Paint Me Love (Billionaire Temptations #3)

Chapter 1

Daniel

The paint’s still wet when my phone buzzes on the windowsill.

I nearly drop the brush—one wrong move and I’d smear the black of the claw all over the flowers I’ve been sweating over for days.

Shit, that was close, especially when I’ve got less than a day to finish this commission or I’m out half the payment.

Biting my lip, I glance at the phone. It’s him, I just know it. The guy I met on that app I keep meaning to delete because it’s way too good at distracting me when I should be painting.

A deep breath, and I focus back on my canvas. Unfortunately, that doesn’t last long as curiosity wins and I lean over to pick up the phone anyway. My thumb hovers over the screen for a few moments as I will myself not to open the text. I fail.

Him: You should submit to that art competition. You could win it.

I frown. His messages always have this… deliberate quality, like he actually pauses to think before hitting send. Even now, it’s just a simple sentence, but it lands like it carries more weight than it should.

Me: How do you even know about that? Or did I mention I was considering it?

Him: I have my ways.

My stomach does this stupid little flip.

Heat pools low, and my fingers twitch over the phone, itching to type something reckless.

The brush feels heavier in my hand, the paint a little too thick, and I catch myself staring at the message again, my pulse stuttering at the thought of him and whatever this is becoming.

I love and hate it when he’s cryptic like this.

It’s that damn app’s fault. Ugh. We’ve been texting for a while and it’s only getting worse.

I still don’t know who he is, what he does, where he lives, how he looks.

We’ve been chatting for days, but now that I think about it, it’s been mostly me telling him about myself.

He’s just so good at leading the conversation, of saying the right things and getting me to share about myself, so I forget half the things I want to ask him.

Me: I dunno. I’ve never painted a mural.

Him: There’s a first time for everything.

I roll my eyes. So cheesy. It’s not that I don’t think my art is good—people commission me, after all.

I’m just really bad at selling myself. What can I do?

It’s weird. Having little to no online presence doesn’t help either, but the few times I tried, it just didn’t work out.

Social media is too overwhelming, and people online are assholes for no reason.

If I had the money, I’d just hire a social media manager or something, but I’m a long way away from being able to afford something like that.

Sigh. Talk about needing money to actually make money.

Me: You’ve only seen like, what? One of my paintings? How do you figure I even stand a chance?

Him: You are not wrong. But consider this: Just one painting, and may I add that it was a work in progress, was enough to convince me you can win.

Ugh! My heart tries to jump out of my chest. I feel my cheeks burn. I’m such a goner. My eyes dart to my laptop. I can’t believe his smooth talking is enough to make me seriously consider applying.

But even if I fight it, I know I’ve already lost. This was just the last nail in the coffin.

The application form has been filled out for days, waiting for me to just press the submit button.

The deadline is tonight, so I decide I’m done pretending I’m not going to do it.

I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?

They’ll say no, I’ll take a bit of a hit to my pride as an artist, and life will go on.

With a bit of trouble, I resist not responding to his last message. I also promise myself that I won’t get carried away anymore so that I can find out more about my mysterious guy. But first, I still need to finish this painting.

Unfortunately, or fortunately, it takes me until well into the morning to complete the final touches and bring the demonic creature with its earth-healing powers to life.

The duller, muted colors of the furless wolf-like being make for a great contrast with the blues and greens of the forest around it, and the blooming flowers under its claws add a vibrant punch to the mix.

A knock behind me scares me to death. I nearly jump out of my skin. “Jesus!”

“I love it. Holy shit, you’ve outdone yourself, Dan. It’s amazing. My brother will be sooooo pleased, you’ve got no idea,” Molly, my best friend and impromptu commissions manager says, clapping her hands. “Momma is so proud.”

I love her, I do. Her brother, who’s an author, needed art done and she made sure he looked at my portfolio even if I wasn’t sure it was a good idea.

I’m just a small fry, and he had quite a few big names he could pick from.

But he did choose me, a nobody. I couldn’t believe it—my first big-time commission was to paint one of my favorite scenes from a book. It couldn’t have been better.

“Thanks. I hope he likes it.” I examine the painting one last time, put my brush down, and motion Molly over to the kitchen. It occupies the opposite side of my lounge, while this one I’ve turned into a DIY home art studio.

Just like the rest of my apartment, the furniture and appliances are old and worn-out, but they are mostly holding up.

The beige cupboards squeak when I open them, the wooden counters are peeling, and the oven has definitely seen better days.

But they do the job. As long as I have a roof over my head, food most days, and a bit of time to work on my art after I finish my part-time jobs, I’m happy.

Two mugs with hot chocolate later, she asks, “What are you working on next?”

We are both leaning against the cupboards, watching streaks of sunlight gradually brighten up my lounge. It must be past eight already, maybe even nearing nine. God, I really was up all night.

As if on cue, I yawn. Exhaustion suddenly surges through me, telling me I’m way past bedtime.

“I don’t know yet,” I confess, taking in my creation and stealing a glance at my phone, which is lying with the screen down on the desk near my easel.

She catches me in the act, grinning when I frown in embarrassment. “So, did you enter the competition?” She checks her phone. “Please tell me you did, because the deadline was last night.”

Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I nod. I still can’t believe I submitted my sketch just because Mystery Guy did such a good job of encouraging me. “I’m not sure if it was a good idea. What if they come back to me and say they hated my idea? Besides, I’ve never done a mural before…”

The four winners of the competition will be painting murals for Seattle’s newest gallery.

