Submersed (12 page)

             
When I woke the next morning, the poor pillow I’d humped like a horny rabbit was slumped on the floor, discarded sometime in the middle of the night along with the rest of my hopes for satisfaction.

             
I knew then what I had to do.

Chapter Ten

             
“Dillon, hi.
This is Olivia Sharpe,” I told his voice mail. “I’m calling to set something up for this afternoon.” I left my number, hung up and spent the next half hour obsessing over the call in my head. Would he even want to see me again? He probably had way more interesting clients to choose from than me.
Women who were comfortable in their own skin.
Women who were comfortable enough to have sex in limos and give blowjobs after a massage.

             
Twenty minutes later Dillon called me back.

             
“Do you have time to come over today?” I asked with a voice of pure business.

             
“Sure,” he answered without hesitation. “I’ll bring lunch.”

             
“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” I replied, my voice wavering.

             
“Are you hungry?”

             
“Well, yeah…I…”

             
“Then I’m bringing lunch. It’ll be my treat.”

             
“Okay,” I said reluctantly. What choice did I have?

             
“I’ll see you in an hour.”

             
“Great.”

             
According to the website, I was responsible for paying all of Dillon’s expenses so I tucked another twenty into his envelope.

             
An hour later, Dillon showed up bearing drinks and a bag of food.

             
“This is for you,” I said, setting the envelope on the table in the foyer.

             
“Thanks.” He set his keys on top of it and brought me in for a half-hug with his free arm. “And this is for us,” he announced, holding out the bag of food. With one arm around my shoulder, he led me to the table where he set down our lunch.

             
I sat down next to him and took a
sip
from the soda he set in front of me. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

             
“Eh,” he shrugged, pulling out two packages wrapped in gold foil and handed me one. “It’s no biggie. I figured you probably get tired of room service. I hope you like club sandwiches.”

             
“I do.”

             
“Good. It seemed like a win-win because if there’s anything on it you don’t like, you can always pick it off.”

             
“Wow, thank you. This looks good.” I
unwrapped
mine and found a delicious looking sandwich inside
.

             
Dillon was already taking a bite out of his sandwich when he eyed me suspiciously. “It’s from Earl of Sandwich. You
’
ve never been there before?”

             
“No.” I took a dainty bite and my eyes widened at the burst of flavor. My mouth watered around the warm toasted artisan bread, thinly sliced roasted turkey, smoked bacon, Swiss cheese, lettuce and
roma
tomatoes. I wouldn’t be picking anything off the mouthwatering sandwich. “Oh, it’s delicious. Where are they located?”

             
“At Planet Hollywood.”

             
“Oh.”

             
Dillon shook his head in disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding me. It’s the best sandwich on The Strip.”

             
I swallowed another bite of heaven and chased it with a
drink
of cola. “I’d have to agree.”

             
“I still can’t believe you’ve never had one of these.”

             
“I don’t get out much,” I confessed.

             
“How long have you lived in Vegas?”

             
I looked away and pretended to focus on my chewing. “About five years,” I generalized
, w
hen in fact I knew the exact day that I’d arrived down to the hour. “And you?”

             
“About four.”

             
We ate in silence for a few minutes and then Dillon asked, “So, I forgot to ask you the other night when we were looking at all those cars. What kind of car do you drive?”

             
“I don’t have a car.”

             
This surprised him and I was amused. What the hell did I need a car for?

             
“Why not?” he asked suspiciously.

             
I casually shook off the sensitive question. “I have a driver take me wherever I need to go.”
Which was nowhere.

             
“Don’t you ever just want to go drive out on the open road by yourself? Wind in your hair? Have that…that
freedom
to go wherever you want?”

             
“I don’t really like to drive.” In fact, it was much too stressful.
All those maniacs on the road, darting in and out.
Looking at me.
Laughing.

             
“So, you don’t go out at all?”

             
“I avoid it at all costs. Sometimes my father insists I go to his house for dinner, but other than that, no.”

             
Dillon shrugged.
“Fair enough.”

             
“Listen, Dillon, I wanted to talk to you about the other night.”

             
“What about it?”

             
“I wanted to thank you again for helping me out at the car show.”

             
“No problem.”

             
“And I wanted to thank you for what you did at the charity dinner
, too
.”

             
“What, the dancing?”

             
“No, that was nice too, but I meant at dinner.
When you were talking about my painting.
You really went above and beyond by actually going to the gallery. You didn
’
t have to do that.”

