His only Grace (Sample)

3. Prehistoric dust

Noah

I sat in front of the canvas with a splotch of blue on a brush, 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 or classes and I sell most of my pieces privately.

Ophelia sat beside me, resting her hand on my thigh.

"I don't mind staying the night." She tried to infuse. She just didn't get that it was only a one night stand all those weeks ago.

"No you don't need to stick around, that's why I have a new assistant." She sighed and stood up grabbing her bag. The front door opened and closed, moments later I heard the doorbell chime again announcing Grace was here.

I still had her note in the inside pocket of my jacket.

I felt the anger 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.

"Hi." 

"My studio is upstairs, so 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 Brimstone café. There were stacks of canvases lining the one wall and a green door that led to the very messy and stuffy storage room. 

In the one corner of the room, there was a country style sink with glass jars that I let my brushes soak in the brush cleaner. The walls were painted in white with a dark toned wood floor and the ceiling had exposed rafters.

I stood beside her for a moment as she gazed at the room suspiciously.

I studied her for a second, her brown hair was tied into a messy bun, she wore blue jeans and boots with a dark hoodie on top.

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 dim light that hasn't been changed in years and a small ventilation window. The piles of paints, magazine cut-outs, brushes, cloths and other tools of the trade 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, see you in five hours."

"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." She picked up a musty magazine with her thumb and forefinger then dropped it.

"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?" I asked raising my brow.

"Well, I calculated the hours I'm going to be working for you and the average wage, that equaled the same amount as the painting if I work for you for a few months-you can't keep me working for you then." She crossed her arms over her chest.

She wouldn't let this fight go.

"You haven't even started, so I suggest you do." I heard her cuss 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 color.

About an hour later I saw Grace with dusty paint bottles stacked in her arms heading to the sink. Her hair had dust spots in it and her hoodie had blotches of crusted up paint. I eyed her from behind my easel as she walked to the sink and with a loud clang places them in it.

I stood up with a last glance at my work in progress and placed my brush in the jar. She eyed from the side and then started to rinse the bottles. The previously dust 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 then disappeared back into the room. 

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 Harper asked where I was going, of course, I lied, she figured out I was lying 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 when I walked across the room for the fifth time to rinse off something.  I saw a part of his 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, 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 so I really didn't worry about it.

I closed the door behind me with a creak, he looked up from his seat. He had his hand in his hair with his eyes focused 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 averting my gaze up to the pair of green eyes that were studying me inquisitively. He didn't have his usual smug smile on his face.

Instead, he had frown form on his brows.

"Uhm I need the keys." He stood up from his chair and search 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 and unlocked the door, leaving the keys on the table. The answer, of course, would be that he didn't care.

Thankfully for the next few days, I wouldn't have to worry about him. I had other things to worry about.