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

my eyes open, but nothing happens.
“Wake up, you drunk.”
The sheets are ripped off me as all of a sudden bright light streams through the window. There’s some pissed-off woman mumbling expletives beside me.
“I suggest you lose his number. You can do better,” Daniel tells her.
“Yeah, I think so, too,” the woman says.
I flip them off as I cover my eyes with my arm—the blinding light is trying to sear my retinas. A hard slap lands across my face waking me again.
“What the fuck?” Jumping up quickly, my body wobbles as my feet hit the concrete floor. My head is pounding like someone is playing a drum solo in my head. My ass falls back to the edge of the bed as I’m way too unsteady on my feet.
“Get the fuck up. I’ve had enough of this shit. This is an intervention.”
Goddammit! My head is throbbing. I’m not in the mood for another one of Daniel’s interventions.
He hands me some Advil and a glass of water to wash them down. “Have a shower, you fucking stink.”
I lift my arm, and he’s right, I do kind of stink. It takes everything I have in me to get myself up off my bed. Moments later, I stumble into the shower alcove, turn the faucet to hot, and let the water cleanse away the sins of last night.
Feeling better, I re-join Daniel in the living room where he’s cleaning up the remnants of my wild night.
“Where did she go?” I look around my empty apartment.
“The brunette?” Daniel questions, and I nod. “She left.”
Dammit! I was hoping for another round.
What was her name? Stephanie? Chloe? Mariska?
Shaking my head, I don’t know, my brain is a little foggy.
“Trying out muses again?”
“She might have been the one,” I answer while grabbing a juice from the refrigerator.
“Doubtful. Your canvases are pretty bare.”
“We made art on my bed.”
Daniel scoffs. “Fucking lame, man.”
I shrug, finish my juice, and wish it was laced with vodka.
“Why are you here so early?”
“It’s one o’clock in the afternoon, Louis.”
I look up at the clock—so it is. It was a wild night.
Daniel shakes his head in displeasure. “I’m here to tell you, that somehow, a small New York gallery wants to host an exhibition of your latest work at the end of summer.” My eyebrow rises in surprise at his revelation. “Yeah, I know, I’m a goddamn freaking legend.” Daniel chuckles.
“You should be for the amount I pay you.”
He ignores me and continues, “Anyway, they are happy to exhibit pretty much anything you have for them, be it this new demonic direction you seem hell-bent on pursuing or the original old-school Louis Marchant.”
“Great.”
Daniel looks at me, I can tell he’s getting frustrated. “Great! That’s all you have to say. This gallery is holding out a lifeline. If you do well, then it’s a step in the right direction to getting back to where you once were. At the top.”
I shrug. Being the best isn’t always what it’s cracked up to be.
Been there, done that.
“Seriously, I want to fucking punch you right now, you ungrateful fucking dick,” Daniel yells. “Wake up, you fool, before it’s too late.” He’s really pissed, but I’m not sure I care. But he’s also pacing which means he’s not happy with me right now.
“Fine! I give in…” This makes him stop pacing and talking. “This is what they get.” I point at the unfinished paintings in the room. “I have no control over what I paint any more, no more than the weatherman can control the rain. If that’s what they want, then I’ll do it.”
Daniel smiles. “Good.” He doesn’t fight me on it, at all, and that’s a concern. “Because I’ve just hired you an assistant.”
My eyes widen in shock. “No.”
“Yes. Your assistant will organize everything in your life, so all you have to worry about is painting.”
“No, Daniel.”
“Sorry, Louis, this part is non-negotiable. I’m setting your assistant up at your place in the country.”
“No. Absolutely not. That’s my sacred space. No one is allowed there. Only my staff and me.”
“Well, lucky they’ll be your staff.” I don’t think I’m going to win this argument.
“This assistant better not get in my fucking way, Daniel.”
“I promise you that won’t happen. And if it makes you feel better, I’ll liaise directly with your assistant, so you won’t even notice she’s there. I’ll confine your aide to the office.”
My eyes narrow at him. I’m not happy that some stranger is going to be invading my personal space.
“We need Louis Marchant back. I don’t care if you paint a million and one demon paintings all summer. I don’t care if every single one of your paintings are black. We need to fill this gallery. We need you back at the top of your game.”
“They’ll get what they get.”
“Fine! I’m happy with that.” That was easy, too easy. “But…” and here we go, there’s more, “… you need to get back out in public.”
“No.”
“Your public image has taken a considerable nosedive these past four months.” I roll my eyes, Daniel’s being overly dramatic. “The images of you stumbling out of clubs with a different woman on your arm every night doesn’t look great. Image is everything, Louis.”
“Fuck what they think.”
“Most of the people with the money are conservative.”
“Well, fuck them, too. I don’t need their self-righteous money.”
“You look like a fucking dick at the moment. Whereas Elisabeth and Yves are absolutely killing it socially, attending all the events, looking happy and in love, not like some desperado drunk who doesn’t know where his next dime is coming from.”
His words are like a dagger to my heart. Looking happy and in love. Fuck those traitorous bastards. I open the refrigerator and pull out a beer. I’m way too sober to deal with this shit right now. Daniel’s disappointed stare is weighing heavily on him as he collapses into a chair.
“You need to up your social media game… you don’t have Elisabeth anymore to do it.” I take another swig of my beer, seething at Daniel’s words,