For 100 Nights (100 2)

Nick gives me a look. “At our net worth and both of us being under thirty-five, he and I belong to a relatively small club in this city. I also happen to own a fair amount of Dektech stock. I invested before it went public and the company really exploded.”

I tilt my head, astonished, and yet not surprised at all. “Is there anything you touch that doesn’t turn to gold?”

He reaches across the table to rest his fingers atop mine, then shrugs. “Huh. Guess so. Still flesh and blood, warm and sexy woman. Thank God.”

“I’m being serious,” I say, unable to curb my smile.

“So am I. Tell your friend to refuse Kingston’s first offer, no matter what it is.”

“What if his first offer doesn’t have anything to do with her art?”

Nick smirks. “Then she should definitely refuse whatever he proposes right out of the gate. I’ve seen him in action—at the bargaining table and away from it. Derek doesn’t respect anyone who folds too soon.”

Even though he’s offering this insight with a sense of humor, I know him well enough to understand that he doesn’t dole out idle advice. “Thanks. I’ll let Lita know you said so.”

“This lasagna is incredible, by the way.” He takes a second helping, offering to serve me some, too, but I decline. Instead of digging in, he picks up his wine and leans back in his seat to look at me. “What about you, Avery?”

“What do you mean?”

“How’s the studio working out for you?”

“Good. Matt and Lita are great.”

He nods. “They seem great. I’m talking about your art, though.”

“Oh.” I shrug. “It’s going well, I suppose.”

“I’d say so,” he agrees, watching me intently. “I saw that last week, when I came to the studio to take you to lunch. I’m sure you saw me looking at your paintings, Avery. You still haven’t asked what I thought of them.”

I swallow. “No.”

“Why not? Don’t you want to know?”

“Of course, I do.” Even as I say it, I wonder if I sound as unconvincing to him as I do to myself.

There was a time, months ago, when Nick’s less than glowing opinion of my work had made me question everything about my ability and my passion. That was before I knew he was an artist. Before I knew about the extraordinary gift he lost.

Now, I’m terrified to hear him tell me that I still don’t measure up in his view.

Not even Kathryn’s praise or the generous price she paid for my three pieces will be enough to combat Nick’s rejection of my art now.

I reach for my wineglass, not realizing it’s empty until I bring it to my lips. Nick is right there in an instant, gently taking it from my grasp. Instead of refilling it, he sets the glass aside, giving me no choice but to meet his searching, solemn gaze.

“I haven’t been fair to you, Avery. Especially when it comes to your art.” He scowls, his sensual lips flattening for a moment as if he’s uncertain of the impact his words will have on me. “I’ve made you question yourself. I’ve made you doubt. That was never my intention.”

“Nick, you don’t have to—”

“You have a gift, Avery. I saw it in you from the beginning.” He reaches out to me, stroking the back of his scarred hand along my bare arm. “You remember I told you that it wasn’t a matter of you lacking talent, only that it needed to be let free?”

I nod. There’s not a thing he’s said in the time we’ve been together that isn’t still emblazoned in my mind. “You said I was the one throttling my art, holding it back before the truth reached the canvas.”

“That’s not what I saw in the studio last week.”

“It isn’t?”

“No. What I saw in those three paintings was you. Maybe for the first time.” His touch trails down onto my wrist, then into the center of my open palm. “When I looked at the passionate lines and the raw, unrestrained images on your canvases, I saw things that move you and make you feel alive, things that scare you, even appall you. I saw things that make you weep, and the things that make you wet.”

I blink rapidly, feeling a sudden rush of emotion building behind my eyes. I didn’t realize how much I craved his acceptance until this moment. I didn’t realize how much I needed it.