Dave opened his groggy eyes the next morning, blinking against the harsh light streaming in through the window. He checked his phone. Nine in the morning, a lot of messages, but none of them from Janie.

After putting on some loose sweats in an attempt to respect the shared living space, he traipsed to the room next door, hoping to see it closed, or open with a tousled head against the pillow.

Instead, the door stood open and the pillow was unbothered. She hadn’t come home last night, which he should’ve suspected, given that he’d last checked her room at four a.m., for the third time.

He fired her off a text. You still alive?

After the paintings had been shown last night, it was decided that he and Ethan would check out some of the nearby galleries and see if they could place something. This was a preliminary step to see if Dave could possibly do the job, which would then lead in to a conversation with Janie about whether they’d work as business partners.

There were a lot of ifs in this venture.

To hit the galleries, they’d obviously need pictures of the art.

To do that, they’d had to empty her room and spread the paintings into the front living room, where the lighting was best.

Martha and Ralph had gone home by that point, and only her friends had been present, but one would’ve thought they were taking out her pets for slaughter. She’d silently moved all the paintings into the hallway before closing and locking her door. They’d tried to talk to her a few times, but she hadn’t responded. Not even when he’d gone upstairs to say goodbye. She really did hate showing her art. Clearly as much as she hated expressing her emotions.

He had to agree: fate was a bitch. Because she didn’t have any other options.

While waiting for her response, he headed to get coffee, only to stare in frustration at an empty pot. He hadn’t set it up the night before. That was annoying.

His phone chimed with a message. Alive. Working. If you guys are heading out into the world to peddle my wares, I need to finish up. Almost there.

There’s no coffee, he responded. That was the gravest offense, after all.

Now you know how I feel when you drink it all. Suck it.

That happened ONE time.

It has haunted me ever since.

He laughed and grabbed a filter.

His phone chimed again. When are you going to visit your mom?

He frowned down at the text, wondering why she was asking. Did she want to go?

Excitement fizzed up his middle at the prospect. Did he want her to?

He checked the date. It was Saturday. He zipped off a text. Monday is the next visiting day.

How are you doing with that?

She was just checking on him.

Ignoring the disappointment, he spooned coffee into the filter, filled the machine with water, and switched it on before answering. This isn’t the first time she’s been in rehab. I’m hoping I can make it the last.

Let me know if you need anything.

He moved to the couch, smiling. She was a good friend. Supportive.

When are you coming home?

A knock sounded at the door before she answered. Ready to chase away a door-to-door salesman, he headed that way. Then paused.

If he just showed up at the galleries without any kind of invitation, he’d be no better than a door-to-door salesman. They’d be ready to say no before they even looked at Janie’s work. He had to make a statement. Had to go about it differently than every other cold-calling artist would.

Theater, that was what he needed.

The knock sounded again. “You in there?” someone called.

Dave rolled his eyes. This wasn’t a salesman, it was a stoner.

Joe stood on the stoop with messy hair and red-rimmed eyes. “How’s it going?” He nodded and his eyes swept Dave’s chest. “Wow. Pretty ripped.”

“What do you need?”

“Oh yeah.” He held out a piece of paper. There were two numbers on the top half of the sheet, followed by a telephone number. A line cut horizontally across the page, and below it was an address and another telephone number.

“What is this?”

“Janie said to look out for open apartments in case you asked. But I’m a doer, not a waiter, you know what I mean?”

“No.”

“So I went ahead and asked around. The two at the top are open apartments around here. There are always open apartments, because this place is a shit hole, but those are pretty good. New paint ’n’ shit. So that’s the number to reserve one. I told my man Jake that you might call. He’ll try to hold at least one of the units. But Janie said it might be for your mom. And if it was me, a place around here would be too close. So the apartment at the bottom is open in the complex where one of my buddies lives. That place is nicer, but it costs more. Price is worth it, though, right? Because it’s, like, on the other side of the city. That’s plenty close for a parent. I hate when mine check in on me.”

“Do you work?”

“Nah, dude, I go to college. That is work enough!”

“Right.” Dave glanced out over the apartment complex, a spark of hope rising inside him. If he could get his mom to agree to move, it would be easier to get her to stay off drugs. Then maybe he could make modeling alone work. He was already saving a ton by living with Janie, and the apartment for his mom wouldn’t be too much more than the taxes and fees from the mobile home park—maybe he could get by without BD.

Which would give him a shot at being with Janie for real.

Hope turned into a rush of raw desire and excitement.

He blew out a breath. He couldn’t get ahead of himself. He’d tried this before and nothing had come of it.

