The Art of Submission (23 page)

He’s a graduate of one the top art schools in
the US and has worked for several well known galleries, and he
doesn’t find Isabel’s paintings worthy of Studio 210’s walls? I
would’ve guessed he didn’t know a damned thing about art and it
turns out he does. I guess a good education can’t replace shitty
judgment or a wretched personality.

The thought of him being near Isabel is
driving me crazy all fucking morning and I have a difficult time
concentrating on work.
I need to
focus
. I’ll call her at lunchtime and see if she can
meet with me.

Finally lunchtime arrives and I buzz Cassie
to call Studio 210 for me. The phone rings on the other end and
immediately a female voice answers. I ask to be put through to
Isabel. I only wait a few minutes before the female voice
returns.

“I’m sorry. She’s in a meeting right now. Can
I take a message?”

A meeting? With whom?
Greer.
I just know it. I promptly
hang up and head out the door, but not before grabbing the
contract. Again, Cassie and Summer look alarmed to see me moving so
quickly. For fuck’s sake, I’m just going out for lunch, ladies.
I’ll be back. I roll my eyes at them. They’re so overly dramatic
sometimes.

On the drive over to the gallery, I’m
thinking completely irrational thoughts about Isabel and Greer. Why
am I acting like this? She hasn’t even agreed to anything in
writing yet. It’s because of yesterday. All the things we did to
each other; what we said to each other and didn’t say to each
other; the way she reacts to me and how she doesn’t put up with my
bullshit.
That slap
.
Fuck
. I just need to see her and
talk to her. I just need to know that she’ll agree to be
mine.

I pull up outside the studio and sit
for a few minutes trying to regain my composure and slow my
heartbeat.
Concentrate, Young.
Focus. You can do this.
She will be
mine
, I repeat over and over in my mind.

I grab the contract and head towards the
entrance. I stand briefly outside the large glass front windows,
casually peering in, hoping to catch a glimpse of Isabel, but no
luck.

Once inside, I head towards a brunette
who obviously recognizes me. She bats her eyelashes at me and
smiles, tossing her hair and giggling. I would normally take the
opportunity to indulge her since she’s obviously my type,
well,
was
my type
before….
Isabel
. I just
flatly state that I want to speak with Isabel. Her flirting quickly
dissipates and she looks irritated.

“I’m sorry. She’s not available.” She coolly
replies.

I can tell she’s lying right through her big
white veneers. I know a liar when I see one, and with the one
exception of Erika, I’m a damned good judge of one. Now I get to
indulge in one of my other favorite pastimes – calling out a
liar.

“How would you know if she’s busy or not when
you haven’t actually checked?”

I give her my patented ‘really’ stare and it
works wonders. She just stares back at me speechless. Just then I
see Isabel out of the corner of my eye. I can’t help myself and I
have to leave the lying brunette with one last comment.

“Look at that. I guess she’s not busy
after all,
is
she
?”

I call out to Isabel who looks over at me and
looks a combination of happy, stunned and … upset? Why is she upset
to see me? She quickly walks over to me and she’s nervously looking
around the office and around the gallery.

“
What are you doing here, Dylan?” She
whispers, still looking everywhere but into my eyes.

Shit. She doesn’t look happy to see me after
all. She’s back to wearing the same old wrinkled over-sized
clothing, too, I see. I reach over and grab her chin, pulling her
face into my gaze. “Hi. It’s nice to see you, too.”

Now I can see her stunning eyes. They’re wide
and gleaming, and she’s blinking furiously.

“Hi. Dylan…. I… you…what are you doing
here?”

She seems flustered and I can see she doesn’t
want me here. I don’t want to cause an argument, so I tell her I
have some paperwork for her to look over. I hand over the manila
envelope.

“You already wrote it up? That
was…
fast
.”

She has no idea what I can do when I put my
mind to something.

