Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 75783 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75783 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
“I don’t know what to tell you. I haven’t gone yet,” I say with a shrug.
“What do you plan to learn from art school that you don’t already know? You’re a really talented artist. Is there really anything else they can teach you?” I know he means this to sound supportive, complimentary of my work, but every single person I’ve told about art school has said something similar. Everyone thinks you shouldn’t have to be trained to be an artist; it should be some sort of innate ability that you have.
“I already know how to draw, but I want to study the techniques and get better at it,” I say. “I want to be able to look at sketches from Leonardo da Vinci and Albrecht Dürer and see what their technique was and learn from them. Plus, I doubt I’m going to make a living just being an artist. I need the skills to market myself and figure out how to take my drawing technique and transfer it into the real world.”
“If you could do anything at all with those skills, what would it be?” Dawson asks, his eyes tracing my face as he watches me think.
It’s something I’ve thought about a lot. I love to draw, but drawing itself isn’t a particularly lucrative career. Of course, I could become a world-renowned sketch artist and have original pieces in galleries. I could open my own gallery and sell my work directly to clients. But then there’s the whole world of animation and design that my skills would be suited for.
“Honestly, I don’t know. I just want to be able to do what I love and make an impact on the world with my art,” I admit. Dawson nods and pulls me a little closer as he watches me, letting his hands roam against my body. “What did you go to school for?”
“Business, of course,” he says with a laugh. “I didn’t have much of a choice. My dad made it clear from an early age that I was going to be working at the business.”
“That’s unfortunate. Is there anything else you would have wanted to study?” I ask. Dawson thinks for a moment and shakes his head.
“I accepted pretty early on that this would be the life I have. Not that I’m complaining, it’s a pretty damn good life.” He laughs and gestures to the luxurious penthouse around us. A lot of people would kill for the life he has, and it’s comforting to know that he realizes how privileged he is. “I did take some elective courses in film while I was in school, though. Maybe I could have done something in production or talent scouting.”
I raise my eyebrows, surprised he would have an interest in anything so creative. He’s never struck me as a right-brain type person. I would have imagined he only thought about numbers and profit margins, things like that.
We spend a little more time talking, and I listen as Dawson tells me about some of the films he watched, and the impact they had on him. It’s interesting to learn about his favorite directors and listen to him critique the performances of the actors with such detail that I can see it’s something he truly does care about.
After a while, I can’t hold my eyes open anymore, and they flutter shut as he talks. Dawson just laughs before wrapping an arm around me and tucking some hair behind my ear. He gives me a gentle kiss on the top of the head before letting me fall asleep in his arms once again.
Chapter 17
Dawson
My alarm rings, and it jolts me out of my slumber. Sleeping next to Harper means I’m no longer being haunted by nightmares, but because of that, I have to wake up to the shrill beeping from my phone. It’s such an abrupt start to the morning that I almost wish the nightmares were back.
When I shut off the alarm, I look toward Harper’s side of the bed to see that she’s gone. I jump upright, feeling the panic beating in my throat, and I’m about to call her name when I hear water running in the bathroom. I let out a slow exhale as I realize she’s just showering.
In a brief moment, I let my mind wander, and I thought I’d lost her. Would Malik come in the middle of the night and take her from me? Would she run away, never to be heard from again? The thought of losing her makes my stomach twist into a knot, and I could be sick.
I walk to the bathroom door and push it open, relieved to see she didn’t lock it. Harper is in the shower with steam rising all around her, holding her hair under the water as it runs over her. While her eyes are still closed, I climb in the shower behind her and press my hands against her hips.