“Dude, no. Not cool. What the fuck?” Joe backed away, held up a hand, and averted his eyes. “Put on some briefs or something, yo. I don’t need to see that.”

The constant erections were starting to get embarrassing.

“Thanks, bro.” Dave shut the door and ignored his tented sweats. He stared at the numbers. Maybe if he explained to Betty how important this was to him, she’d be more willing to try for his sake.

A few hours later, he strolled into the gym with his head swimming with strategies for the afternoon of gallery hopping. A new guy stood at the check-in desk, his arms cut and size decent.

Dave nodded in hello. “Dick around?”

“Hey, bro. He’s in the back. Do you have your key card?”

“No. I don’t bother with one of those. Can you call him up here?”

“Sorry, man.” The guy shifted. “He doesn’t like being disturbed.”

Dave stepped to the side and pulled out his phone. A quick call later, Dick was lumbering to the front.

“Take a break, Hardy.” Dick motioned the new guy away.

“Tell him I don’t need a key card.” Dave leaned against the counter as Ethan strolled in.

“See these guys here?” Dick pointed at something below the counter. “They just walk in, remember?”

“Ah, right, yeah. Sorry, bro.” Hardy offered Dave his knuckles.

Dave gave them a tap before nodding hello to Ethan.

“Dumb as a box of rocks,” Dick muttered as Hardy sauntered away. “The ladies seem to like him, though. I’ve got my eye on him as Colton’s replacement.”

“Are you going to screw him to try him out?” Dave grinned at Dick.

“That’s your job.” Dick pulled out his ever-present laptop and set it on the counter. “What’s up?”

Dave gave Ethan a side glance. He didn’t really want to talk about this stuff in front of the other guys. At least not yet.

Ethan didn’t catch the look. Or maybe he simply didn’t care to leave.

“I just wanted to check into my investments.” Dave drummed on the counter.

“You know how to do that. What do you want to do, hold hands like two little girls?”

“I would love to do that with you, Dick, especially since you’re so petite and little girlish. But right now I just need to know if I could survive”—Dave looked away—“or still be able to support…people without BD. I don’t know. I wanted a second opinion.”

“Who are you trying to support without BD?” Dick demanded.

“He met a girl. Isn’t that right, Dave?” Ethan smiled.

“Ah crap, not you, too. You idiots finding girls is bad for business.” Dick pounded on the keyboard with his two pointer fingers.

“What are we talking about?” Colton asked, holding the door open for two older ladies. Noah had come in with him.

“Oh look, Bernice, they’re all here.” Patty, one of the older women in the aquatics class, smiled at everyone. “It’s like a sea of man muscle.”

“The whole gym is a sea of man muscle, Patty.”

“I know. That’s why I come.” She laughed.

“Move it along, ladies.” Dick waved them forward. “No staring. You know the rules. Women don’t get a pass on that. Bernice, what did I just say?”

“But look what he’s wearing. His T-shirt is so tight. Clearly he wants us to stare.” Bernice gave Colton a cheeky grin.

“No double standards in my gym, ladies,” Dick groused.

Dave spread his arms and flexed. “You can stare at me all day long, ladies. Knock yourself out.”

“Oh now, that’s what I call service.” Patty and Bernice cackled as they continued on.

“Randy ol’ broads.” Dick shook his head. “Dave, you don’t have the resources to retire. But you probably already know that. You could live off the modeling, but you’d have to tighten your belt. Footing the bill for Betty would be tough. Her addictions would sink you.”

Dave dropped his head. “That’s what I was thinking. Damn.”

“What you need to do is to get another business venture up and running,” Dick said. “You’ve got the entrepreneurial spirit. Use it. Honestly, talking to you is like talking to a brick wall.”

“Dick, your charm is really something,” Dave said dryly.

“You can make Janie’s thing work,” Noah said. “There’s potential there, especially considering how fast she cranks out paintings.”

“We’ll just have to take them when she’s not there. I thought I’d get stabbed last night. That girl is crazy.” Colton shivered.

“Wuss,” Dick muttered.

“Okay, let’s just say, for shits and giggles, that Janie and I manage to make a real go of her art.” Dave looked around at the guys. “The first hurdle is actually getting her art into the galleries. I’m not connected anywhere. Janie isn’t known in the art community. They have nothing to go on but blind faith that they can sell her stuff.”

A glimmer lit Ethan’s eyes. “She has talent in spades. I’ve rarely seen her equal.”

“For a successful career, you need more than talent.” Dick turned his chair and folded his arms over his chest.

“Please continue, Obi Wan.” Dave bowed at him as tingles ran through his middle. Dick’s advice mattered. With his help, with the guys’ support, maybe they could do this.

