Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 33979 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 170(@200wpm)___ 136(@250wpm)___ 113(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33979 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 170(@200wpm)___ 136(@250wpm)___ 113(@300wpm)
“Alright, cherry. Let’s talk shop so we can get it outta the way,” I say once I wet my tongue.
“Ellery House of Art, Miranda is willing to offer you a sizable amount plus only receive twenty percent for every piece sold at the showing.” I let out a low whistle, take another sip of my beer, and think about the twenty percent they want. “I know it seems like a lot, but most galleries do a fifty-fifty profit share. They also don’t offer this amount. Miranda is willing to negotiate differently since this would be your first showing and your anonymity would obviously be well and truly over.”
I roll her words over in my head, weighing my options, and I guess it all boils down to one thing: how much this Miranda character is willing to offer as an upfront payment.
“How much?” I ask. I’ll do it no matter what. Indy has me sold. I’ve got shit in play with Jett, but that doesn’t mean I’m not gonna make her sweat. Especially since my way, which I’d prefer more than anything since it would involve us hot and naked, can’t happen, so I’ll do it this way, for the time being.
“Let me grab my phone, and you can see it from Miranda herself.” She whips the device out of her purse, presses a few buttons, gets what she needs, and slides her phone across the table. “I think you’ll be more than happy with this number?” Indy goes after her drink again, licking the rim, and my eyes are nowhere near the phone when she does her little ministration. It’s meant to be innocent. It’s anything but.
“More than happy watching you with your drink rather than a number, cherry.” She arches an eyebrow and finishes her drink just as the waiter comes back, this time with our appetizer. I’ve been here more than my fair share of times and have tried just about everything on the menu. The waiter places the calamari dish along with bread and butter on the table. I glance down at the screen, make a quick note of it, and exit out of the screen to keep other eyes away.
“Can I get you another drink?” he asks Indy.
“Yes, please.”
“And for you, sir?” I lift my bottle, noticing it’s nearly finished.
“That’d be great.” He takes Indy’s glass since it’s now empty.
“Are you ready to order or should I come back in a few minutes?” he asks.
“I’m good to order, as long as you are,” she answers.
“Works for me.” I already know what I’m getting. It’s always the ribeye, baked potato, and mixed vegetables. The butter and garlic they sauté it in drowns out the healthy taste, making it bearable.
“I’ll have the filet, medium rare, lobster mac and cheese, and roasted broccolini.” Indy has good fucking taste. Glad she’s not wavering about eating in front of me. That’d be the one downfall. Still, I’d overlook it. I’d also make it my mission to feed her every chance I get. Feeding her while she’s straddling my lap, her on the counter with my thighs wedged between hers, or I could plant her on the kitchen table, a plate right in front of her spread legs, and her naked would be the icing on the cake. I’d feed her, and she’d feed me in an entirely different way.
“So, thoughts on the offer?” Indy starts the conversation after I order my meal and the waiter is out of earshot. “I can try and get more money if you need that. We’ll also have to discuss timeline. Ideally, Miranda would like you to be in the gallery within the month. Even though, I’ve told her repeatedly art takes time. Anyways, the ball’s in your court. I just hope you don’t send me packing empty handed.”
“The money isn’t a problem, cherry.” I relax, watching her eat the appetizer, going after the bread, buttering it, and then putting a piece of calamari on top, folding the slice in half before finally taking a bite. That’s a unique-as-fuck way to eat. Heard of spaghetti sandwiches before; not sure I’ve heard of a calamari sandwich, though.
“Then what is?” she asks after taking a bit. “Oh my god, this is so good. You have to try it.” She abandons her food to make the same concoction again, which I’m assuming is for me, only she dips it in the sauce, an act I must have missed the first time around
“Can you keep a secret?” She holds the sandwich out to me, only she’s not handing it to me; she’s holding it in her hand, reaching over the table, and, hot as fuck, feeding me. Goddamn, this woman is a walking, talking wet dream.
“Of course, I can.” I take a bite, letting the flavors burst to life and wishing like fucking hell we weren’t out in public.