His only Grace (Sample)

2. Agreements to disagree

Noah

The last of the people left the exhibition as I muffled goodbyes. Thanks to that girl my centerpiece has been destroyed.

I bent down and took the shreds of the canvas between my fingers, rubbing them together over the fabric. If she thinks that I'd let myself get threatened so easily she has got another thing coming. I only let it go because of the paparazzi here. I gritted my teeth together standing up and threw the piece onto the pile of rubbish that was supposed to be my piece de resistance.

Ophelia, my gallery manager, came down the steps from the studio, she walked towards me resting her hand on my bicep flirtatiously.

"Should I clean this up?"

"No, no it can wait until tomorrow. Can you get me the guest list and then lock up?" She nodded and with her heels clicking away on the marble I felt a new surge of anger pulse through me.

She came back and handed me the list, with that I got on my bike and sped towards my house.

 I pulled the list out of the jacket pocket and sat down on the cream-colored leather couch.

I scanned through the names on the list, trying to figure out who that girl was since she never introduced herself.

I stopped at the two unknown names, Harper Andrews and Grace Harris. I remember the redhead called that girl Grace before they rushed out of the gallery. Well, Grace Harris, I'm going to get my money back one way or another.

At the gallery the next day I got in early so that I could clean up after last night and get to work on a new painting, last night I was dreaming of that girl hurling through my painting over and over again in slow motion. That gave me an idea, hatred. I wondered if I could depict pure and utter hate.

So I decided to try, just as I was about to sit down and rolled up my shirt sleeves, dipping the brush into the acrylic paint, I heard the gallery's doorbell ring. I bolted up from annoyance and paced down to the stairs.

I walked down the steps but stopped mid-step when I saw that girl from last night. Grace.

Grace

The morning after the unfortunate incident I was awake at the crack of dawn since Harper decided that she'd have a little singing competition with her showerhead and howl the whole neighborhood awake before seven.

The more I tried to cover my ears with the pillow and yell at her to shut up, the louder she sang.

My ankle felt a whole lot better thanks to having it wrapped the whole night. It wasn't sprained after all, just bruised.

I decided to get dressed and escape the apartment as soon as humanly possible- there was just something to Harper's second verse of Phantom of the Opera that made me want to run.

I  had to go and fix my mistake of last night, I couldn't just hope and pray he wouldn't find me because I'm pretty sure a man like he would be able to with a snap of his fingers. When we got home last night I sat up reading about him and his works. There were articles on him and celebrity gossip that said he just got out of an engagement and that it wasn't pretty. 

The more I read up on him the more I found out that he was far from understanding thus what last night and the now bright purple bruise- he would not let it go like he wouldn't let go of my arm.

I realized that besides me bruising easily that if I didn't try to barter with him that he would most likely sue me or from what I've read - do unspeakable harm to me. He was more than capable.

Some days I wish I was not this clumsy.

I had no idea how I'd be able to pay him back but we had to work out something before it comes back to bite me in the ass. I awkwardly rang the bell at the art gallery since the door was locked, silently hoping that no one would be here and I'd have a reason not to see him.

I heard something and turned to see him standing on the steps just staring at the door.

I'm about to be ripped a new one.

He continued walking down the steps and eventually opened the door.

"Did you come to pay me for your accident?" I scoffed and lowered my gaze.

"I can't afford it, but I would like to pay you back one way or another." I realized a second after I said that that it sounded very sleazy at best.

"There's nothing you have that I would be interested in having." He raised his eyebrow after letting his eyes slide over my physique; he turned around but then turned back to me half as if he just realized something.

"There is one way you could pay me back ."

"And that would be?"

"I'm painting my personal version of hate, can you guess who is the muse?" I had to fight the urge to not roll my eyes.

"How is that going to help me pay you off?"

"The only way for you to pay me off is to work as my assistant, to be around when I paint to fuel my inspiration so that I can try to make my money back."

"No." There was no way in hell that I'm working with this prick. There was a 100% chance that he'd use that position to torture me for what happened, he'd make my life a personal hell.

"No? You know there is no other way for you to pay me unless you come up with the money?" I sighed, I didn't have a choice at all. Harper is going to have a field day with this. I tugged at my hoodie, so I have to sell my soul to the devil and it has to be this one.

"Fine." He crossed his arms over his chest.

"And you are not going to tell a soul about this, okay?" This however could turn into some fun and games I have to admit-oh dear Noah you are going to meet your match.

"I see here we are making conditions up as we go, only if I don't have to deal with you using this to torture me-and you will not sue me later on." A mischievous chuckle escaped his lips before pressing them back into a thin line, he simply nodded. With a glare, he said that I should come by every afternoon around six from Monday and then slammed the door in my face shut.

I had no idea how long I'd have to work for him to pay off that much.

I don't even want to think about it.

I had other things to worry about, besides the finals. I also had to worry about my brother coming home soon, because we couldn't get in contact with him for the last month to tell him about Sarah, his fiancé, and only heard he was coming home from people who weren't in the field.

I didn't know what to expect but I knew that by next week things wouldn't be the same with him. I would probably need to go back home and help my father break the news.

I turned around and walked back to the sidewalk, I stopped a few steps further realizing he didn't even know my name. I tore a piece of paper from a note in my pocket and scribbled on my name and number, I slid it beneath the door.

So this is how it feels to sell your soul?