Chapter 3: The Proposition

Days of watching Tommy Drix stare at a blank canvas, and Emilia finally decided to approach him. Whenever she skimmed his mind, she could never find out why he wasn’t painting. He couldn’t block her psychic intrusion, nor did he even know she was there, but she could only read what was on the surface. She couldn’t dig into his memories.

She found him in the bar sitting at one of the tables and drinking a beer. There were other people around him, talking and laughing, but Emilia could see by his subtle body language that he was only there for appearances.

Boldly, she walked up to the table. She caught Tommy’s soulful brown eyes. He arched an eyebrow at her as she rounded the table, his friends falling silent when they noticed her. Emilia leaned in just enough to place her hand his, the one he had on his beer.

“Tommy Drix,” she spoke his name in a sultry tone.

His eyes roamed over her face quickly and then scanned her hourglass figure and the sheath of a red dress she was wearing.

“Do I know you?” Tommy asked her.

She shook her head, gently caressing the back of his hand with her fingertips. She could hear the blood rushing through his veins, smell the heat that rose on his skin.

“Would you like to?” she asked.

Tommy grinned at her.

“You’re bold,” one of Tommy’s friends said to her, clear contempt in her voice.

Slowly, Emilia pulled her eyes from the artist and looked at the female friend who spoke.

“Am I?” Emilia asked.

The friend crossed her arms over her chest. “Tommy, who is this chick? Just tell her to go away,” the woman said.

Emilia turned back to Tommy. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her.

“It’s alright, Abby,” he said. “I want to talk to her.”

Emilia parted her lips in a pleased smile. Tommy’s friends departed from the table, the woman, Abby, more reluctantly than the others.

When they were gone, Emilia slid onto one of the vacated stools.

“Who are you?” Tommy asked, still staring at her.

It didn’t take much for her to understand he was attracted to her. It was a common response she got from men, but she didn’t understand why.

“My name is Emilia,” she said. “When you look at me, what do you see?” she cocked her head to the side slightly, her golden curls slipping over her shoulder.

Tommy chuckled. He lifted his beer to his lips, breaking away from the hand he had on his.

“I couldn’t describe that with words,” he said.

“Could you describe it with a paintbrush?” she asked.

Tommy paused mid-sip. “You’re asking me to paint your portrait?” he asked, setting the beer down. Emilia nodded.

“I want to know,” she said.

“Know what?” Tommy asked.

“What others see when they look at me,” she explained.

Tommy creased his brow. “Why not look in a mirror?” he asked.

Emilia licked her lips, the artist’s eyes following the motion. “That wouldn’t tell me what others see,” she said. “You make a living out of seeing layers, of putting them on a canvas.” Emilia motioned to a few of Tommy’s paintings on the walls.

Tommy scoffed, taking a long sip of his beer.

“I make my living writing graphic novels,” he corrected.

Emilia put her elbow on the table, she playfully bit her forefinger between her teeth.

“Which also display the layers of a person’s essence and soul,” she pointed out.

“You’re familiar with my work?” Tommy asked. He arched a skeptical eyebrow at her.

Emilia shrugged with one shoulder. “I know what I need to,” she said. “I can pay you whatever you ask.”

“It isn’t about the money,” Tommy said. He sighed and leaned away from Emilia slightly, the spell of attraction broken.

“Are you denying my proposition?” she asked.

Tommy gave a soft snort. “I can refer you to another artist if you want your portrait painted,” he offered.

Emilia shook her head slowly. “It has to be you,” she said.

Tommy shook his head, taking another sip of his beer. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice truly apologetic. “I’m not painting much these days.”

“Very well,” Emilia said. She slipped off the stool and Tommy caught her arm.

Emilia looked down at his warm fingers as they grasped her cold skin. Quickly, the artist let go of her.

“Do you have to go?” he asked.

Emilia offered a sultry half-smile. “I think I should,” she said, her fangs aching suddenly.

Lust and desire so easily triggered her hunger, and she hadn’t fed before coming to the bar. Emilia pressed the tip of her tongue to the inside of her fangs, relieving the ache slightly.

