Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Florian doesn’t say anything about Billy. There’s a brief struggle across his face. “Tell me. You said I only knew partly about what you do. And you said you’re a bartender, though you were serving tables. I take it this isn’t your usual scene because you’re terrible at your job.”
“Thanks,” I say breezily, “I know.” I give him a smile. “And it’s been a particularly rough night. First Saturday night working at Ivan’s. But anyway, you’re not asking about Ivan’s, are you?”
“You alluded to some other life, and I wouldn’t bother asking, but since we’re stuck here and I may as well ask: how else do you spend your time? Aside from kidnapping investors and ruining their suits?”
I can’t help it: I laugh. He’s so unashamedly rude. “You’re something else. Wow. Well, since you asked so nicely, let me tell you about myself—”
“That’s what I was afraid of—”
“Stop.” But I’m smiling despite it all, and I’m not sure what’s come over me.
“Honestly, get over yourself. I don’t care who you are or how important you might be.
At the end of the day, we’re two lads stuck in a lift, going nowhere to pass the time.
And some conversation would be a decent way to spend our captivity, don’t you think? ”
“If you talk about yourself, then you’ll expect me to talk about myself—and I hate that. I’m terribly dull. You already know what you need to about me. But fine. Let’s do this your way. You still haven’t explained what else you do.”
It really does make me wonder how he got together with Billy. Or Billy with him, because his charm is about negative ten thousand.
“‘Kay. Well, now it’s gonna sound stupid, but never mind. I like art. I mean, I’m an artist. It’s what I have my degree in, anyway.”
Florian looks startled, as if I’d told him I was a unicorn or raised pedigree rats in a utopian society somewhere on the outer fringes of Milton Keynes. And then he responds in a way like I’d just told him I had landed from another planet. “An artist?”
“Well, it’s what I’m meant to be, you see. Right now, I’m a bartender. It pays the bills. If I’m not sacked.”
“So you’re a failed artist.”
“Ouch.” I can’t help the wince, like he’s just sucker punched me. Which he has, in a way. “You really show no mercy, do you? Like you really don’t care about other people’s feelings.”
“Feelings are inefficient.”
“Fuck me, man.” Then my brain catches up with my mouth, and what the hell did I just say to him? I can’t wait to get out of this lift and never see Florian again. I’m sure he can’t wait either. “I didn’t mean it like that. Like, you know.”
He ignores my spiraling. “Feelings don’t help in business. You need a plan. Research. Consider costs and benefits. And risk. There’s a delicate combination, a beauty in the balance.” Florian studies his fingertips.
Does he actually see beauty? Even in business? If so, I might like him a little more. Still, he’s a piece of work.
“This sounds kind of mercenary.”
“Yes. Business is. And art is a business too. You’re probably too busy with feelings and not spending enough time being pragmatic and researching what sells.”
“Double ouch. You’re making a lot of assumptions.” To be fair, he’s not entirely wrong, but I don’t want to concede the point. Not a chance. “And that’s a harsh way to see the world, by the way.”
Florian doesn’t look fussed. His face is blank as he continues to inspect his fingernails as if they are the most fascinating thing in the world, continuing to avoid looking at me. “Maybe it is, but it suits me.”
“Speaking of, you must be freezing in that wet suit,” I tell him. He’s shrunken into himself, and he’s shivering a little.
“I’m fine. Just tired. It’s been a long day. Especially with the travel. Now. What kind of art do you do? Or don’t do?”
I laugh. “My art—I’m a painter. Well, I’m meant to be a painter. And for the record, that’s a fine-art painter and not a house painter.”
“You keep saying ‘meant’ as if you’ve failed. Why aren’t you doing it if that’s what you want? It is what you want, isn’t it? Otherwise, I can see the benefit of not bothering.”
“Florian, you truly have a gift with words.” I can’t stop smiling.
“It’s because I can’t afford to be an artist. At least not right now.
You probably don’t get it, ’cause you’re obviously posh and a successful businessman, but I have loads of bills coming out of uni, and it takes a while to build up an artistic practice out of uni, metaphorically and, yes, practically speaking too. As well as a cohesive body of work.”
“So you know about art.”
“I know some about painting,” I allow. “There’s so much I don’t know about art—”
“Well. You do know more than me. And there’s one thing you can do to help make amends for the spilled drinks and kidnapping situation.”
My eyes widen. He’s not going to ask for sexual favors, is he? Even if he did, what’s my current stance on that? Part of me is insulted, while the other part of me acknowledges he’s hot, at least. It would pass the time. Someone intense like that must be terrific in bed.
“What’s that?” I ask, trying to shush the downward spiral of my inner thoughts. “For the record, I didn’t kidnap you.”
He ignores my quip. “You could accompany me to an art event I need to attend. You could explain the art to me.”
A ludicrous giggle escapes me. “Are you actually asking me out on a date?”
“Certainly not.” Florian looks totally horrified, and it’s hilarious. “This is purely for business. And for amends.”
“I see. What’s the benefit to me?”
“Not getting arrested for the kidnapping.”
“Very funny.” I smile despite my misgivings.
“The art, actually. You might appreciate the art. It’s lost on me. And besides, even if it is an accident, you did ruin a perfectly good suit with your antics at the bar.”
“Antics. Right. I see. You’re becoming an optimist despite all odds, Florian. I take it to think you’re listening to me and thinking we’ll get out of here sooner rather than later.”
“Yes. And also, I suspect you have friends who would notice your absence and file a missing person’s report. Plus, I believe your employer would notice that you failed to return from break.”
That sobers me up, reminding me of my tenuous friend situation in London and that I’m on life support from Kat at my job. I’m only another spilled drink away from being out of my much-needed job. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
Even Florian has a pack of friends in London. Grumpy, miserable Florian.
“I don’t know a lot of people in London,” I confess. “I’m new here.”
Florian considers this. “If you’re not making art and you don’t know anyone in London, then you would have time to attend my event.”
I open my mouth in protest. That’s so not what I meant, to give him an in to further his agenda. “Now, just wait a second. That’s a total trap.”
“You’re not obligated, but clearly, you have the time, and it would be mutually beneficial, as you would enjoy the art, and I would enjoy the business. And it would be useful for me to be seen with a partner for the evening. Would you take me up on this to make up for tonight?”
“You also need to make amends to me for the way you’ve acted,” I counter, amused.
He arches a brow and gives the faintest ghost of a smile. “That’s not an answer.”
“Fine. One fake date. If we get out of here. When.”
“One fake date,” Florian agrees, satisfied. He smiles then, something actually surprisingly beautiful, and so fleeting like I imagined it. He leans his head back against the wall, looking upward.
We lapse into another silence then, in the chill and almost dark.
I must have fallen asleep at some point, because when I wake up, there’s the surprising weight of Florian’s head on my shoulder, and he’s sound asleep. Clearly, awake Florian wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing like willingly touch me.
And I fall asleep again too, unexpectedly comforted by the steady warmth of him pressed into my side.