The Arrogant Artist : A Billionaire Boss Romance (International Bad Boys Set Book 2)

craaazzzyyy,” I say, drawing out the word.
“I’d love to say that was a one-off, but it’s not.” Gabriel busies himself making the coffee again.
“I can’t believe she said that.”
“Women will say and do a lot of things to keep Louis’ attention.” He shrugs.
“Ugh. So, I’m going to have to deal with bitchy women on a daily basis, then?”
“Depends on his mood.” Fucking great. “It’s become a recurring theme over the past four months. It’s like he’s trying to prove to himself that he can still pull women or something.” A typical male response to being cheated on, I guess.
“Why, because his ex ran off with a younger man?”
Gabriel lets out a heavy sigh. “Don’t let him catch you talking about his ex. Anyone who mentions her or him has to deal with his wrath. Their names are never to be spoken here.” That’s good to know, but it’s not like I’d ever bring them up. But still, if by accident I did, I don’t want him to yell at me any more than he already has.
“His ex was a real…” Gabriel looks around to make sure we’re truly alone, “… bitch.”
My eyes widen, I need to know more. “Really?”
“I lived with them for many years. Yves wasn’t the first artist she slept with behind Louis’ back. There were a lot of men she tried to seduce. She’s beautiful, and she knows it.” I nod in agreement. I’ve seen pictures of her, and she’s stunning. “She even tried to sleep with me.”
I let out a shocked gasp, he nods furiously. “Did you?”
“What? Of course not. Louis gave me a chance and put me through culinary school. I owe him a lot. There’s no way in the world I’d ever do that, but not all employees were so…” he trails off. Gabriel doesn’t need to finish the sentence. I get the gist.
“And he never knew?”
Gabriel shakes his head. “I tried to… subtly tell him, but he was in love. The woman had him wrapped around her finger, and she could always convince him the rumors were started by jealous people. People who wanted to see him not succeed.” Wow! She sounds like a piece of work. “Here.” He hands me Louis’ coffee.
“What do you want me to do with this?”
“Take it to him.” Gabriel gives me a look. I’m his assistant, so this does fall under my job description. “His studio is at the other end of the garden, past the pool.”
“Good luck,” Gabriel states.
Great. Just great!
After a couple of wrong turns, I eventually find his studio. I lightly knock on the door, but no one answers. Should I just walk in? I know how artists are when they’re in their space. They generally don’t like to be disturbed, but he did ask for his coffee. I push on the wooden door, and it creaks as it opens for me. I step up the step and into Louis’ secret world.
Everywhere you look there are thousands of paint splatters around the room—even the wooden floor is covered. My eyes are drawn to the canvases hanging around the room, the dark broodiness of them, the deep, dark red anger in some, slashes and scratches on others as if he has literally torn his art to pieces searching for some kind of catharsis. I’m so mesmerized by his magic that I don’t notice the bucket on the floor and trip, the ceramic cup of coffee launching itself across the room and then all over Louis. The scalding liquid is leaving a dark stain all over his gray T-shirt. Louis yells as his T-shirt soaks the hot liquid, and it starts to burn his skin. I fall with a thud and a crash against the wooden floor, scraping my skin. Shit! That hurt.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he screams.
I look up from my position on the floor, and he’s pulling off his T-shirt and patting his stomach, cursing in every language he can.
“I’m so sorry…” I scramble up off the floor. “You need cold water to stop it burning.” I rush over to the sink, frantically looking for something that I can soak in water. Finding an old rag, I turn the tap on, then rush back and place the cool cloth onto his taut stomach. The muscles tense as I touch him, but then he quickly recoils back from my touch.
“Don’t touch me,” he yells. “You’ve done enough.”
He’s angry.
I totally understand it.
I would be as well.
He’s probably got third-degree burns over his chest, on that incredibly sculpted body. Wow! Who knew artists looked like that? The ones I’ve met have either been old, or they’re as skinny as a rake. But Louis Marchant, with his Mediterranean tan and a body that’s chiseled from the finest marble, it’s hard not to look and appreciate it. His body is art in itself.
“Just get the hell out, you’ve done enough.”
My stomach sinks when his face goes red with anger while he’s dabbing at the red marks on his stomach. He’s going to fire me for sure now. It’s not like I’ve made a good impression on him or anything.
Twenty-four hours—that’s a new record for getting fired.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” The look on his face tells me he isn’t in the mood to hear my apology. I turn on my heel and rush out of his studio, the tears threatening to fall down my cheeks.
“Are you okay? Hey, what happened?” Daniel surprises me, catching me as I rush inside, the tears now falling uncontrollably.
“I…”
“Did he touch you? Did he hurt you?” His eyes look at my cut-up knees, the blood running down my shins.
“Oh, God, no.” Daniel’s face is clouded in concern. “I tripped over a bucket on the floor and spilled a cup of hot coffee all over Louis. I guess when I landed, I ripped the skin off my knees.”
Daniel stills, his head tilts to the side. “You spilled coffee on him?” I nod, trying to put on a professional face. This has to be the worst