It’s owned by some tech billionaire, who’ll be paying a rather generous sum of money to each of the artists in addition to having them paint those murals.

All in all, it’s a dream come true not just because of the money, but because this is one of those opportunities where the world gets to hear about people like me.

It could really help kickstart my career.

Plus, I’m sure it will be a great chance to do some networking.

Molly smacks me on the back and huffs. “Stop that. Your stuff is great, Dan. Yes, we both kind of suck at the marketing part, but I’m working on it, okay?”

Molly is the best. Her brother, too. Hell, their entire family. They’ve supported me from the start.

I huff air out of my nose and chase away the lingering doubts. At least for the time being. “You are right. I’ve got this. And even if I don’t win, there are always more competitions I can sign up to.”

She cheers. “That’s the spirit! By the way, when are the results coming out?”

That’s a great question. Probably in a week or two, if I had to guess. “Let me check.”

With her peering over my shoulder, I navigate to the competition’s rules. They state the theme, the deadline, the prize and when the results will be announced, which is…

“No way! Tomorrow?” she shrieks in shock, almost popping my ear drum.

My heart thumps loudly in my chest. I’m just as surprised. I swear I remember seeing something about the results announcement being a few weeks after the deadline, not the day after. But then again, I’m really bad with time.

She laughs, nudging me in the arm. “Shit, at least we don’t have to wait long.”

“I’m pretty sure they moved it because I vaguely remember it being toward the end of the month.”

Shrugging, she places her mug in the sink and waves my comment away. “It’s fine. I was feeling like pizza night tomorrow, anyway.” I open my mouth to protest, but she halts me. “No. Whether you get picked or not, we are having a pizza party to celebrate or console you. It’s decided.”

“Cup-noodles are quick to make. Cheap, too,” I point out, to which she groans and rolls her eyes. “Okay, fine. We can do eggs.”

“Nope,” she shuts me down immediately. “The pizza’s on me, so you can’t complain.”

Suddenly, I’m excited. Even though I work two part-time jobs, it’s been tough.

Just the rent is stupidly high, and when you add food and bills, I’m left with very little at the end of the month.

I manage, though. Molly’s family has offered to help me a few times, but I hate to impose, especially since they took me in after my parents died in a car accident.

They never officially adopted me, but they treated me like their own child since I can remember.

I hope I will be able to repay them one day.

A notification pops up on her phone. She looks at it and gathers her bag, heading to the door. “I need to run, or Natasha will kill me. I’m working tomorrow, but text me when you hear back from the competition people! Toodles!”

The energy levels in my apartment drop noticeably after she leaves. But I don’t mind it. I need to catch some shuteye so I don’t waste my day off. Before that though, I need a shower.

Once that’s out of the way, I get those bursts of energy you sometimes get even if you are on your last legs, so I decide to take advantage of that and make myself some food.

The scolding from Molly is still fresh in my mind, so I opt for scrambled eggs and ham, which I then eat on my couch while looking at the paintings and abstract clay and metal sculptures decorating my place.

The theme for the mural competition was ‘Ambition’. I thought it was too grand a word for me, too unobtainable for me, but I am glad that I pushed through the hesitation and submitted my sketch. Of course, my Mystery Guy also gets some credit for it.

I get comfy on the couch and turn the TV on, loading the new episode of the travel vlog that I follow.

It’s my dream to visit every country in the world and paint something inspired by the places I see.

I’m not exactly close to achieving it anytime soon, but who knows…

Maybe if I win this competition, I can take some time off work without having to worry about money and make a start on my bucket list.

I must have drifted off, because when I wake up, it’s morning the next day.

“Shit!”

The first thing I do is check the time to make sure I’m not running late for work. I whip up some breakfast, make arrangements with Molly’s brother for the demon painting and get ready. Just as I am about to leave my apartment, a notification buzzes on my phone.

My heart skips a beat, thinking it might be him. I take a deep breath and unlock my phone. My stomach twists, and anticipation fills my every cell. It’s not him. It’s from the mural competition. The results are out.

With shaky fingers, I open the email.

Dear Daniel,

We have received over ten thousand submissions for the murals. With so many great ideas, it was truly a challenge to pick the best four, but we are pleased and excited to let you know that you have been chosen. Congratulations. We loved your vision and interpretation of our theme ‘Ambition.’

You are invited to our gallery this Thursday at ten a.m. for an official introduction.

The rest of the winning artists will also be attending, and we will go through the logistics together.

I hope you can make it, but please let me know if that’s not possible, so I can make individual arrangements with you.

Once again, congratulations. We are very excited to see your sketch come to life at our gallery.

Best regards,

Cassandra, Salinger Gallery Manager

No. Fucking. Way. They picked me? Out of thousands of great artists? I feel on top of the world, excited, happy and ready to take on anything that comes my way. I can’t believe this. I actually did it! This is the best thing ever—my chance to make a change and get recognized in the art world.

Grinning like an idiot, I shoot Molly a message. She replies immediately, sending me over a dozen emoji and multiple congratulations. She also says she never doubted me.

My stomach flutters and flips as another person who supported me comes to mind. He believed in me even when I didn’t, and he pushed me to take this chance. I’m so grateful to him, but also a little embarrassed about my lack of confidence.

Still, he deserves to know. And I also need to thank him.

So, shooting him a text before I’ve had time to change my mind, I let my Mystery Guy know that I’ll be painting a mural at Seattle’s newest gallery.