She starts twisting her hair as she’s
watching my mouth keenly.
Damn it
woman
. Why does she do this to me? Then, she seems to
gather her wits rather abruptly, she stands a little taller and she
looks straight into my eyes.

“Thank you Dylan. I’ll look it over and take
it into consideration. I’ll need some time to go over this
thoroughly and make any changes necessary. I’ll let you know if
it’s still something I’m interested in by the end of the week.”

What the fuck?
Is she serious? End of the week?
IF
it’s something she’s still interested in? I’m
stunned by her response. I don’t know who the fuck this girl is in
front of me right now, but this is
not
Isabel talking to me. Before I can even get
a word out, she turns and leaves.

There it is again.
Rejection.
I have nothing else to do but leave
since I’m left standing there in the middle of her office,
alone
.

I immediately head back to my office, not
even stopping to get lunch. I’ve suddenly lost my appetite. What
the fuck is Isabel’s problem? Is she still pissed about last night
and my lack of immediate agreement to monogamy?

I try to remember what my mother said
about sympathy and putting myself in someone else’s shoes. So, for
the first time in my life, I do just that. How would I have felt if
Isabel hadn’t agreed to be monogamous? When I asked her that it
would only be with me, she had said, ‘we can discuss that
later’.
Fuck
. I can be such
an asshole sometimes. I knew I didn’t want to be with anyone else
then, but my stubbornness and my alter ego wouldn’t allow me to say
it to her, and now look where it’s gotten me.

I’ll be damned if I’m waiting until the
end of the week to see her again. That’s bullshit. I’ll drop by her
place tonight or maybe pick her up from work.
No
. I don’t want to push her too hard yet. I’ll
give her a day or two.
Fuck I hate
waiting
.

I’m 30 years old and I’ve never
encountered this situation before. How is that fucking
possible?
Because I’ve never allowed
anyone to affect me the way she has, that’s how
. It
doesn’t take a genius to figure that out.

When I get back to work, I’m seething
mad. Cassie and Summer must sense my anger because they both look
anywhere but at me as I head into my office. I can’t decide if I
want to just go see Isabel tonight and be done with all this or
just wait for her. Fuck
it
.
If that’s what she really wants,
I’ll wait
, but not five fucking
days. I’ll wait two,
maybe
three days.

The rest of my day goes by painfully slow. I
have no attention span whatsoever and I drink way too much coffee.
I’ve been sulking the entire day and thinking of nothing but
Isabel, and just as I’m getting ready to call it a day, Cassie
buzzes me.

“What?” I snap.

“Isabel is back to see you. Do you want me to
send her away?”

What the fuck? She’s here? I don’t
answer Cassie and head straight for my office door. I open it and
Isabel is standing at the desk, fidgeting with her hair. She takes
one look at me and adopts the same stance she had earlier. The new
not-so-improved version of Isabel.
No. I
want the old Isabel back damn it.

Cassie and Summer shoot me a look of
astonishment as they see me in my doorway.

“That’s all ladies. You can leave for the
day.” I just want them the hell out of here since God only knows
what’s going to transpire behind my office doors.

“Isabel, please come in.” I motion for her to
step inside my office. Again, the Bobbsey twins look stunned.

She steps inside my office door, takes one
look at me and then scans the room for her paintings. “I came to
pick up my paintings, Mr. Young.” She’s says unblinking and with a
flat affect.

“Oh really
?”
Are we going down this road again? And what’s with the Mr. Young
bullshit?

“I’m not here to argue with you. I just want
my paintings.” She remains completely indifferent.

“I thought we agreed I could keep them for
awhile.”

“No.
You
agreed you would keep them for awhile, I
didn’t agree to that.” Her tone is cold and monotonous.

“Is that why you’re really here, Isabel?”

She gives me nothing; no
response.
Fine
. “Have you had
a chance to look over the contract?”

“I’ve already told you I would get back to
you on that at the end of the week,” she says with no inflection
whatsoever in her words.

