She huffed, but said nothing.
Dustin decided to needle her a bit, like a kid poking a caged tiger. “And besides, I’m enjoying this. Despite the fact that you clearly wish I would disappear.”
Chantelle rolled her eyes in response.
He stifled a grin.
“You’re a stubborn ass,” she announced. “You know that, right?”
“I’ve been told that so many times I’m half sure my kids will have it engraved on my tombstone.”
At the mention of the word ‘kids’, his eyes drifted to her still-flat belly and then slid away.
She protectively brought her hands down to cover her tummy. “You’re going to keep out of my way,” she reminded him for the Nth time. So often that he didn’t even respond anymore.
“First, I’ve booked an Airbnb, so I won’t darken your doorstep, if that’s what you’re afraid of. Second, I’m going to be busy at the convention,” he revealed. “Believe it or not, my trip will not be consumed by you, following you around to your pedis or… hair things… or… whatever you plan on doing.”
“I plan on working, as I do every day. I didn’t get to the place I am now, as CEO, by—”
“By lazing around doing eff-all,” he finished for her. “You’ve said that. Repeatedly.”
Quiet, and then, “You’re passionate about your craft. Your eyes light up every time you mention the convention or tattoos for that matter.”
He smiled. “I’ve wanted to be a tattoo artist for as long as I could remember. Well, no. I wanted to be the next Madame Tussaud.”
She didn’t hold in her mirth at his last comment. And seeing her in such high spirits, knowing he was the cause, made him join in on her laughter.
When her laughter subsided, she asked, “You’re a sculptor as well as a tattooist? Her eyes gleamed with amusement. And he thought that he had never before seen a more radiant picture.
“I wouldn’t call myself a sculptor, but I dabbled as a teen before tattooing stole my fancy.”
“How so?”
“I’d always liked graffiti and comic art but never thought of it beyond enjoying other’s work. When I was fifteen, I went into a tattoo shop and it’s like an entire new world had been opened for me. A world where I could partake in something I enjoyed. I started my apprenticeship at eighteen at a local shop, though my dad insisted I go to college and graduate.”
“Oh.” She looked almost taken aback.
“What?” he mocked. “Surprised that as an artist I didn’t pick up a tattoo gun second hand at a pawn shop, learn to give tattoos from YouTube videos, and open up a hole in the wall? There are people who value their craft, you know. Even if they aren’t members of the high-flying world of finance.”
“I am not a snob,” she bristled.
“Could have fooled me,” he muttered. “Sometimes your self-importance rolls off you in waves, pummeling everyone in sight—”
“Oh, first I was uptight, and now I’m self-important?” she answered hotly. “Has it occurred to you that your assessment just might have something to do with the fact that I’m a woman? Because I’m willing to bet that if I was a guy, those adjectives would be more along the lines ofparticularorbusinesslikeorconfident.”
She’s right,he thought. But before he could apologize, an attendant in burgundy livery arrived to announce that their dinner orders were about to be served, and bringing with him a tray of drinks, which he placed next to each recliner.
The menu they’d been presented with the day before the flight was extensive. And as Dustin ticked off his preferences, he was amazed by the details of the life of the rich that never crossed anyone else’s mind. Like the ability to ensure that fresh-caught ocean salmon would be prepped and on board, awaiting their departure. The last time he’d flown, he’d survived for hours on pretzels and sodas.
The meal arrived, and they lapsed into a sullen silence. Dustin felt bad for having annoyed her, even though it had been deliberate, a childish attempt to get a rise out of her. “I’ve been to France once before, you know,” he said, by way of peace offering.
She paused, her spoon full of consommé halfway to her lips. He’d noted she hadn’t ordered anything heavy.
“Really?” she said.
“With my mom and dad. We spent a few weeks in the summer down on the coast of Bretagne. I spent so much time sketching and painting. I think that was the year I first decided I wanted to be an artist.”
She was watching him intently, listening.