Tommy couldn’t hide the disappointment in his eyes, but he nodded.

Emilia left the bar, but she had no intention of letting the matter drop. Up the fire escape and through Tommy’s loft window, she took a closer look at his workspace.

Across from the blank canvas, there was an antique couch with pillows and silk sashes piled across it. Feeling playful, Emilia stripped out of her dress, leaving it in a silk puddle on the floor. She unclipped her silver shoes and left them abandoned.

Naked, except for her ruby necklace and matching earrings, she lay across the couch. Emilia propped herself up on a pearly white, satin pillow, discarding the others.

She imagined that many other women had posed in a similar position on that couch to be painted by the mysterious and alluring Tommy Drix. Emilia was disappointed that he wouldn’t paint her; she wanted to get into his head and understand him, so she tried to imagine how he would ask someone to pose for their portrait.

The doorknob to the loft turned and Emilia sat up quickly. She grabbed the nearest silk wrap to her, pulling it up to cover her torso. It wasn’t long enough to cover her legs or arms.

As the door opened, Emilia lifted her hand to her mouth, the green silk trailing down her throat, covering her breasts and her abdomen.

Tommy entered his apartment with a sigh. He tossed his keys aside and caught sight of Emilia, freezing instantly. He stared at her and Emilia stared back.

She could have fled with speed faster than the human eye, but she had no intention of going anywhere. At least, not until Tommy cocked his head to the side, his eyes brightening. The way he looked at her was like he could see into her soul.

Emilia made to leave.

“Don’t!” Tommy said quickly, rushing forward several steps.

Emilia sat back slowly.

“Please, don’t move.”

She gave a single nod.

Tommy ran to his canvas and grabbed a pencil. He started sketching lines onto the canvas, peaking around it now and then to look at Emilia. She turned her head slightly over her shoulder so she could look at him. He grinned around the canvas.

“Open your mouth slightly,” he said.

Emilia moistened her lips with a lick and parted them slightly. Tommy grinned again and returned to his sketching.

Emilia sat perfectly still, not needing to breathe, not needing to fidget or move. It wasn’t the longest she had ever sat completely still. Before coming to Seattle, she had sat still for almost two decades once, in protest. It had earned her a violent century in the aftermath.

“Do you want to get up and stretch?” Tommy asked her after a while.

Emilia smirked and shook her head. “Does this mean you are going to paint my portrait?” she asked.

Tommy came around the canvas. He went down on a knee in front of her. She held perfectly still as he used the tip of his paintbrush to move her curls around her face.

“I want to take your picture like this so I can recreate the visual every time we meet,” Tommy told her.

“No pictures,” Emilia said firmly.

“I won’t remember the exact way your hair falls or how you hold this shawl,” he said, pointing to the green silk in her hand. He stood back up and stepped back from her.

“I’ll remember,” Emilia assured with a single nod.

Tommy sighed. He stood up and backed away from her.

“Fine,” he said. “This isn’t going to be cheap.”

“Nor would I expect it to be,” Emilia said licking her lips.

Again, Tommy’s eyes followed the movement.

“Who are you?” Tommy asked.

“Who do you want me to be?” Emilia asked, tipping her head to the side.

Tommy chuckled and shook his head. “You break into my apartment and pose on my couch after I tell you I won’t paint you,” he said. “And now…” he looked back at his canvas.

“Now what?” Emilia asked looking up at the artist, tilting her head back and exposing her neck and the ruby necklace that hung there.

“I get my first stroke of inspiration in a long time,” he admitted.

Emilia stood from the couch, dropping the green silk shawl. Stark naked, she stood before Tommy. His eyes popped for a moment. Emilia stepped around him to her dress and shoes.

“Then perhaps we can both help each other,” she offered.

“When do you want to come back?” Tommy asked.

She could feel his eyes on her as she clothed herself. “Tomorrow night, after sunset,” she said.

Tommy smiled and nodded. Emilia gave him one more sultry look before she ducked out the window and headed down the fire escape.