“No—I can. Or rather, I would, but I’m broke,” he said.
“Yes, see, that’s why I’m offering you money,” Caroline said, beginning to get frustrated. She’d thought the basis of this exchange was pretty well understood.
Adrian leaned onto his palm, pinkie finger pressed along the bridge of his aristocratic nose. He looked at her through his fingers. “You really want to pay me a thousand dollars a week just to go with you to the theater?”
“It doesn’t have to be the theater, specifically,” she said. “It’s whatever you think I’ll enjoy.”
One corner of Adrian’s mouth pulled up and to the side, making an interesting dimple flex in his cheek. “That’s never guaranteed. I could have terrible taste.”
“Do you?” she asked, concerned. She’d liked his painting. She’d assumed an artist would have good taste.
“No, but taste in art is personal.”
“You mean, it’s all good art for someone?”
“Well—” He hesitated. “I wouldn’t go that far. I usually know whetherI’lllike something, but...”
“Because you know a lot about it.”
“I do,” he said, still seeming cautious.
“If you had all the money in the world, you’d go out every week to the theater and museums and all the rest, wouldn’t you?”
“Of course, yes.”
“Because you already know what you want to see.”
“Yes, I suppose—”
“And after it was over, you’d know if it was, you know, a good or a bad show. You’d talk about it with your friends. Or your girlfriend, if you had one—” She froze, that unpleasant possibility occurring to her for the first time.
“I don’t,” he quickly answered the question she hadn’t wanted to ask.
Caroline exhaled, slightly reassured. “So that’s what I want. Show me how to do that. Just make me the person you go to the theater with, for a while.”
That’s what she thought her boyfriend would do, if she had one. He probably wouldn’t be as handsome or accomplished as Adrian, if she somehow, someday acquired an artist boyfriend through nonmonetary means. (Though he’d hopefully be a lot more excited about spending time with her than Adrian seemed to be.) He’d talk to her about all the music and art and shows they’d go see together. He’dwantto. But like the Barefoot Contessa always said, if you didn’t have homemade, store-bought was fine.
Adrian still looked skeptical, but his reluctance only focused her. She felt that adrenaline rush she got when it was time to close a mock negotiation or call match point. She reminded herself that Adrian was there primarily because he needed money, and she had it. She just had to convince him the time commitment was worth it.
“My opinion is available for free,” Adrian said slowly. “But historically, I have a hard time giving it away.”
“Are you a jerk?” she asked, mostly curious. He didn’t seem like one, but sometimes she didn’t catch that kind of thing right away.
He snorted. “No. Maybe. I don’t think so? I’ve just been told I’m best enjoyed in silence.” He gestured at his face.
Caroline settled her shoulders like she was ready to return a serve.
“Okay,” she said. “Lay it on me. Let’s see.”
“See what?”
“One of your opinions.”
“About what?”
“Like, what was the last book you read?” she asked.
He blinked his blue eyes at her and thought about it.
