The emphasis makes it clear: There’s only one way someone like Kael gets close to someone like Alistair. Tabloids say he has an inner circle full of beautiful men and private parties.
“And how do you know him?” I ask carefully.
“Do we have to talk about this?”
“You brought it up.”
“I was trying to explain why I don’t like Query,” Kael says, “and your deference to the great Alistair Blackwood is proving my point.”
He’s hot. Alistair’s rich. That’s how these stories go.
“Sorry I don’t hate some guy I’ve never met,” I say. “Didn’t know that gave you permission to be an asshole.”
“Youdidn’t ask for permission.”
I almost trip while the rational part of my brain takes a vacation and the desperate part starts connecting dots. If Kael really knows Alistair, maybe there’s a way to get that impossible promo endorsement. Maybe this ridiculous coincidence is how I get my freedom date back.
“Stop me if I go too far,” I say, “but I think I understand. No judgment. Alistair is loaded, and he’s… kind of cute.”
“Ew. What?” Kael glances back, and I try for a sympathetic face. “What do you think you understand?”
So much for a gentle approach. I put my hands up. “The news reports on his…”
Kael stops his relentless speed walk and just stares at me, daring me to finish.
“…special friends?”
“Friends?” His eyebrow rises.
“Why else would a hot artist know Alistair Blackwood?”
“So I’m hot?”
My face burns. I abruptly focus on the trail ahead. “Alright. Don’t tell me. But don’t act like it’s ridiculous to connect the dots between you and Alistair Blackwood.”
“Would you stop saying his full name like he’s some deity?”
“I didn’t— I mean—” I sigh, suddenly as exhausted by him as I am curious. “Can you tell me how you know Alistair? I think he’s smart, but if you say he’s a creep, I can be convinced. Makes no difference to me.”
“I’m a painter,” he says, holding up his canvas and wooden box. “And, not that I’m judging people’s life choices, but I am not some gold digger.”
“That does not explain it,” I say. “I’d guess roughly zero percent of painters know Alistair B— know him.”
“He reached out on social media to offer his support.Financially,” Kael says. “That’s it. I take his money and live my dream.”
In my head, his logic crumples. His own description makes Alistair sound like a patron saint of the arts, not a creep. The question tumbles out before I can stop it.
“And how is that not being a gold digger?”
Kael’s chest lifts on a slow breath. It looks like he’s going to deck me, but then he laughs.
“I take Alistair’s money to do what I love because, I’ll admit it, I don’t have a lot of options. You, on the other hand, take his money doing something you hate. What’s your excuse?”
“Got it,” I say quickly, hands up again. I’ll take any excuse for Kael to stay in my orbit if he’s my only possible “in” to the most powerful man at Query. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t care.”
“Well, I do.” This needs to be handled gently, so I pivot back to the project like I’ve forgotten all about his connection to my boss’s boss’s boss’s boss’s boss. “Mind thinking about how we’re going to paint this? I mean, you’ll be doing the painting.”
