Текст книги "Reckless"

Автор книги: Devon Hartford

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CRACK!

It sounded like a pistol shot. I reeled back, my face stinging. I imagined the red hand-print that would inevitably form on my cheek. I was mortified. Did this yacht have any lifeboats? I needed to abandon ship.

Holding my hand to my cheek, I backed up a step and bumped into Madison. Romeo stood next to her.

Madison gave me a sympathetic look. “I’m so sorry, Sam. You didn’t deserve that,” she consoled.

“Thanks, Mads,” I whispered, still in shock.

Romeo murmured under his breath. “That rabid vagina has no class, no matter how fancy her yacht is, or how much money she has.”

Tiffany sagged against the railing. struggling to keep herself on her drunk-ass feet.

Romeo patted my shoulder. “Forget about that uber goober.”

Tiffany glared at him, then flexed her fingernails at me. She looked ready to lunge again.

Madison stepped in front of me. “Relax, Tiffany. You’ve had way too much to drink.”

Tiffany ignored Madison. Her sights were still laser-focused on me. She rocked unsteadily on her feet, either weighing the odds, or too drunk to punch.

Madison balled her petite fists and growled, “Back off, Tiffany. I’m warning you.” Now she had Tiffany’s attention.

“You’re no better than she is, stupid whore,” Tiffany hissed at Madison.

“Is everything okay?” Christos said as he pedaled down the stairs from the top deck.

Kamiko followed. “What happened, you guys?”

“Uh…” I was speechless.

Tiffany stopped in her tracks. The look of anguish that flashed across her face as she gazed at Christos almost broke my heart. Poor thing. But I was all done being compassionate with her. When someone tries to slice your eyes out, it’s time to give up on the goodwill and leave it at polite pity.

Everyone surrounded Tiffany.

I felt like I was witnessing some sort of old-world shunning ceremony where everyone officially scorned the village shrew for taking things a step too far.

Christos walked up to me and I wrapped my arms around his waist, holding onto him. He draped a protective arm over my shoulders.

“What happened, Samantha?” Christos asked, taking in the situation. “I thought I heard a scuffle down here.”

I rested my stinging cheek against Christos’ chest, hiding the red evidence of Tiffany’s ire. “It’s nothing,” I whispered.

Tiffany’s eyes brimmed with tears. A heavy mask of abject panic and profound misery weighed her down. Her head sunk between her shoulders. She barged past the crowd that had formed on the back deck to gawk at the scene. She plowed past, into the living room, then made her way down the narrow staircase beside the kitchen.

You could’ve heard a pin drop, the crowd was so silent. The sound of a door slamming downstairs shattered the silence momentarily, but it returned as everyone gaped wordlessly at each other.

I hoped Tiffany would stay locked in whatever room she’d retreated to for the remainder of the trip.

Why did I have the sinking feeling that whatever Tiffany did, tonight or in the days to come, she would make sure that someone’s voyage ended up at the bottom of the sea?

I just prayed it wouldn’t be mine.

SAMANTHA

When the commotion died down, and I reassured Christos that I was okay, we all rejoined the crowd inside. Because the alcohol had been flowing for awhile, it didn’t take long for everyone to rekindle the party atmosphere. Conversation picked up, and soon the main room filled with celebratory laughter and good cheer.

The dark haze I’d felt after Tiffany’s outburst faded from my memory. A few more drinks helped push away the bad vibes. I was in a saucy mood.

“You ready to snoop around the rest of the boat,” Romeo asked mischievously, “while the wicked witch is asleep?”

I giggled. “Why not? Maybe we’ll find her magic mirror or her bubbling cauldron.”

“Or mermen trapped in the cargo hold,” Kamiko slurred, then hiccupped. “Mermen are hot. I require the services of my own personal merman right now,” she said lustily.

“Have you been drinking, Kamiko?” Romeo gasped.

Kamiko’s eyelids were at half-mast and her cheeks glowed red. Frowning, she said, “So fucking what? It’s New Year’s Eve, you vag hag, and I’m not the one driving the boat.”

Madison and I burst out laughing.

“Goodness gracious!” Romeo feigned offense. “Who knew Kamiko was such a mean drunk?”

