Chapter 14 #2
“Nor is she going to go for Chef Rico,” he assured Kyle.
He gave a depressed chuckle. “But she’s trying. Otherwise, she would have kicked him out of her restaurant.”
Dean had to close his mouth. “Oh, shit! I didn’t get that.”
Kyle shot him a narrowed glance over his shoulder. “Really?”
“No, seriously.” This time he crossed the room to where his friend was standing. “So, if she’s trying to fall for Rico, where does that leave you?”
Kyle shoved his hands in his pants pockets. “In waters I don’t want to be in, quite frankly. Don’t worry. I’m working it out. Thanks for stopping by. I probably should expect Brooke next, if Thea is this worried. Speaking of…should I talk to Thea?”
“I’ll talk to her,” Dean told him, putting a hand on his shoulder briefly. “You’ve got enough on your plate. Now, I’m going to head upstairs to see Doc. I have a few more Operation Sawyer items for his consideration. Want to see the business cards I mocked up?”
“You did a hell of a job on the ones for The Paris Roommates Group. Yeah, show me.”
When Dean handed one over, Kyle’s broad smile said it all. “Nailed it.”
“Thank you!” He gave a little salute. “I’ll text you the link to the website after I get Doc’s comments.”
“Perfect. I can’t wait to see it.”
He headed to the doorway but paused, knitting his brow purposely as Kyle returned to his desk. “But I have one really serious question before I go.”
Kyle immediately went tense. “What?”
“What are your feelings on Doc having an exotic pet? Dali had his ocelot named Babou, and their photos lit up the presses. I’m not sure Pierre is going to work, since he’s associated with Nanine’s. How do you feel about a pet python?”
“No.”
“A monkey? I’m waffling between a capuchin or a marmoset.”
Kyle planted his hands on his desk. “No, Dean. Absolutely not. You are not visiting that pet store where you got Pierre and buying Sawyer an exotic animal companion!”
“Sloths are cute, and they wouldn’t move around much.”
“Dean!”
He bit his lip to keep from laughing. “I see my research continues. We’ll find the perfect exotic pet for our artistic friend.”
When Kyle threw a notebook, he barely closed the door in time. Then he let his laughter loose. God, that had been fun, and now Kyle was no longer as tense. Job complete.
Time for his next mission. His knock on Sawyer’s studio went unanswered, so he opened the door a crack.
Doc was staring at a large canvas, streaks of red and orange on his right cheek and ear.
The studio was a mess of take-out containers, paper cups, and drink containers.
But who cared when Doc had not only one but three canvases in different progressions on the three large easels he’d set up.
And in every painting, Dean could detect the figure of Phoebe Anderson.
Dude had it bad.
“I come bearing gifts,” he called out, holding up the cards like a white flag. “I promise to leave quickly.”
“I’m painting!” Doc responded, aggrieved.
“I know, and I’m sorry, but since you barely leave the studio except to see your new girl, I had to brave the artistic chamber. Plus, you need what I have. Come see.”
Sawyer grumbled as he set his palette and brush aside and wiped his hands on a paint rag. His glasses were smudged with paint, which made him look pretty adorable for a guy. Like a little boy who’d been finger painting all day. Except this was serious art, of course. But still…
Doc looked to be having more fun, thank God. For that, Dean was tempted to go by Phoebe’s gallery and give the woman a dozen white roses in thanks.
“You got me business cards!” Sawyer exclaimed, reaching for the card he held up.
Dean didn’t bother to yank it back. It was only paint. “You’re officially an artist now. You need cards.”
“Shit!” Doc pressed the card to his forehead. “This makes it real real, if you get me. I remember when the dean of my department personally dropped off my first professor cards. It felt like I was reaching a threshold.”
Dean didn’t pat him on the back. Orange and light green smears were glistening on his white smock. “It’s a big moment. Do you like it? I can add—”
“No, it’s perfect. The font. The brevity. The— Dude, it’s freaking awesome.”
Dean puffed out his chest. “Good, because I also mocked up a website.”
His brown eyes went wide as saucers behind his gold spectacles. “What?”
“Look, you have an agent now. People can’t keep calling Kyle or Axel or the restaurant. Or Brooke, for that matter. You need a place with information about you. Write up your bio, and we’ll add it. Like when you painted your first elephant at three or something and were told it was genius.”
Doc snorted. “It was a lion, and my mother only asked, ‘Is it good enough, Sawyer?’ Like always.”
