CJ Turner - The Artist and His Billionaire

The Artist and His Billionaire

CJ Turner

Copyright 2020 by CJ Turner

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any electronic or mechanical means, without the written permission of the copyright holder, except in case of brief quotations and within critical reviews and articles.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales and incidents are either the products of the authors imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Contents

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Chapter One

Lennox

Lenny, called Mrs. Pearson up the stairwell.

Please, dont call me Lenny, Lennox thought. He ignored the level-ten stridency in Mrs. Pearsons voice that indicated distress he must deal with. Lennox took a deep breath and reminded himself of the gratitude he felt for Mrs. Pearson, lending him his studio slash apartment.

Just please give me a few more minutes.

The intense midmorning sun moved an inch to cast a sword of light on his mattress on the floor to the wall at the head. Lennox needed to capture it as it fell on the form on the bed. In his minds eye, a gorgeous man with washboard abs and definition to his muscles lay there. Lennox had put too many highlights in the original painting, and it washed out the figure. Sweat broke out on Lennoxs brow as he worked to correct this deficit. If he didnt get it done now, he must wait until tomorrow.

Lenny! called his landlady. Her tone now called extra sharp, and Lennox almost dropped his brush to his palate in annoyance but restrained the urge. Lennox couldnt paint like this.

He huffed in frustration and admitted defeat, then dropped the brush in the turpentine jar.

Bonkers, he called. The mass on the bed stirred and perked up his head and shook the sleep from his liquid umber eyes.

Time to go to work.

The tan and white pug yawned as if the prospect bored him. Lennox also found staffing Mrs. Pearsons flower shop tiresome, but he understood that she couldnt afford regular help.

Coming, Mrs. Pearson, he called. Bonkers wants his cookie.

Lennox reached into the nearly bare cupboards and pulled down the doggie cookie bag and frowned. One left. He snapped it in two and handed one piece to Bonkers, who gobbled it as if the chubby thing missed a dozen meals. After wolfing it down, Bonkers looked up expectantly for the other chunk.

Sorry, buddy, were a little short this week. Damn cell phone company demanded its pound of flesh, and I had to carve it from somewhere.

Bonkers gave out a doggy whine letting Lennox know he wasnt pleased, but hed live with it. As Lennox grabbed his cell phone from the counter by the sink, he noticed faint red and blue paint splatters from his cleanup the day before. Lennox pulled the cleanser from under the sink and sprinkled it on the enamel. He may be an artist, but he wasnt a pig.

Lennox followed as Bonkers nails tapped against the ancient oak staircase of the nineteenth-century building to meet his landlady. Mrs. Pearson stood at the bottom of the stairs with an expectant expression.

Mrs. Pearson, for her sixty-something years, wasnt your typical oldster. While she had a few extra pounds that she blamed on her heart medicine, she kept up her chestnut hair color. The elderly florist remained spry and worked full days in the shop. Some days she surprised Lennox with behavior he didnt expect from a woman of her yearslike the day he found her toking on a joint while putting together flower arrangements.

But lately, she looked more tired, which Lennox ascribed to her worrying about the store finances.

Mrs. Pearson smiled when she spotted him.

Thank you, Lenny. I know it isnt your day like we agreed. I cannot figure out how I got the doctors appointment mixed up.

Oh, I dont fault you. I blame that no-good grandson of yours for abandoning you and traipsing across Europe.

Mrs. Pearson rolled her eyes. You only live once, Lenny. Something you should do.

Is that your Uber I see in the street? he said. Lennox would not get into this conversation now. She meant well, but Lennox had one goalto get his work accepted in the Fairfax Artists Show. It was a juried competition with modest prizes. But it also drew agents from New York, and he could use one.

You cant see the street from here, Lenny.

I see it with my inscrutable psychic powers, he said with a teasing grin.

You and my grandson are two of a kind.

Uh, oh. Time for another deflection.

Dont worry about the store, Mrs. Pearson. Is there anything you want me to do?

Yes, if you can use those inscrutable psychic powers to get us a big order, Id appreciate it. Since Christis opened down the street, the little hussy stole a good chunk from my business.

Lennox knew this, and he felt terrible for Mrs. Pearson, but there wasnt much he could do for her. She should have sold the shop and the building several years ago before the competition moved in. Now Mrs. Pearson couldnt get the stores former worth.

Dont go there, Lennox. You need not worry about your landlady. She has family members to do that for her.

Still, a knot formed in his throat at the memories that made his grandmothers final years unnecessarily difficult.

He shook his head as he watched Mrs. Pearson walk into the workroom. Bonkers looked up at him waiting for Lennox to do the same.

The aroma of flowers Mrs. Pearson left on the extended bench as well as potting soil mingled in the workroom. He also thought of it as a single scent, verdant with the promise of growth and life. In Lennoxs mind, that particular odor was green if color had a smell.

You were right, Lenny. Theres the car now. Later. The bell at the stores entrance rang as she left, and the front door banged shut. Damn it. He thought he fixed that automatic door closer.

What the hell are you supposed to do? The thing is a hundred years old.

Hed tighten the hinge again, but the truth was Mrs. Pearson had to break down and buy a new one.

Lennox rummaged through the tool drawer at the workshop bench looking for the Phillips head screwdriver and nicked his finger on a box cutter.

Fabulous. Lets start the day with a nice case of lockjaw.

Ouch, he said reflexively. But Bonkers, the traitor, didnt bother to pay attention. As if of utmost importance, the dog trotted into the shop. Lennox leaned from the counter to peer into the store and found Bonkers parked by the front door as if waiting for a VIP.

Sure, show me no sympathy, he called after Bonkers. I may have to cut your cookie ration further.

Through the mass of containers on the floor filled with brightly colored bouquets and hanging plants from the ceiling, Lennox spotted Bonkers. The damn dog stared at the front door and wiggled his hind end in excitement.

Lennox shrugged and sucked his finger, and then decided that was unhygienic. He stuck it under the workroom faucet.

The front doorbell rang, then the door banged shut, and he cursed. It was a day of interruptions.

Oh, look at the pup. What a sweetheart. The unseen mans voice was as thick and silky as warm caramel. Lennox picked up his ears. He was a sucker for a voice like that.

Be careful, sweetie, said a woman. You dont know if hell bite.

Lennox wiped his finger with a paper towel and found it still bled. He took another towel and wrapped it around the digit and stepped inside the shop. He found, to his horror, Bonkers jumping on the pants leg of the potential customer.