We made our way down the cramped spiral staircase beside the kitchen. A number of closed doors encircled the downstairs hallway.

“How many frickin’ rooms does this yacht have?” I whispered.

Knowing Tiffany was down below somewhere had me vaguely worried. I suddenly felt like I was in one of those trapped-at-sea monster movies, and some creeping deep-sea Tiffany might burst through one of the cabin doors any second, roaring and raging like a spurned she-shark. We’d all be trapped belowdecks while she rampaged and bit everyone’s heads off.

“It’s really quiet down here,” Kamiko mumbled. “Do you think Tiffany’s dead?”

“We can hope,” Romeo said.

A doorway at the end of the hall stood open a crack. I peeked inside, expecting to see Tiffany sprawled out on the bed, either dead or sleeping off her drunk. Nope, the room was empty.

The four of us crept inside. I closed the door and fumbled for the light switch. The room was beautiful. It must have been the master suite.

“This is nicer than most of the hotels I’ve stayed at,” Madison said.

Romeo flipped on the lights in the bathroom.

“OMG,” Kamiko said. “They have a bidet on their boat.”

“That bidet is bigger than my bathtub,” Madison said.

“My dorm doesn’t even have a bathtub,” Kamiko said longingly.

“Tiffany is scary rich,” Madison said. “You’d think she’d be less of a bitch with so much money, but I guess it doesn’t work that way.”

I stuck my head in the bathroom. “We should go, you guys. No one else is down here.”

Romeo turned and squeezed out of the bathroom first. “Would you look at that,” he said, staring at the large painting over the queen-sized bed. “It’s that painting of Tiff the Quiff.”

“The one Christos sold at Brandon’s gallery!” Kamiko blurted.

I’d totally forgotten about it. She hadn’t been kidding when she’d told us it was going in her yacht. The painting depicted Tiffany in a bikini, lounging beside the infinity pool behind her dad’s mansion. The night of Christos’ show, Tiffany had bragged that her dad had paid $25,000 for it.

Romeo stepped up onto the bed, heedless of the fact he still wore his shoes.

“What are you doing, Romeo?!” I gasped.

The bedspread bunched around his feet. “Whoops!” he said, giving the covers a wrinkling twist with his shoes.

“You know Tiff’s going to make the servants fix the bed,” Kamiko said dryly.

Romeo considered. “Maybe it will piss them off enough that they decide to poison her in her sleep.” He ran in place several strides, tearing the covers up.

“Get off the bed, Romeo,” Madison said.

He ignored her. “I always thought this painting needed a finishing touch. A final flourish, if you will.” He pulled a black marker out of his pocket.

“Where’d you get that?” I asked, worried.

“What, the pen? An artist is always prepared.” He uncapped the black marker and leaned toward the painting, one arm resting on top of the picture frame.

“Romeo,” I warned, “you should stop now.”

Kamiko and Madison were both wide-eyed, but no one seemed to be jumping in to save Tiffany’s painting. I couldn’t blame them.

“Don’t, Romeo!” I pleaded half-heartedly. Well, make that quarter-heartedly.

“Worry not, dearest Sam,” he said. “It’s water-soluble.”

“But what if it doesn’t come off?” I asked.

Kamiko suddenly went vicious. “Tiffany has been a total bitch to you all night, Sam. She was trying to claw your eyes out and throw you in the ocean. She totally deserves it,” Kamiko argued. “Do it Romeo,” she goaded, “Unless the meatballs between your legs have turned into cotton balls.”

Romeo was never one to be outdone in a comic standoff. “Very funny, Kamiko. I’m sure your gargantuan lady balls swing between your legs like a gorilla’s musty nutsack. Anyway, I don’t see the pen in your hand, Zorro.”

Kamiko parried, “You’re the Gay Blade around here, not me.”

There was a pregnant pause before Madison, Kamiko, and Romeo snickered their way into boozy belly laughs.

Wow, they were all drunk. This situation was now officially out of hand. I was surrounded by intoxicated idiots.

Romeo was about to resume his penmanship practice when I grabbed for his arm. He dodged clear, almost falling off the bed, but caught himself. “Careful, Sam, the artist is at work.” He tilted his head from side to side, examining the painting in preparation. “That Tiffany is such a total bitch—”

I couldn’t disagree with him there.

