Chasing Me (Quinn and James 2)

The exhibition was advertised by the art museum and local shops in the area and brought out a huge crowd, along with interested patrons, buyers, and art dealers. Basically, it was exposure that was pretty much priceless.

If I had wanted to use my parents' connections, I could probably make a few calls and get someone to take a look, but I wanted this on my own. Wanted it so badly I woke up in the middle of the night, craving the opportunity like I'd used to crave getting off with a girl as a teen. Was this what it was like to be part of the everyday crowd? No special deals to be made, or palms to be greased, or bargains to be made? Just you and your talent up against everyone else's?

I wasn't stupid. I still knew politics were important. But this was the first time I was fighting for something on my own, and it felt good, like I was coming into myself. I wanted to prove to myself and Quinn I was worth the risk.

Ava walked in. She was back to her usual black and wore silk pants, a low-cut blouse, and jacket. Her red hair was twisted in a severe chignon, emphasizing her pale skin and ruby lips. She looked...cold. Formidable. Ready to tear down whoever was blocking the empty road in front of her.

She began speaking immediately, going over the rules of the exhibit and asking everyone to turn in their final projects.

I worked nonstop for the next few hours, skipped lunch break, and finished up. I had a late night shift at Joe's, and hoped to swing by the center to see Quinn before her extra class started.

One by one, the students went to see Ava in her office with their project. We were all nervous as shit, but trying to pretend we didn't care. She called me last, which was fitting, because I didn't want an audience when I came back out.

I brought in my portrait of the woman, along with the sketch of naked Jason from my portfolio, which I actually really liked. Ava was sitting behind the desk, clicking away at her computer, ignoring me. I gritted my teeth, took a seat across from her, and waited.

"Give me your final project, please."

I handed it over. She didn't even glance at it, just put it in a toppling pile behind her with canvases, drawings, and one sculpture. Finally, she faced me, crossing her legs and leaning back slightly in her chair. Her face was devoid of emotion.

"You think you're hot shit, don't you, Mr. Hunt?"

Oh, yeah, that was it. I'd officially had enough and was gonna tell it like it was. She was going to do whatever the hell she wanted anyway, regardless of my mouth. "Not really. But you do."

A smile touched her red lips. "The moment you walked into my class, you thought you were better than anyone else. Fought me on structure, basic ground rules, and techniques, saying you were ahead of the rest, though you had no formal training. Am I correct?"

I refused to squirm in my seat. Yeah, I'd been pissed to start off at an introductory class, but now admitted I had needed it. I shrugged. "You proved your point."

"I know who you are. Who your parents are. That you're a trust-fund baby. Why not make it easy on yourself? Make a phone call and get your own showing. You don't need ours."

I watched my dream slip away because of a bitch with a need to show me my place. "You know nothing about me," I ground out. "I don't know what sick mind games you're playing, but you're not dragging me into them. I'm going to administration. Maybe you can suck the Dean's dick, in addition to your male model's."

I went to get up, but her voice cut like a whiplash. "Sit down, Mr. Hunt. I'm not done with you."

"What did I ever do to you? I just want to fucking learn and have a fair shot at the exhibition."

"Because I don't want to waste my time," she shot back. "When I take on an artist, I go full throttle, and I don't want someone who's playing around to kill some time before he goes back to his trust-fund money."

Un-fucking believable. I gazed at her in astonishment. "Who are you, anyway? I don't need you to mentor me. I need you to judge my work fairly and give a recommendation!"

"You don't get it, do you?" she asked. Her red nail tapped the blotter on her desk. "This exhibition is the beginning of a whole new world. The last three years, the students I personally chose hit the big time. Private showings. Art dealers begging for their work and artists setting their own price. I mentored every single one of them, bled on their behalf, and pushed them beyond their limits. I pick one student to mentor, Mr. Hunt, and that's the only one who ever succeeds."

Her ego was massive. I stared at her, trying to get my brain to click back on and understand what I was dealing with. "I don't need your help or your private mentorship," I shot back. "Did you do this with the others? What kind of school is this?"

