Not on your life, preciosa. Snorting, I open the stainless-steel refrigerator for a bottle of orange juice to create the cocktail. “You love your control.”
“Love isn’t necessary. Control is... a hot commodity.”
Once I have her drink ready, I place a straw in the highball glass and hand it over.
“Take a couple of sips of this, Essence. Let me know if it’s better than the one from the lounge.”
“I hardly finished my drink, remember?” she mutters, then wraps her lips around the straw. “Mmmm. More alcohol, but I doubt you’re trying to get me drunk. It’s adequate.”
I turn on the music, knockback a triple shot, and watch Essence sway and sip her drink.
I step up to her, allowing my knuckles to stroke the curve of her tit through the silk. “Preciosa, you may undress and...” Essence’s heartbeat quickens at my command. She shivers as I conclude, “Tell me why you don’t paint. Or you may remain in your clothes while proceeding with the story of why you no longer paint.”
Chapter 9
Antonio
Here’s the moment of truth.
Any instance she’s questioned me, I’ve been open.
Will she finally return the favor?
“Well, it wasn’t lack of passion.” Essence settles onto a stool near the massive windows. Her lips wrap around the straw, and I tell my cock to behave, that this is about her now.
She licks her lips and then smiles. “At the age of five, cheap cartons of crayons did nothing for me.”
My mouth tips in appreciation of the imagery.
“I attended the Art Institute in Chicago. Caught the eye of Gustavo Lara during a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Hundreds of graduates applied that year.”
I kneel down, remove Essence’s sandals and massage her feet while muttering, “Gustavo Lara. His name precedes him, I guess.” I hide the malice charging through my veins. That’s the pinche cabrón! My fingertips work deftly at kneading her insoles, and I’m internally calculating how to get to Gustavo.
“You guess?” Essence jerks in her seat. “Anton—ahem, Manny. He has millions of million-dollar paintings. You have one.”
I sit back on my haunches. I don’t even need to inquire further. Gustavo is now my target.
“Oh, that came out all wrong, Manny.” Her eyes bite shut as she groans. A further apology hangs in the air. “I’m bad at this. I wasn’t saying your art is worth any less than his.”
“I’m not offended, preciosa. Even my shit paintings are priceless. I parted ways with a painting—”
“For 1.4 million,” she gasps. “That’s a dream come true, and I’ve been preconditioned to sound like an asshole. I’m sorry. Now, you have an amazing deal with Baroque—”
“Stop it. What I sold wasn’t a 1.4-million-dollar painting, preciosa. It’s irreplaceable. They all are. Nonetheless, not my best work. So, I parted ways with it. Last week, I’d have said this is my best work.” I gesture around the room. “Anyway, I’ve more to say on that. But only after you finish your story.” I cock a brow. “I see how comfortable you were with the change in subject. Preciosa, I’m fully invested in you. Tell me, why you don’t paint?”
“Because! Of Gustavo!” For the first time since we had connected by creating our own current in the tub, Essence glances away. Desperation and fear color her brown irises. Then she looks me in the eye, but the distance between us has returned. “I was 20 something. The all-powerful Gustavo Lara stole my work.”
“Did I mention I own a private plane?” I jokingly ask.
“No...” Arched eyebrows draw in confusion.
“I’ll get Gustavo’s number.” Benedict must have it. “We’ll meet the pendejo wherever he is and get back your paintings.” I’ll bash his face in. Done deal.
“I said all-powerful.” Essence laughs pathetically.
I lean back, mildly amused, while my fingertips firmly trail over her heel. “Is Gustavo Lara a god?”
“In the art world, yes!” Essence reaches over and steals my double shot. After knocking back the tequila, she moans, “Dance with me, Manny. Get my mind off this, or I’m going home.”
Dark insinuation hangs in the air. Damn it! She has all the fucking power here. I nod slowly and acknowledge the bright side. “A few minutes ago, we changed the subject, but fortunately, you finished sharing with me. Thank you.”
The tension ebbs into Essence’s tone. “Manny, please. Hate me for being petty, but dance or I’ll go. I brought my passport. I will leave by any means.”
Essence has sought terribly for control; I ignore her request. “Like I said, I assumed my best work was here and already complete.”
“Man—”
I frame her face in my hands, declaring, “But then I set eyes on you. Essence, I realize my best work has yet to be completed.”
She melts in my arms, and so I push through, fighting for my preciosa in ways she hasn’t allowed me in our short relationship. “Paint with me?”
Tiny palms press my chest, pushing me away. “I’m not in the mood.”