“—she’s like one of those train-track melodrama villains,” Romeo continued, “but Christos’ painting doesn’t quite capture that.” He leaned forward and drew a small, twisty black line.

“I don’t know Romeo, maybe this is too much,” I said nervously, certain we’d be caught. I reached for his arm again, but he shrugged me off.

“Wait,” he whined. “I need to get the twirliness just right.” Romeo squeezed his monocle into his eye socket. His tongue jutted from the corner of his mouth as he scrawled the other half of a mustache onto the painting of Tiffany’s face. “There. Perfect.” He stood back to admire his work and let his monocle swing free from its button-string.

“Oh my god, Romeo,” I said. I couldn’t decide if I was horrified or mortified, or maybe just a bit satisfied.

Tiffany had been a Bitch On High to me at every turn since day one. No matter what I did, she hammered me down with obvious delight. A little temporary water-soluble disfigurement of her treasured painting might do her some good. Remind her that she wasn’t permitted to walk through life hurting people, free from consequence. Maybe I’d been cutting her too much slack all along, and she needed a wake-up call.

“It captures her inner spirit, don’t you think?” Romeo asked joyfully.

I had to agree. Twirly-mustached Tiffany was definitely an improvement. “But it needs one more thing,” I said. I stepped onto the bed, took the marker from Romeo, and drew Where’s Waldo glasses on Tiffany. Wow, that felt really, really good. I smiled at my handiwork.

“That’s more like it!” Romeo cheered.

Madison and Kamiko chuckled.

I handed Romeo his pen and he capped it before shoving it in his pocket. He pulled his smart phone out of his other pocket and snapped a picture. “For posterity,” he smiled at me, “And my blog.”

He stepped carefully off the bed and helped me down. “I still can’t get over how fancy this yacht is,” he said. “It’s some kind of James Bond boat. I keep expecting Tiffany to strut in wearing a bikini, carrying a loaded harpoon gun like that Octopussy chick.”

“What’s an octopussy?” Madison giggled.

“Haven’t you seen that James Bond movie?” Romeo asked.

“No,” Madison answered.

“You mean Octiffany,” Kamiko suggested. “She totally has eight arms she uses to snare her unsuspecting prey and eat them alive with her toothy maw.”

I think watching Adventure Time all the time had finally gone to Kamiko’s brain in all the wrong ways.

Madison laughed. “Which maw?”

“Ewwww,” Romeo grimaced. “You girls are gah-ROSS! But, what I want to know is,” Romeo giggled in anticipation of his own joke, “does she squirt black ink from her pooter or her pooper?” In one motion, he whipped open the cabin door and turned to face us.

Kamiko’s mouth dropped open with a clank, totally unhinged.

Madison appeared to suddenly throw up in her mouth, but held it in because she had too good a manners to barf on someone else’s boat.

I goggled, fearing imminent execution. I think Madison, Kamiko, and myself were in too much shock to speak.

Tiffany stood in the hallway, a few paces behind Romeo, holding a drink in her hand.

How long had she been outside the door?

Romeo blundered blissfully forward, completely unaware of Tiffany’s presence. He stroked his chin thoughtfully, having missed our collective horror. “I’m going with an ink-shooting pooter, because you know that girl has a hollowed out vaj. Plenty of room for extra ink. And mice. Her stench trench has seen so much action, it must be like a wind tunnel in that thing. What do they call that subway tunnel from England to France?”

“The Chunnel,” Tiffany said stiffly from behind Romeo.

“That’s right, the Chunnel,” Romeo chuckled, completely lost in his own mirth. “Tiffany’s fun tunnel could accommodate a high-speed train. What the—!”

Tiffany’s drink dribbled over Romeo’s head.

“You’re ruining my hairdo!” Romeo squealed, flicking fingers across his coiffed faux-hawk. “What is wrong with you?”

“What is wrong with you, you nasty little man?!” Tiffany seethed victoriously. “You’re all wet now, Mr. Funnyman.”

Romeo narrowed his eyes at Tiffany. “I would never hit a lady,” he said threateningly. “Luckily, you aren’t a lady!” Tiffany flinched when he raised his open hand in a quick jerky motion, but he merely smoothed his wet hair against his scalp.