"No, I didn't do this with the others. You're an extreme case. You can go ahead and let the Dean know. I'll admit to having an affair with my male model and that you walked in on us by accident. I'll tell him I pushed you, was rude, and called you out in class. We can conference, and you can go through channels, but it's not like I'm blackmailing you with sex or favors to get ahead."

"What the hell was that shit with Jason? What are you trying to prove? You looked at me. You planned for me to walk in and catch you."

Her gaze locked on mine. She leaned forward and lowered her voice to a husky growl. "You have passion in your work. More than passion. It's a raw, rough quality that grabs an onlooker and makes you stop to look deeper. You can't teach that. But it was too undirected and unformed, and that quality wasn't in every one of your sketches. Only a few. I figured it could be a fluke, so I conducted an experiment."

I felt like I was being led deeper into Wonderland, and it was a drug bust instead of a happy retreat. "What experiment?"

"Your girlfriend was quite interesting, Mr. Hunt?"

Red misted my vision. My hands clenched. "My girlfriend has nothing to do with you and your crazy-ass games."

"You love her?"

"Yes."

"Well, that love is killing your muse."

I blinked. What the fuck? I laughed humorlessly, shaking my head. "You're crazy."

"Every time I pushed your buttons, you delved deeper. Darker. When I let you slide, and you went back to your comfortable life, that's what you gave me. Comfort. People don't want comfort. They want to feel things, mostly awful, dark, secret things."

She reached out and grabbed the portrait of Jason from my hands. Jabbing a finger at it, she turned it to me. "See this? Look at his expression. The lines of his body. There's something almost sexual, and wrong, and shameful about this pose. Not one of the other students gave it to me--they just sketched a good-looking naked guy staring into space. You used the emotions you saw the other day when you caught me with Jason, dug deep, and gave me something different."

I stared at the sketch I was so proud of. And saw it. The sexual gleam in his eye, the way he tilted his jaw, the slight thrust of his hips, as if imagining something he never wanted to delve into. The tiny facets of light and shadow and meaning exploded forth, and in that moment, I got it. Got what she was saying, though it was crazy, and impossible, and a road not to be followed. I thought back to those raging emotions when I watched Ava sucking him off, and realized I'd translated it back to the page.

My hands shook. "That's not true. Just coincidence. You're looking for an excuse to keep playing your mind fuck."

Her smile was flawless as she threw the portrait down. "You like a good mind fuck, Mr. Hunt. It's what you were built on. Trying to change it by settling down with a good girl and working at a coffee shop, fading into the woodwork, is eventually going to destroy you."

"I love Quinn. She saved me. Don't you get it? I was numb before her."

She studied me thoughtfully. "You believe it, don't you? That love can save you? Make you better? You don't need saving. You need to hone your talent so you can have a lifelong career pursuing art. You need to get down and dirty and be truthful with yourself. But you need to make a choice."

"My career or my girlfriend? There is no choice. I'd pick Quinn every time. But I don't believe in that shit. I don't need to mak

e a choice. I can have both."

"Not if she doesn't allow you to tap into that wild part of you. The untamed, inner you that makes no sense. Because that is what drives great art."

"She does."

"I met her, Mr. Hunt. Girls like her don't inspire that type of ugliness. I don't believe you. And if you don't take this seriously, I'm not interested in going further. If I took you on, we'd be spending a large amount of time together. I wouldn't let you be afraid of being who you are. In fact, I'd demand it. Push you." Her gaze turned sexual, flicking over my body in a way that made me want to squirm. "And I bet you'd like it."

I burned from the inside until I wanted to rage, throw things, howl. I breathed deep, trying to get calm, while she smirked. "So, you're saying unless I dump my girlfriend, you won't put me in the expo?" I finally asked.

"I said no such thing. I just told you to get your priorities in order and make sure you can deliver. Some of us aren't meant to be civilized or contained, Mr. Hunt. The sooner you realize that, the better you'll be. You're dismissed."

I leapt to my feet. "I don't need your threats, or your fucking expo, or your school."

"Very well, then. Good luck."