Dick frowned. “You need to know your market. Being good will only get you so far. Hell, it might strap you to a unicorn and help you take off. But after that, you have to be willing to compromise your product to fit the consumer. A consumer needs to do more than just like it whatever you have on offer. They need to feel like they have to have it. That the painting would fit in their house. Would match colors or whatever. If she can’t do that, she won’t make it.”

“Janie is smart. She’ll do what needs to be done, including sell work that she’d rather not.” Dave scratched his chin. “But still, we need to find someone who can sell her stuff. If we go around with a set of pictures, we’re no better than door-to-door sales guys. We need to make a bigger splash.”

Ethan pushed away. “Let’s talk about strategies while we work out. Maybe we can bring a sample or two with us around to some galleries.”

“What about me?” Dick leaned forward in his seat.

Dave stopped up short. The guys he had expected to try and help out. That was how they rolled. But Dick didn’t have any sort of vested interest. He didn’t even know Janie—had never met her. That he would want to help was unexpected.

“Maybe the bare bones of a website?” Dave asked. “Madison will probably insist on changing it, but getting some domain names and whatever else would help. I’ll reimburse you for everything.”

Dick nodded and turned back to his computer. “Text me ideas for domain names. I’ll start with the website. Madison can suck it.”

Colton started laughing as he passed the divider. He wouldn’t be telling her that, Dave knew.

Two hours later, he and Ethan pulled up to the first gallery on their list. It was in a spread-out row of them in the nicer part of town. Dave stepped out of his Beamer and buttoned his tailored suit. He’d gone with Armani so as to make an impression. Thankfully, Ethan had chosen a hand-tailored suit so they weren’t the Armani twins.

Without a word, they walked into the gallery slowly, careful to stroll. Soft light and cool air greeted them. Landscapes and scenes with flowers and pots covered the walls, spaced carefully for viewing.

He noticed the artists. They were all different—only a couple had more than one painting displayed.

The vibe of the place made him uncomfortable. Like it was trying too hard to be upscale, when it was actually mediocre at best.

Dave didn’t know crap about art, but he did know Janie was too good to be in that place. Too original by half. He knew people. Her work would draw the eye, but only the courageous would go against the grain and take it home. That would create a bad sales record, which would hurt her chances for future placement.

He turned for the door. Ethan was walking with him a moment later.

“Can I help you?” A woman in a smart dress bustled after them. She had styled hair and a snooty expression—which lifted into a semi-smile after she did a quick sweep of both Ethan and Dave. Her eyes lingered on things that declared monetary worth.

Dave paused and checked his watch, more for show than anything else. When he turned to her, he flashed her a partial grin, one of his best assets for breaking the ice while still seeming a little aloof. It had taken months to perfect.

“I doubt it. I am debating placing my artist with a few galleries.”

Her eyes immediately dulled. Her hands dropped to clasp in front of her. That was a no, straight out.

He adjusted his stance away from her. His body language would say, I’m not concerned with you. Women usually felt a need to change that outlook. “She is mostly contracted out at the moment, but I was interested in expanding her reach. This is all wrong, however.” He waved at the walls. “She is much too…” He groped for words.

“Edgy chic,” Ethan supplied, looking at a painting with his hands in his pockets. “Her art is not meant for a bored housewife trying to accent her couch. Our artist’s work is made for the collector who will design the room around her piece.”

“Exactly.” Dave made a signal to Ethan before flashing the woman a let her down gently smile. “Sorry to have wasted your time.”

“Wait.” Her brow furrowed as she stepped toward them. “Who is this artist? I can see if her work is a good fit for our catalog.”

Ethan waved the comment away, pausing by the door for Dave. “Our artist only meets with clients who have commissioned a piece directly, and only then under special circumstances.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. That was going too far on the eccentric scale. She needed a reason to believe.

“You have to understand.” Dave shifted, opening his body to her a smidgeon. He lowered his lids and slipped a hand into his pocket. Something about that look turned women on. He didn’t understand it, but he certainly used it. “Some of her clients spend five figures to fly her on site to sit and paint. That means her name isn’t just representative of her work—it’s also representative of her clients. We are forced to hold her to the highest standards. I really do apologize. Thank you so much for your time. If we change our mind, we’ll let you know.”

He turned toward Ethan, who opened the door for him without a word and then followed him out. They sat into the car with the saleswoman watching from the window.

“Her work wouldn’t sell there,” Ethan said as he put on his seatbelt. Without tapping a number, he lifted his phone to his ear. Pretending to call someone. Nice touch. “She would get a bad label. Not to mention the prices could only be so high. We can do better.”

“I agree.” Dave pulled away from the curb. “Let’s hit a few more and hope things improve.”