Devon Hartford - Reckless

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.

I stifled a chuckle. Yes, Tiffany could ruffle even Brandon’s unshakable feathers.

“So what would you like, Tiffany?” Brandon asked calmly, having regained his composure.

“I want Christos to pose me for a new poolside painting.”

I’d had it with her manipulations. “Has she paid you yet, Brandon?” I asked. I still didn’t have all of the money from my show, which meant not every buyer had cut a check to the gallery, which was normal.

Brandon chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” Tiffany hissed.

“Why no, Tiffany’s father still hasn’t issued a payment,” Brandon said, a bemused grin stretching over his perfect teeth.

That was news to me. I’d hoped the Kingston-Whitehouse check might be one of the first to come in, considering how long my family had known theirs. Why wasn’t I surprised? Oh yeah, it was the Kingston-Whitehouses.

“Slow pay, huh?” I grunted, looking at Brandon. “It’s been almost two months, Tiffany. You took possession of the painting, and your dad still hasn’t cut a check? Come on. At this point, it’s not even yours. Your dad having money troubles?” I jabbed.

Tiffany frowned.

“No deal,” I said, a tinge of irritation breaking through my voice. “Keep the painting, Tiff. It’s on the house.” I glanced at Brandon.

He nodded, smiling furtively at me. We both knew with all the recent interest in my art, we had far bigger fish to fry than the Kingston-Whitehouses.

“But it’s ruined!” Tiffany shouted.

“Throw it over the side of the boat, for all I care,” I growled. I’d always hated that painting anyway. It was nothing more than hack-work for the all-time, ultimate, pain-in-my-ass client.

I’d already wasted enough time on Tiffany. I turned on my heel and went looking for Samantha.

I just hoped that Tiffany and her family wouldn’t bite me in the ass in the coming weeks, because they were sharks and always struck the second you weren’t looking.

Fucking Tiffany.

My New Year was already looking like a disaster, and I was less than three hours into it.

Could it get any worse?

CHRISTOS

The yacht arrived back in the harbor several hours after midnight.

Everyone on board was tired, buzzed, or completely asleep on one of the yacht’s many cushioned surfaces when the crewmen moored the boat to the docks.

Tiffany hid in her cabin while people disembarked. I think she wanted to avoid me after our discussion.

Samantha and Madison had their arms around Kamiko as they led her along the docks. She was still somewhat hammered. Brandon joined them to help with Kamiko.

Romeo walked over to me and Jake as the seven of us ambled toward the parking lot.

“Christos,” Romeo pleaded earnestly, “I’m so sorry about Tiffany’s painting. None of it was Sam’s idea, it was all mine. I drank too much and Tiffany was being a class-A bitch to Sam. I couldn’t help myself.”

“Dude, no worries.” I clapped him on the shoulder. “You were standing up for my girlfriend. How can I hold that against you?”

“Thanks, C-man,” Romeo said, but he still sounded distraught. “You got all the ink off, right?”

“Yeah. I covered that painting with some old-school Renaissance varnish before I sold it. That shit is bulletproof. It’s as good as new.”

“Are you sure?” Romeo obviously felt terrible.

I didn’t feel like explaining that the painting was now a total write-off because Tiffany was insane and her dad had never paid. I really didn’t care, but it probably would’ve bummed Romeo out to know. “Seriously, dude. It’s fine.”

“Thank you, C-man.” Romeo gave me a fist bump.

“Whoa!” Samantha cried.

Me and Romeo turned around to see what the fuss was.

Kamiko was having difficulty walking, even with Madison and Samantha helping.

I immediately went to help, but before I got there, Brandon swept Kamiko up into his arms and carried her. Compared to him, she looked like a small child.

“Don’t puke on him, Kamiko,” Romeo warned.

“It’s okay,” Brandon said confidently. “I think she’ll be fine.”

“Okay, puke away!” Romeo joked tiredly. It had been a long night for everyone.

When we got to my car, Samantha offered to sit in the back so Kamiko could have easy access to the window in an emergency.

“You don’t have a barf-bag in the glove box, do you?” Samantha asked.

“No,” I smiled.

After we all climbed in, Brandon gently lowered Kamiko into the front seat.

“Look at her love eyes,” Romeo snickered.

Brandon looked slightly embarrassed. I couldn’t tell if he was into Kamiko or not. He was usually inscrutable when it came to the ladies, with the exception of Samantha, where he’d made himself crystal clear from the start. Who knows, maybe Kamiko would grow on him. She was pretty damn cute.

“Good night, everybody,” Brandon said. “And happy New Year!” He slapped the roof of my Camaro as we drove off.

I smirked to myself.

If this year was going to be a happy one, I was going to need all the help I could get.

SAMANTHA