I can’t fucking take this. She’s made
her point already. We both just stand there staring at each other.
All at once, she drops her bag on the floor, walks towards the
paintings and starts taking one down.
Fucking hell.

“Isabel, stop!” My voice is loud and even
takes me by surprise.

She stops and spins around to look at me and
she’s back, my Isabel from before. Her eyes are wide and she’s
looking me up and down.

“You don’t get to tell me to stop, Mr. Young.
I haven’t signed anything yet.” She’s trying to sound convincing,
but this time her voice cracks just a little.

“Don’t take one more step towards those
paintings, Isabel.
Don’t
.” I
can feel my temper gaining the upper hand and my alter ego is
threatening to make an appearance.

In defiance, she steps backwards, closer to
the paintings; just one step. Then one more. I feel myself heating
with aggravation and arousal.

“Don’t do it
.”
I repeat, my voice betraying my fury.

It’s so absurd that we’re arguing over this.
It’s like we’ve divorced and we’re battling over custody of our
three children. She does it one more time, one more step backwards
towards the paintings, her eyes never leaving mine. She reaches a
hand up to grab one, slowly.

“So help me God, if you touch those
paintings Isabel, I’ll take you over my knee. And this time
I
really
will, contract or
not. You’re on seriously thin ice, so
don’t
test me.” My anger is now on DEFCON 5 and
I’m under serious threat of a meltdown.

Her eyes narrow at me, but she lowers her
hand. I see her fist her hands at her sides.

“You just go ahead and try it.” Her voice is
soft but indignant.

No fucking way did she just challenge me.
Before I can even talk my alter ego into staying out of this, he’s
taken over. I move in record speed, pulling her to me and then over
to a conference chair. I’m sitting and before she knows what’s
happened, I have her over my knee. My upper arm is over her back
and my hand on her shoulder holding her down, and her legs are
under one of mine, securing her position. She’s yelling obscenities
at me and thrashing about, but her punishment has already been
decided.

Before I lay claim to her ass, I ask her,
“Are you sorry, Isabel?”

Stunned silence from her, but she continues
to thrash.

“Answer me.
Say you’re sorry for the way you behaved.” My voice is louder
and she thrashes even harder, but she still refuses to answer.
“This is the last time I’m going to say it Isabel. I want to your
apology.
Now
.”

“You go to hell.” Her voice is laden with
contempt, but her thrashing has ceased.

“Then have it your way.” And with that, I
proceed to spank her.

I don’t think she actually thought I
would do it. She lets out a loud gasp and yelps with the first
smack, then starts to thrash again, but I continue on with her
punishment. The second one a little harder than the first, the
third a little harder, and so on. By the time I get to five, I move
to the other cheek. She lets out a gasp and squeals like before,
but
never once
, telling me to
stop. Finally, after ten good wallops, she surprises me and
apologizes.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She says softly.

“Sorry for what, Isabel?” I want to hear her
say it.

“I’m sorry for the way I behaved.” She says
choking back tears.

I ease my grip on her and she jumps up. Her
eyes are glassy, but she’s not crying; she’s infuriated.

“That wasn’t so bad now, was it?” I ask her
derisively.

She’s dumbstruck by my response.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” She
screams at me and right at this moment, I’m glad I told the
receptionists to go home early.

I see her fist her hands again and I
suddenly feel the urge to run for the hills. I stand up to back
away from her and she charges at me, pushes me back into the chair
and slaps me even harder than the previous day. Then she attacks me
by placing one of her knees onto my lap, the other foot still
securely on the floor, and her hands on my shoulders - effectively
pinning me to the chair. She grabs me by the lapels of my jacket
and kisses me viciously, her tongue unyielding and whipping inside
my mouth. When I reach up to grab her face to reciprocate, she
bites my still sore bottom lip, stands back, and slaps me hard,
again.
Holy fucking hell.