “Thank you, that makes good sense. I appreciate it. Your generosity will definitely make a huge difference in my life.”
“You’ve already made such a difference in mine,” he said kindly as the driver pulled next to my beater.
I didn’t know why I felt shy all of a sudden, or why I suddenly wanted to press my lips against his. I knew that kissing him might send mixed messages, but I felt compelled to give him something. Maybe that thing was a little hope, for both of us. I leaned over and kissed his cheek, not knowing what else to say.
He reached for me, but his hand stopped in midair. Slowly, it dropped to his lap. “Would you like to start working on the painting this weekend?” he asked gently.
I nodded. “I’d love to.”
“I’ll pick you up on Saturday morning, say eight?”
“That works.” The driver held open my door and I smiled and thanked him as I stepped out, then bent down to look at KP again. “Thank you for everything.”
His smile lit something deep inside of me.
As the car drove away, my heart fluttered, and I was glad that I’d be seeing him again.
He’d made an effort today. Baby steps were good. Despite myself, I liked him. I liked him a lot.
As I stuck the keys in the ignition and the old car roared to life, it hit me. I was a millionaire. It took a long time before I was steady enough to drive to the hospital and I wondered if Gran would even believe my story.
CHAPTER EIGHT
KP