             
He raised one shoulder in a half shrug. “I enjoyed it. I thought if our stories were going to match, I should at least check out the spot where we “met”. And I loved your painting
by the way
.”

             
“I still can’t believe you saw the mermaid.” I had been marveling over that fact since our first “date” together.

             
“Yeah, plain as day.”

             
I shook my head in disbelief. “You have no idea how many times I’ve had to explain it to people and they just don’t see it.”

             
“Sometimes people only see what they want to see. Art is supposed to be subjective, right?”

             
“Well, yeah. But I painted her as a mermaid.”

             
“How come you don
’
t let that lady show your work in L.A.?”

             
I felt my spine stiffen. “I had a show once.
In Paris.”
God, it felt like a lifetime ago. It had been right before…right before my life had changed forever. “I swore I’d never do it again.”

             
He looked at me sideways and smirked. “So it didn’t go over very well?”

             
I playfully punched his arm and he didn’t even flinch. “Are you kidding? I received rave reviews. And just so you know, every piece in the collection sold. I’m even told there was a bit of a bidding war on a piece named
Mon
Reve
.”

             
“Then why don’t you do it again? People obviously love your paintings,
Livi
.”

             
“Uh-uh. I can’t b
ea
r the thought of all those stuffy, pretentious people looking down their noses at my work.”

             
“Yeah,” he agreed. “That must get kind of nerve-wracking. But it’s all a part of the process.”

             
Thoughtfully, I chewed the last bite of my sandwich. “Speaking of my work, I have a…sort of a…proposition for you.”

             
I could tell this intrigued him because he was looking at me through narrowed eyes.
“Oh yeah?
Is that why you called me today?”

             
“It is.”

             
“So what
’
s the proposition?”

             
Jeez, I sure hated talking on the phone, but this was like torture talking to Dillon face to face with his eyes staring into mine. “I…I want to paint you.”

             
“That sounds messy. I hope it’ll wash off,” he said with a smirk.

             
I elbowed him in the ribs and laughed at how he could make light of any situation to make me feel comfortable. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. So, would you mind?”

             
“Mind what?”

             
“Sitting for me while I paint you,” I answered impatiently.

             
He tilted his head from side to side, pretending to think it over. “You know you could have just called me to ask. I mean, not that I don’t like coming over to see you, but…”

             
The mention of the phone had me swallowing back fear. “I don’t…I don’t really do well on the phone.”

             
“Okay,” he shrugged. “I can understand that.”

             
The suspense had my nerves standing on end. “So…?” I drew out the word in the form of a question.

             
He leaned forward, took my hand in his and proceeded to make those lazy circles with his thumb. “I’ll do it,” he finally said.

             
“Great.”

             
“On one condition.”

             
An invisible fist wrenched tight inside my throat and my hand jerked in his. “What’s that?”

             
“You let me see the painting when it’s finished.”

             
“I suppose I can make an exception.”

             
As Dillon and I finished our sandwiches, I had an epiphany. We were having a date. Or at least that’s what it felt like under the circumstances.

             
I was asking him questions, he was answering. He was telling me funny stories and making me laugh. We were getting to know each other. It was a much more relaxed experience than being thrust into social situations together with limited preparation. It was just the two of us and there was no one else around to make me feel uncomfortable but myself.

             
Dillon crumpled up our food wrappers and tossed them in the trash. “So, what kind of music do you listen to?” he asked, taking a long pull from his soda.

             
“Chopin, mostly,” I answered. “It haunts me.”

             
He let out a low whistle. “Heavy.”

             
I shrugged. “I like piano concertos.”

             
His eyes widened in recognition and he nodded his head. “Oh, yeah, like classical music.
Beethoven and stuff.
Cool.”

             
I laughed at how Dillon could so easily describe the most influential composers as “cool stuff
”
.

             
Then, as if a light bulb switched on in his brain, he got up and wandered around the living room. When he found the stereo, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and plugged it in. A booming sound came from the speakers and he cranked up the volume.
“Since you don’t like to go out, how ‘bout we make our own club?”

             
Out of habit, I flinched at the noise. The sound was a little loud for my taste, but I had to admit it had an infectious beat. A guitar screeched and a gravel
l
y voice started singing about porn star dancing.

             
When I heard the lyrics, I blushed. I didn
’
t normally listen to music that had lyrics. Words were too distracting when layered over the other voices in my head. I had enough going on in there already.