Chapter 10
Joanna eyed Ryan, catching the way he clenched his jaw and balled his fists like he was about to snap.
She let out a quiet breath. ‘Alright, this Newburn guy’s not totally unhinged.’
He was reacting just like she’d planned–right on script.
‘Artists? Total drama queens about their work. Trash their art, and bam–you’re their mortal enemy,‘ she thought.
Step one: roasted his painting. Cranked that hate dial to max.
Joanna’s mind flashed to some dirt she’d picked up on Ryan.
Rumor was, he had a nemesis, Javier Robertson, some artsy hotshot who loved dark, brooding colors to spill his inner chaos.
Kinda like that black–and–white watercolor.
She’d already thrown it some praise–nailed it. Now, time to twist the knife and tear into Ryan’s work.
‘Tough love’s good for the soul. He’ll thank me later,‘ she smirked.
Ryan’s style was loud, wild, like Picasso with an attitude—abstract, Fauvist, all in–your–face. He slapped on bold, heavy colors to paint these chaotic, trippy scenes.
Joanna scanned the room and locked onto one of his pieces, a screaming mess of oranges and reds. To her, it looked like a paint fight gone wrong.
“That black–and–white watercolor? Straight–up fire. It’s got depth, vibe–real art heads get it,” she said, waving a hand. “But this?” She pointed at the orange–red disaster. “I’ve tried every angle, and it’s just… huh? Total chaos. Nobody’s getting this.”
She leaned in, going for the jugular. “It’s like a paint bomb exploded. These colors? My eyes are begging for mercy. No vibe, no beauty. Feels like the artist was losing it.”
She kept going. “It’s like they’re trying way too hard to show off, all cocky and desperate, but the talent’s not backing it up. Ambition’s outrunning skill, and it’s a clown show on canvas.”
Joanna crossed her arms, dropping the mic. “This Fauvist mess can’t touch that piece. The artists? Not even close. This guy needs a decade to catch up.”
She glanced at Ryan, his eyes practically burning holes through her.
‘Nice, Joanna,‘ she told herself. ‘You’ve got him pissed. Time to grab your stuff and bounce. Plan executed!
But then Ryan’s face–that stupidly perfect, almost unreal face–cracked. He stepped toward her, and Joanna threw up her hands, bracing for a swing.
“Whoa, chill! No fists, just kick me out, alright?” Joanna said.
Ryan stopped, stared for a second, then–out of nowhere–busted out laughing.
His grin lit up, a faint blush hitting his pale cheeks. He looked like a kid who just scored the best gift ever.
“Kick you out? Girl, why would I?” he said, still chuckling. “You’re my freaking muse! My ride–or–die art soulmate!”
Joanna blinked. ‘What the hell?‘
1/2
Chapter 10
Ryan grabbed her hand, shaking it like they’d just sealed a deal. “You’re so right! Ten years, and I’m still not touching him!”
Her mouth twitched. ‘Is this dude into getting roasted or what? He is thrilled to get dragged? Calling me his muse? Is it because I’ve gone full savage?‘
Joanna’s head was spinning as Ryan kept shaking her hand.
‘Why are the Newburns so damn weird?‘ she thought. ‘All I want is to get tossed out. Is that so hard?‘
She slumped against the wall, sighing. Ryan, still holding her hand, gave her a look like he knew her.
“You feel it too, right?” he said. “This vibe? It’s rare, Joanna. We’re, like, totally in sync. You get my art, my soul–and damn, you’re giving me ideas.”
Here’s the deal: Ryan and Javier had a secret art showdown. They’d each painted something in the other’s style to see who’d
win.
Everyone who came by hyped up Ryan’s Fauvist piece, thinking they were kissing up to Ryan. But really, they were crowning Javier.
Except Joanna. She didn’t care about sucking up to the Newburn family’s golden boy. She saw the art for what it was–saw him. His hustle, his fire.
And she’d made him feel seen.
He wasn’t just some hack with a brush. His work just needed the right eyes. And now, maybe, he’d found them.
Ryan stood beside her, his usual cold, chaotic energy softening into something almost shy. “Forget what I said before. You’re the real deal.”
‘Nobody’s realer than you,‘ he added silently. ‘My muse. My ride–or–die!’