I repressed a disappointed sigh. I hoped sooner or later somebody would give Tiffany a good bitch slapping. It would have to wait.

With confident panache, Romeo sucked the dribbles of Tiffany’s drink from his fingertips. “Is that a mojito?” he asked thoughtfully. “It could use more mint. This simply won’t do.” He carefully removed the highball glass from Tiffany’s fingers. “Let me get you another.”

She was too stunned to object.

Romeo arched his eyebrow suavely. “I’ll speak with the bartender and have him mix a proper one for you. Shaken, not stirred.” He motioned toward Kamiko, “Miss Moneypenny, help me find Q. He’ll know the correct ratio of gassed water to rum, I think.” He gave Tiffany a cordial beauty-contest smile and squeezed past her, heading toward the stairs, Kamiko in tow.

Tiffany folded her arms across her chest and stared at me and Madison. “Your friend’s an ass.”

I grabbed Madison by the hand and we slid around Tiffany. “And that’s why we love him,” I said to Tiffany with a smile before heading upstairs.

On the main level, Romeo shook his head like a wet dog. Mojito droplets sprayed everywhere.

From downstairs, Tiffany’s voice shook the ship, “What did you assholes do to my painting?!!!!!”

“Take that, you twat-waffle,” Romeo muttered triumphantly. “Let’s go, ladies! Our work is done here!” Romeo said nervously.

But there was no place to go beyond that except the cold ocean.

Tiffany thudded up the staircase in her heels.

“I don’t know about you ladies,” Romeo whined, “but I’m swimming for shore before Tiffany Scissorhands snips my balls off!”

Chapter 5

CHRISTOS

Tiffany raged like a banshee in the main cabin.

I would’ve been surprised by her behavior, but I knew her better. Tantrums were par for her course.

Even when you knew it was nothing but theatrics, girl screeching grated on the nerves.

Brandon happened to be standing next to me the moment Tiffany’s temper had gone thermonuclear. “What is it this time?” he scoffed.

“She probably found out the bartender is making rum and cokes with generic cola instead of the brand name stuff,” I joked.

“Yeah,” Brandon chuckled.

“Where is that bitch!” Tiffany screeched. “She ruined my painting!”

Brandon stuck his pinky in his ear, wincing. “Did you bring earplugs?”

I laughed. “Sorry, bro.”

“Maybe we should find out what’s wrong, and try to soothe this savage beast.”

“Be my guest,” I said. If I’d learned one thing over the years, it was that Tiffany was never worth the trouble.

“Hey, I’m thinking of everyone else,” Brandon said, patting me on the shoulder. “This is hardly what I’d call a joyous atmosphere. Care to give me a hand?”

“If you insist.” I followed Brandon over to where Tiffany stood surrounded by her sorority entourage.

“I can’t believe what she did!” Tiffany whined.

Her sorority girlfriends hovered around her protectively and nodded mechanically.

Brandon gave me a hesitant look. We both knew I had always been better at talking Tiffany off the ledge.

“What’s wrong this time, Tiffany?” I asked with a blend of friendly compassion and parental amusement. I wanted to send her a signal that her childish behavior was off the scale.

“Your girlfriend ruined my painting!”

“What are you talking about?” That didn’t sound even close to possible.

“You don’t believe me,” she accused. “Fine, I’ll show you.” She took a step forward and stumbled over one of her friends. “Move it!” Tiffany snarled, kicking past her.

The young woman slunk away, eyes bulging in terror.

Tiffany marched downstairs, surprisingly steady on her feet for how much I knew she’d drunk since the New Year’s countdown earlier.

I followed, Brandon behind me. We ended up in the master suite of her yacht. It was her dad’s cabin. I’d hung my portrait of her in this very room myself, several weeks ago, when she’d told me about tonight’s New Year’s Cruise. I’d taken the opportunity to invite myself and some “friends” without telling Tiffany who I planned to bring. I’m sure it irritated the shit out of her to no end that I’d brought Samantha.

Good.

I believed Tiffany would mature as a person if she were forced to deal with more obstacles in her life than she had thus far. Especially recently. She’d become dangerously entitled in the last couple years.

