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

yet saying nothing in reply. “He has a million followers on Instagram already.” Like that’s meant to mean something to me. “You only have three hundred fifty thousand.” Again, like that means something. “There are pictures of them at all the hottest parties around the world.” So what? Elisabeth never says no to an invite anywhere. “Photos with celebrities. Endorsements from different brands. And what do you have?” He looks at me clutching my beer, my normally clean-shaven face covered in a patchy beard, my disheveled appearance matching exactly how I feel.
“People are clamoring for them… like they used to for you.”
I finish my beer and grab another.
Daniel lets out a frustrated growl and breaks eye contact while he lowers his head. “You’re lucky you are fucking family because otherwise, I’d have dropped your ungrateful ass ages ago if you were a normal client. Get your act together, Louis. This depressive bullshit is just fucking crap.” And with that, he walks out slamming the door behind him.

4
Emily
“Hi, is this Emily Chapman?”
“Yes, it is.” Did I give my number to someone and not realize? It’s been a week since Toby broke up with me, and I’ve been staying with Rosie and have spent most of that time in a wine-induced haze.
“You applied for the art assistant’s position.” My stomach instantly starts to churn. Oh my God, we applied for that while we were all drunk, and I had completely forgotten about it.
“Yes, I did.”
“Your résumé is impressive.”
It is?
Shit! What did we write?
“And I was wondering if we could organize an interview time.”
Oh my God!
I’m so nervous, I really need this job. I don’t care how much they pay me or if I have to look after some temperamental artist, I’ll take it. Of course, that’s if they offer it to me. This could be my chance to finally work in the art industry. Yes, it will be as a personal assistant, probably getting coffee and other menial tasks, but I don’t care. At least I’ll finally be doing something in the art scene. The fact that it’s based in the South of France isn’t that bad either. I need to get out of London and away from my old life. I need a fresh start, and this will be the perfect recharge. I’ll come back with a tan and a new spring in my step, armed with this newfound-art experience which is going to open so many doors for me here in London. I must get this job, so I do everything to look and present the best I can for this interview.
Taking a deep breath, I press the bell of the Mayfair Terrace. My heart is thumping loudly in my chest, and my palms are sweaty. You’ve got this, Emily, I tell myself. This job is yours.
The door opens, and I’m little taken aback by the man standing in front of me. I look to the side to check if I have the right number because the man is gorgeous. He looks like he’s stepped off the pages of GQ. Jet-black hair slicked back and the most intense blue eyes. They’re almost turquoise like the Mediterranean Sea I swam in last summer with Toby, bright blue pools that a woman could get lost in.
Like you’re doing right now, Emily.
The navy suit he’s wearing is cut to perfection over his large frame. I know how much that suit cost because Toby has the same one, but he never looked this good in it.
Control your hormones, Emily. This is a job interview.
“You must be Emily,” he says with a deep, timbered voice that reverberates over my body. He offers me a tanned hand to shake. I take it. It’s warm and large—
so, so large. “I’m Daniel DuPont…” there’s a hint of a French accent as he says his name, “… the artist’s agent.” I nod in understanding. “Come in.” He holds open the door for me as I enter the luxury terrace, then he ushers me along the white hallway. I’m mesmerized by the artwork that lines the walls, especially the beautiful multi-colored striped canvas. He notices that I have stopped walking and am currently staring at the painting.
“Is that an original Louis Marchant?” I ask in awe. He grins, showing me his perfect white teeth and the cutest little dimple on one cheek.
“Yes, it is.” He gives me a curious look.
“It’s magnificent. He’s such a talent. I went to his exhibition years ago when it was in London. I think I had just started at university, and he was becoming known to the art world. I stood there for hours losing myself in the color, the passion that filled each of his pieces.”
“Have you seen any of his latest work?”
“The darker ones?” He nods. “Yes, online.”
“And what did you think?” Daniel stares at me, and I get lost in his blue eyes for a moment.
“I like them.”
“Really? Why?”
“Because life isn’t always rainbows. Sometimes it’s raw, angry, and messed up.”
He’s silent for a couple of moments.
Damn, maybe I have overstepped with my comment.
Good one, Emily.
“And you speak French?” He switches to French, and I converse easily with him as we move into the living room. I grew up speaking French, my mother was an artist, so I guess I follow in her footsteps. She was very bohemian, eccentric, but oh so beautiful. She made sure we spoke French at home. But when she left, I was the only one who continued speaking it in private. It felt like I was still connected to her in some way. I understand now why my brother and sister stopped speaking French, they were older and understood more about why our parents had split up, but for me, it was a confusing time.
Eventually, as I got older, I was told how she had left my father for another man. An artist she was working with here in London. They fell in love, and she moved to France to be with him, and that