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Noah
I sat in front of the canvas with a splotch of blue on a brush. I was staring at the canvas. For the last hour I've been staring at it. I had enough inspiration to work with, but I didn't know where to begin. The gallery is closed most days unless we have auctions, exhibitions, or classes but since I sell most of my pieces privately these days there were no distractions stopping me.
Ophelia sat beside me, resting her hand on my upper thigh suggestively.
"I don't mind staying the night." She tried to infuse. She didn't get that it was only a one night stand all those weeks ago.
"No, my new assistant is coming to the studio this afternoon. You can take the rest of the afternoon off." She pouted and stood up gathering her things to leave. I heard the front door open and close. Moments later I heard the doorbell chime announcing Grace was here.
I still had her note in the inside pocket of my jacket.
I could feel the anger begin to flare through me.
I placed the brush down and jogged down the steps. She stood at the door swaying from one foot to the other awkwardly.
"Hello." She offered a low wave and shifted her gaze away.
"My studio is upstairs- that's where you'll be working." She sighed and made her way up the steps. I locked the door and placed the closed sign in the window.
My studio wasn't much, it was a big open floor space and had two big tables that were pushed together in the middle of the room arranged with different chairs. The easel I was currently working on stood askew to the large window facing the café on the corner of the street. There were stacks of canvases lining the one wall and a green door that led to the very messy storage room. In the other corner of the room there was a country style sink with glass jars that I let my brushes soak in. The walls were painted in white with a dark toned oak floor and the ceiling had exposed rafters.
I stood beside her as she gazed at the room suspiciously.
I studied her. Her brown hair was tied into a messy bun atop her head and she wore blue jeans and boots with a dark hoodie. She wasn’t much to look at. Such a shame.
She followed me as I opened the door to the storage room. The door stuck a little, so I had to force it open. With a crack, the door opened, and a cloud of dust rose out of the room. the room was lit with a single dim light that hasn't been changed in years. The small ventilation window was packed with dust as the light tried to stream in. The piles of paints, magazine cut-outs, brushes, cloths and other tools stared back at her.
Like I said, I was going to make her pay one way or another and, in my books, this isn't that bad.
"Your first task is going to be cleaning this room, it needs to be organized.”
"Are you kidding me?" She scowled at me and a red glow surrounded her face, "You can't be serious; some of these things must date back to the prehistoric era."
"If you get this cleaned then maybe you can find out."
"Thank god this is just for a few months." She muttered under her breath.
"Who said it's just for a few months? It could even be a year." I asked raising my brow.
"Well, I calculated the hours I'm going to be working for you and the average wage. That equalled the same amount as the painting. You can't keep me working for you then." She crossed her arms over her chest defiantly. We’ll just see about that.
She wouldn't let this fight go that’s for sure. From the few encounters I’ve had with her, her stubborn streak was all too evident.
"You haven't even started, so I suggest you do." I heard her cuss under her breath as I walked back to my easel.
I picked up the almost dried brush again and started with a blue line, letting my brush slide from side to side, every now and then changing a colour. I could feel the inspiration inside me begin to bubble into each brush stroke. Maybe I was right- having Grace here would fuel my inspiration.
About an hour later I saw Grace with dusty paint bottles stacked in her arms heading to the sink. Her hair was covered in dust spots and her hoodie had blotches of paint stained on it. I eyed her behind my easel as she walked to the sink and with a loud clang placed the bottles in it.
I stood up and with a last glance at my work placed my brush in the jar. She eyed me from the side and then started to rinse the bottles. The previously dusty bottles revealed old paint that I didn't need anymore. "You can throw all of them away," I chimed; she looked me in the eye and glared at me. She took the wet bottles and gratingly threw them in the trash.
Getting her as angry as she had me is utterly satisfying.
Grace
It felt like I had been working forever when I looked at my watch and saw it was time to go. When I left the apartment this afternoon, Harper asked where I was going. Of course I lied. She figured out I was lying almost immediately but came to the very unforeseen conclusion that I had a guy waiting for me. That was partly right so I didn't correct her.
I wiped some of the dust from my jeans and patted my hair. This is not considered torture so I couldn't complain. As I walked to the sink for the fifth time to rinse out some jars, I saw a part of Noah’s new painting. He was working on a pair of eyes and an outline of a face. I found it strange that he didn't do the charcoal outline first since Harper says she always does it first to make sure she gets the right shape.
It kills me to admit this, but I had to say that he had skills.
I was not even close to done with the storage, but I had a few months. I might as well take my time.
I closed the door behind me with a clang; he looked up from his seat. He had his hand in his hair with his eyes focussed on the canvas. I sneaked to the stairs and then rushed to the door, but when I got there it was locked.
So much for a smooth exit.
I sighed and then paced back up, stopping at the landing. I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. I got it out and saw that it was a text from my father announcing my brother's plane has just landed. This meant that tomorrow I had to go home to support him; my father would not have to tell him about her alone.
I could feel the blood drain from my face. I let out a deep breath shifting my gaze up to the pair of green eyes that were studying me inquisitively. He didn't have a smug smile on his face. Instead, he had a deep frown form between his brows.
"Uhm I need the keys." He stood up from his chair and searched in his pocket for the key. He made his way to me, for a split second his eyes scanned over my face.
"Are you okay?"
"If I told you would you care?" The snide question caught him off guard. He handed me the keys. I turned on my heels jogged down the stairs and unlocked the door, leaving the keys on the table. The answer, of course, would be that he didn't care.
For the next few days, I wouldn't have to worry about him; I had other things to worry about.