“Look at it!” Tiffany screeched at the painting. “It’s ruined!”

“What?” I wasn’t getting it.

“My painting!”

I always cringed when she called it her painting, like she’d done the work herself. “Am I missing something?”

Brandon chuckled, but covered his flashy smile by stroking his mouth with his hand.

“Shut up, Brandon!” Tiffany roared.

Then I saw it.

I had to hold my breath and clamp my jaw shut. If I tried to breathe, I was going to bust a gut laughing. I’m pretty sure I’d turned red.

“It’s not funny, Christos,” Tiffany pouted.

I snickered, “It kind of is.”

A wheezy chuckle broke from Brandon.

Tiffany glared at him.

“Sorry,” he laughed, “sorry.” He turned away politely, trying to get a grip on himself.

I was grinning ear to ear. “The technique is flawless. I didn’t even notice it at first. Blends in perfectly with my oils.” Had Samantha done this? Man, I sure hoped so. Someone needed to knock Tiff down a notch.

Tiffany gave me a pouting, pleading look. The momentum had turned against her. She knew she’d dulled her Angry Sword from overuse, so she switched weapons. That girl could drum up tears faster than a baby. It was amazing to watch her in action, but I knew better.

“It’s ruined,” she sobbed. “My painting is ruined!”

I gave her a gimme-a-break eye roll that I’d used on her a thousand times over the years.

It didn’t help.

Nothing would, until Tiffany somehow got her way.

“Hey,” Samantha said from the doorway.

Romeo, Kamiko, Madison, and just about everyone else on board stood behind them.

Great, now Tiffany had an audience. I couldn’t escape the feeling she’d orchestrated this entire scene. Maybe she had defaced the painting herself, just to get my attention.

I gave Samantha a look and silently mouthed the words, “Did you do this?”

A guilty looked strained Samantha’s face. I smiled a big grin at her and nodded approval behind Tiffany’s back.

Then I noticed Romeo biting his lower lip. He looked guilty as fuck, too. I liked the guy better and better.

“I’m sorry,” Romeo apologized. “It was my fault.”

Tiffany snarled at him, but I detected a hint of disappointment in her eyes. Like she wanted it to be Samantha.

Romeo pulled a marker out of his pocket and held it up.

Yeah, Tiffany’s disappointment was obvious. She was such a drama queen.

“I did it too,” Samantha said.

Tiffany’s eyes shot wide. “You what?!” She lunged at Samantha, but I grabbed her, holding her back.

“It’s water-based ink!” Romeo hollered defensively. “It should come right off!”

Tiffany lunged again, but I had a good grip on her. “Easy, Tiff. Don’t get ahead of yourself.” To Romeo, I said, “Let me see that pen.”

He handed it to me. I read the label. I’d used these pens before. They totally came off.

Tiffany was shaking with fury. I still had one hand clamped around her arm.

“Calm down, Tiffany,” I encouraged. “The painting is sealed with varnish. It’ll be fine.” To Brandon, “Hold her for me, would you?” I said, referring to Tiffany.

He put a comforting hand on her shoulder, but that was it. With any luck, she wouldn’t pounce at Samantha like a jungle cat the moment I turned my back.

 I slid my boots off and carefully stepped onto the bed. I licked my thumb and rubbed at the mustache. The water soluble ink instantly smeared. “See? It totally comes off. Someone get some tissues and a glass of water. I’ll clean it up right now.”

“I’ll get it,” Romeo said, guilt tinging his voice. He squeezed past several people into the cabin’s bathroom and returned a minute later with a glass of water and toilet tissue.

“Thanks, man,” I said.

For whatever reason, maybe because all eyes were not on her, Tiffany started bawling again. One of her leggy minions ran to her. “It’s okay, Tiffany.” She wrapped her arms around Tiffany.

Tiffany fell into the embrace and wept like an alligator. I knew she was still totally pissed at Samantha, but I also sensed she had other plans brewing behind her false bawling. Tiffany always had other plans.

Romeo flashed a nervous smile and stepped away while I went to work. I dipped, dabbed, and wiped with the wet tissue. In a minute, the painting was spotless. “See, Tiffany? It’s fine.”

