I reached for one of my brushes with the narrowest handle, and I scratched my signature into the bottom right corner. Paint, still wet and thick, was pushed aside to make way for my brand.
This was something that was me in its entirety. I hadn’t painted my signature on Mr. Vender’s painting yet, even. It feltlike someone else painted that. But not this one, which had my entire heart spilled onto the canvas.
I exhaled, long and heavy, and my chest felt as light as air.
“What the ever-loving hell is that, Lucy?”
I spun around, only to find Cordelia perched on my couch. Her arms were crossed to prop up the disgusted expression on her face, and one knee was dangling over the other, looking feminine and elegant in what must be a new dress and manicured curls that framed her face.
“Cordelia!” I choked, dropping my small-handled brush back onto the table by my cup. “When did you get here?”
She rolled her eyes and pushed herself to her feet, moving gracefully and swiftly, like a panther. Her arms were still crossed until she reached me and released them to swipe what must be a splatter of paint from my cheek.
“You’re a mess,” she scolded as she held out her finger, where red paint was indeed streaked. “What are you doing? This cannot be the painting for Mr. Vendor that you’resupposedto be finishing.”
I flinched. “No. I finished it. It’s over there.”
I pointed to where Jackson now lay, cleaning himself, leg flung high to expose all his netherregions to Cordelia.
“Oh, gross. When are you going to get rid of that cat? And why are you letting him near your painting? It’s supposed to be perfect, remember? That’s why father is paying for that chef of yours.”
I blushed, despite the barbs, because even the mention of Knox was enough to fluster me, apparently.
“There’s nothing wrong with Jackson, and Knox isn’t mine.”
“Knox?” She frowned. “You mean Mr. Bristol?”
I winced, caught. “He said to call him Knox.”
Her gaze sharpened then, like it always did when she was scanning me and finding my weaknesses.
“I’m sorry. Lucy, do you have a crush on your chef?”
I swallowed thickly and picked at the edge of my nail. “No. Of course not.”
Her eyes widened. “Lucian! What could you possibly be thinking?”
My heart jumped, and my stomach lurched. “It’s nothing. Really. Nothing happened.”
Lie, lie, lie, Lucy.
If I didn’t make her believe me, Knox would be the one who paid the price. I’d seen more than one employee be blacklisted with other rich families because of something that seemed meaningless. Nannies especially. Dad had been furious when Felicia, our nanny when I was twelve, started learning Korean with me, since I hadn’t heard it since Mom left.
“Something did,” Cordelia hissed, poking me in the sternum, hard. “I can see it all over your face. You’re pining over your employee?”
“He’s not my employee.” I stepped back, only for her to follow.
“Is that the excuse you made up in your head, Lucian?” she sneered as my legs hit the arm of the couch. “It doesn’t change the facts. He’s trying to take advantage of you, and you’re naive enough to believe him, aren’t you?”
I flinched. “Stop it. That’s not what this is.”
“Isn’t it?” she pushed. “You think he actually wants you? Some skinny hermit who holes up in his apartment all the time? Your groceries are brought in, and Dad and I have to drag you to social events. Face it. You’re not his type. What he may or may not feel for you, whatever this ‘nothing’ is that ‘hasn’t happened’ is a lie. What guy wouldn’t want his chance to bend a rich boy over the couch and take what he wants?”
“That’s not–” I choked out, but cut myself off when my lungs seized, closing off my air supply. “He’s not–”
“Into you?” she finished, smile full of pity. “I know he’s not, Lucian. He’s pretending. We’re used to people pretending with us, aren’t we?”
She stepped back, giving me the space to breathe, even as a rock settled in my gut.
