The Artist's Game

Susan

I should’ve known Elliot wouldn’t let it go. His jealousy simmered just beneath the surface, peeking through every time Manuel’s name came up. But what could I say? I couldn’t exactly blame him. If the roles were reversed, I might’ve felt the same.

But the thing is, Manuel wasn’t just some artist. He was a man with a past...a past that intertwined with mine in a way I hadn’t fully processed until now.

The next morning, I walked into the office, balancing a coffee in one hand and my laptop in the other. The moment I stepped into the meeting room, Manuel was already there, his dark eyes tracking my every movement.

“Good morning, Susan,” he greeted, his lips curling into that same enigmatic smile he always wore.

“Morning, Mr. Fernandez,” I replied, keeping my tone professional, even though my mind flashed back to the rooftop. To that day.

It was years ago, but the memory was sharp...like the first cut of glass against skin. I’d been on my way home from class, cutting through a backstreet to save time. That’s when I saw him, standing on the ledge of an abandoned building, looking like he was ready to end it all.

I didn’t know what compelled me to act. Maybe it was the haunted look in his eyes, or maybe it was the way the world felt too heavy on his shoulders. But I called out to him, my voice steady even though my heart raced.

“Hey! Don’t do it!”

He’d looked at me then...really looked at me...and something in his eyes shifted. I climbed up there with him, talked to him until the sun dipped below the horizon. I never asked for his name. I didn’t need it. I just needed to make sure he stepped down.

And he did.

Now, years later, he was sitting across from me like no time had passed, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that his sudden appearance wasn’t a coincidence.

“So, Susan,” Manuel’s voice pulled me back to the present. “I’ve been thinking about the campaign. I’d like to add a more personal touch.”

I arched an eyebrow. “What do you have in mind?”

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. “I want to create a series of pieces inspired by the people behind the brand. Starting with you.”

I blinked, taken aback. “Me?”

“Yes.” His gaze was unwavering. “You have a story that deserves to be told.”

I swallowed hard, suddenly feeling like the room was too small. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“But I do,” he said softly.

Before I could respond, the door swung open, and Elliot strode in like a king entering his palace. His eyes flicked between us, narrowing slightly when they settled on Manuel.

“Am I interrupting something?” Elliot’s voice was smooth, but there was an edge to it...a warning.

“Not at all,” Manuel replied, his smile never faltering. “We were just discussing creative concepts.”

Elliot’s gaze shifted to me, and for a moment, something unspoken passed between us. He didn’t trust Manuel. And honestly? Neither did I.

Later that evening, Elliot showed up at my apartment again, this time with a bottle of wine and that infuriatingly smug look on his face.

“What now?” I asked, arching a brow as I let him in.

“I just thought we could unwind,” he said, setting the bottle on my kitchen counter. “You’ve been working so hard… with Manuel.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“And you’re mine,” he shot back, stepping closer until our bodies nearly touched. “No artist, no history, no deal is going to change that.”

His words sent a shiver down my spine, but I wasn’t about to let him off the hook that easily. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?” His fingers grazed my hip, pulling me closer. “Because every time I see him look at you, I see the way he wants you. But guess what?” His lips brushed against my ear, his voice dropping to a low whisper. “He can look all he wants. You’ll still be screaming my name.”

The heat between us ignited like wildfire, and before I knew it, we were tangled together on the couch, our bodies moving in perfect sync. His touch was possessive, his kisses demanding, like he was staking his claim all over again.

But even as I lost myself in him, Manuel’s shadow lingered in the back of my mind, a silent reminder that this game was far from over.