She pursed her lips while she removed her heels. She climbed onto the bed and huffed. Hands on hips, she leaned toward the painting, her nose inches from the canvas. “I can still see black ink.”

“Where?” I asked skeptically. I hadn’t missed any.

“Here!” She stabbed her finger toward the painting.

I leaned forward, and wiped at it, just in case.

“It’s still there!” she cried, pointing dramatically, as if identifying a suspected murderer in the courtroom.

“What?” I peered closely. “That’s nothing, Tiffany. It’s just a shadow from the brushwork, beneath the varnish.”

“No, it’s not!” She had no idea what she was talking about.

“Yes. It is. I remember painting it.” I stepped calmly off the bed and stood with my hands resting casually on my hips.

Tiffany looked around at everyone.

Nobody seemed very sympathetic, from what I could tell.

Tiffany knew she was losing her audience. “It’s not okay!” she stomped once, still on top of the bed like it was her own personal pulpit, then folded her arms across her chest defiantly. “And I want my money back!”

Brandon flashed me a worried look.

“This simply won’t do!” Tiffany huffed. “I’m telling Daddy first thing in the morning! How do you think he’ll react, Brandon, when he finds out there’s graffiti all over my painting? Hmmm? It’s ruined!” Barefoot, she stomped off the bed and out of the cabin.

I sat down on the mattress and slid my boots on, one at a time. Time for a fight. Too bad it wasn’t the easy kind, with knuckles and knees.

This was turning into a royal pain in my ass.

CHRISTOS

“We should deal with this,” Brandon said in front of everybody, “before it gets any worse.”

“You sure you don’t want to let her cool off,” I suggested. “She’s still loaded. Maybe you can smooth-talk her tomorrow.”

“I’d like to spend my New Year’s day doing something other than handling fallout from Tiffany’s asinine antics.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“Excuse me, everyone,” Brandon said as he squirmed through the gawking crowd.

He followed Tiffany up the stairs. “Tiffany, wait!”

I raised my eyebrows at Samantha. “Sorry. Duty calls.”

Samantha gave a compassionate sigh. “I’m so sorry Christos. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Me too,” Romeo moped. “I’m totally sorry, C-Man.”

“Doesn’t bother me,” I smiled. “The painting is fine. Tiffany needs a reality check now and then. Too bad she gets less than one a decade. I owe you guys.”

“You sure?” Samantha asked plaintively.

I could tell she felt terrible. “Don’t worry, agápi mou,” I reassured. “No sense letting the drama llama ruin your evening any more than she already has.”

“She does kind of look like a llama,” Romeo said thoughtfully.

Samantha struggled not to smile too widely in front of Tiffany’s remaining sorority friends.

“All right,” I said, “I’ll be upstairs with Brandon, tending to Bitching Beauty.”

When I went upstairs and saw Tiffany talking to Brandon in the living room portion of the main cabin, she took one look at me and bee-lined out to the back deck.

Brandon followed her.

I sighed. I knew this game. She played it all the time. The “follow me” game. I trudged out to the back deck, but she left Brandon and continued around the walkway to the bow of the ship.

“I think it’s yours from here,” Brandon said sympathetically. “My attempts to placate her were met with resolute pouting.”

“Great. Fine, I’ll see what I can do.”

I strolled around to the front of the ship.

Tiffany stood with her back to me, arms folded. I could tell she was fuming because she hadn’t gotten her way.

I paused for a moment, shaking my head. This girl was a woman-sized baby. Her dad had made her into so much of a princess, demanding things was the only way she knew how to operate.

“Tiffany, the painting’s fine.”

She whipped around to face me. “No it’s not Christos. Nothing’s fine. Your girlfriend is ruining everything.”

What the hell was she talking about? “Nothing’s ruined, Tiffany.”

She looked up at me, her eyes soft, her lips full. Her hair fluttered in the ocean breeze. On an objective level, Tiffany was truly gorgeous. Anyone who said otherwise was in denial.

I knew from years of experience that her beauty was a dangerous lure. She loved to use it on me more than anyone else in her life. She’d almost reeled me in a hundred times over the years with that same angelic look, but I knew well the devil that waited in her darkness. Because of that, no matter how much of a wreck my life had been at any given point, I’d always managed to break free of her grasp just in time, right before she could swallow me whole and no doubt shit me out the other end when she got bored.