“As we know, your mother is an overbearing, helicopter bitch. And she’ll be telling all her friends how brilliant you are, I’m sure, as word travels about your accomplishments.”
“Maybe, but she got a Google Alert about the Le Monde article so she’s aware my art career is progressing,” he commented. “I sent a noncommittal reply when she texted.”
“Hang on.” He pointed at Doc, blinking rapidly at the mere idea. “Your mother has Google Alerts on you?”
He snorted. “Since their inception. I try not to wonder whether me being repped by Beverly Merriweather would impress her. Mostly, I don’t want anything to do with my mom. So I keep playing my little text game with her.”
An inarticulate sound emerged from his mouth because sometimes he didn’t have the words. “Jesus, man, that’s…nutso. Have you thought about blocking her?”
His pained expression had Dean wishing he hadn’t brought it up. “Yeah, but it’s the nuclear option. I’m hoping to coast. I hate confrontation.”
“We could throw Brooke at her—or Madison,” he said to make his friend laugh. Which he did, thank God.
“Nice one. Let’s drop this subject and speak of happier things. Tell me more about the website.”
Dean was only too happy to change gears. He ran him through the commissions page and then the one with his portfolio. Dean had posted photographs of Nanine’s portrait and the one of the Women of Nanine’s. Doc got all choked up then and almost touched his screen.
“Of course I need photos of your works as you get them but it’s a start,” he told him.
“I love it!” Doc’s eyes were a little wild when he finally looked up. “I can’t wait to see it launch.”
His face seemed to freeze then. “What’s wrong?”
He grimaced. “I just realized my website going public is a huge declaration to the world. My mother will see it. Maybe even my dean and the people I work with. I mean, at some point, I’m going to be resigning… I figure I’ll know when the time is right.”
“Of course you will.” Dean clapped him on the back, knowing it would be a huge step. “How about we launch the site when you’re ready? It’s not like you have a whole bunch of paintings to upload to your portfolio page yet. We go on your schedule, Doc.”
“Thank you, but I’ll take the cards and use them if that’s okay.”
“They’re your cards, Doc.”
He lifted his shoulder as if struggling with heavy feels. “You’re the best friend in the world. Did you know that?”
Because his friend’s spirits needed buoying, he knew exactly what would do the job. “Yes, I do, but I might be remiss in that department. I mean, I’m seriously wondering if you should get an exotic pet like Dali.”
“No way!” Sawyer waved his hands in the air like a crazy person. “I am not having an ocelot or some bird who wants to land in my ’fro. Dean, we covered my unease with pets when we got Pierre.”
God, his friends were so easy sometimes. Did they really think he wanted to visit this house, the headquarters of PRG, and worry about Doc’s exotic tarantula getting loose like that one in Home Alone? No way.
“I don’t know, Doc. You should reconsider. I mean, have you seen those black-and-white photos of Dali with Babou? They’re heart-rending. Memorable—”
“No freaking way, man,” Sawyer only cried out, waving his hands over his head. “Now, out! I need to paint. I have a gallery show that needs scheduling.”
“I like this bossy side of you, Doc.” He whistled as he headed to the door, glad Sawyer’s earlier mood was back. “Have you and Phoebe broken your pact yet and talked about her hosting your first gallery show?”
Everybody in the house had gone bananas when Sawyer had announced it after Beverly’s visit. Champagne had flowed. Lots of roommate love. Dean’s jam.
“No, and it’s actually fabulous that we can talk about other things. Assures us both that we have the makings of a solid relationship outside of a business partnership. But she’s happy. I can feel it. She’s all lit up inside when we’re together.”
Ah, that was probably from being with Doc as much as being able to present his work to the art world.
But he didn’t need to point out anything cheesy.
“Glad to hear it. Now, when you have a moment, you make sure to write up that bio for me. Oh, and we need photos of your new works when you have the chance.”
“I’ll get them to you.”
Doc was already picking up his brush and palette. He’d been dismissed, and damn, if it didn’t feel good to see his friend so absorbed. “Also… Don’t worry. I’ll keep looking for that perfect pet. Like I was telling Kyle, a sloth is really low maintenance—”
“Dean, I have to meet Phoebe in a few hours for our date, and I have a lot to do.”
“Her role as a muse is clearly working.” God, was he going to go there? Yeah. Totally. “Have you talked about painting a nude yet?”
Doc’s whole face turned red. “Out! Now!”
Dean let his grin fly as he shut the door. All of his roommates were finding their wings.
Coming back to Paris was the best damn thing they could have ever done.