Luckily for me, I’d become permanently immune to her gamesmanship the second Samantha had walked into my life.

“Tiffany…”

“Yes, Christos?” she asked hopefully.

“…don’t.”

“Don’t what?” she played innocent ignorance perfectly. Gazing up at me from beneath her delicate brow and flawlessly shaped eyebrows, she coquettishly caressed my arm with her fingertip.

“Don’t play me.” I yanked my arm away.

The beauty on her face was replaced by pragmatic frustration. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.”

I waited her out.

“I don’t care about the painting, Christos. I never have. It’s you I want.”

I sighed. “I’m off the table, Tiffany. If you want, I can take the painting back to my studio and go over it with a microscope.”

She cocked her hip to one side and planted a defiant fist on it. Her nose tilted up commandingly. “Not good enough. Either you get rid of that Floozy Footstool you’re dating, or I want a new painting.”

I cocked an eyebrow at her. “Leave Samantha out of this. Your painting will be fine, Tiffany. You’re over-reacting.”

“No!” she pouted. “The painting is worthless! I won’t accept it!”

Now I was irritated. “You want me to redo it? Whatever. I’ll take this one home and knock out a copy in a few days. Then you can have two. Put one in your private jet, or where the fuck ever.”

Changing tactics, she smiled hopefully, “But we had so much fun doing that painting together.”

“You had fun, Tiff.”

“I thought you had fun too,” Tiffany mused.

“You’re kidding, right? I let you micro-manage that painting as a favor to you and your dad. Remember how many times you changed your swimsuit?”

“I wanted to pick the perfect suit. Can you blame a girl for wanting to look her best?”

“Uh-huh,” I said sarcastically. “Remember how many comments you made like, ‘Don’t make my thighs look fat,’ and ‘Show more cleavage,’ and ‘My waist is slimmer than that.’ Remember all that?”

She looked guilty as hell. “Maybe.” Denial.

“Don’t play dumb, Tiff. You may as well have painted it yourself, for all the artistic input I had. I’ll do a copy for you, from the original, if you really want it. But I won’t pose you again.”

She looked slightly chastised, a rare thing. For a moment, she chewed on her lip, unsure what to do. Then, in a little girl voice, she said, “Christos, I really just want you to paint me nude again. Then we won’t have to worry about the swimsuit,” she murmured sensually.

I didn’t like the way she said “we.”

The previous nude of her was the one I’d been finishing up when I’d started mentoring Samantha. I remembered working on it clearly. Every time I’d give Tiffany a break from posing, she’d flirt like crazy, giving me the come-hither bedroom eyes, leaning her exposed breasts into me fifty times a minute. Normally, artists’ models would put on a robe between poses and take some time to themselves. Not Tiffany. She was naked the entire time, and followed me all over my studio, hanging off me like an out-of-work prostitute.

“And I promise,” she said breathily, “no micro-managing. I’ll do whatever you say,” she winked suggestively. “Just you and me in your studio, like last time. I’ll pay for it. Fifty thousand cash, up front. Straight to you, no gallery commission to Brandon.”

She wasn’t trying to buy a painting, she was trying to buy me. “You’re nuts, woman,” I scoffed.

“But it was so romantic. You and me in your studio, the artist and his muse.”

“You’re not my muse, Tiff.”

“But I could be, again. If you let me,” she said demurely.

“You never were. Sorry.”

“Please, Christos?” she begged, reaching out to me again.

“No, Tiffany.”

“No, what?” Brandon asked. Where the fuck had he come from? It didn’t matter. I was happy for the reinforcement.

“Christos refuses to paint me again,” Tiffany whined.

“No,” I corrected, “I’m happy to do a copy of the poolside portrait for her.”

“So what’s the problem?” Brandon asked.

Sensing defeat, Tiffany struggled with herself. Her face contorted angrily. “The pool painting is ruined!” She stomped her feet on the deck of the yacht.

Welcome to Tantrum Town, population one.

“Okay,” Brandon soothed. “Christos already said he’d paint another one.”

“That’s not good enough!” she shouted.

Brandon suddenly looked squeamish, and for a second, slightly sniveling. He was unsure how to proceed.