Summary: Amanda is an aspiring artist who’s won herself the best opportunity ever –the chance to work the master of all artwork. Of course, he’s going to be a stubborn prick and be very cold to her, but can she warm him up with some good old fashioned sarcastic remarks?

Warnings: Not much for this chapter. There is more to the story, but I doubt anyone will review, so I doubt this will go far enough to have to warn anyone. Maybe I used a bit of ‘language’ in here. That’s about it.

Artists and Illusions

Amanda strode down Marrow Street.

After one hundred and sixty-three dollars in cab fairs, three wrong addresses, twenty blocks walked, a torrential downpour for ten minutes, and a stolen umbrella, she had finally arrived at what she hoped was the right address for her meeting with the famous art master Daniel Vincent Botticelli.

Her heart fluttered in her chest as she checked her watch. Good thing she had left three hours early or she would never have made it here on time. She always planned for Fate screwing her over, so leaving a few hours early was a regular habit for almost everything.

She looked up at the building. His flat was the top one, of course. She walked up the stone steps and looked over at the buzzers, but there was only one. She looked back up to check how many floors there were. Four.

She pushed the buzzer tentatively. She didn’t want this to be another wrong turn.

The door abruptly opened by itself.

Amanda gasped somewhat fearful, but she just kicked herself in the ass for that.

He’s filthy stinking rich, of course he has automatic doors. She pushed the door open further and stepped inside, breathing a sigh of relief as the warmer interior of the building made the freezing rain against her skin suddenly less oppressive.

Though Botticelli’s work was shown everywhere and he had been paid to make many great murals inside famous buildings such as churches and even inside the Pope’s home, not many had ever seen the man and his picture was nearly impossible to come by. He avoided being recognized at all. Any pictures that were taken of him were pretty much useless because he was always bundled up for the cold weather with scarves over his face and sunglasses to hide his eyes. No one was even sure of his race.

The butterflies in her stomach seemed to alter into full fledged birds as she walked slowly down the long hall that led from the entrance door to the only way out of that corridor… the lift.

There were four buttons. She was about to push one when the lift began to move. She cried out in surprise and grabbed the railing inside the machine as it took her higher and higher until it finally stopped. She was afraid to open the doors, then reasoned with her fear and kicked herself for being stupid. She reached for the gate and found she was shaking, but ignored it and pulled open the gate. She picked up her big portfolio and took a deep breath before she stepped out of the lift.

“Greetings.” A voice spoke and she screamed, jumping to her left and turning to her right as she pushed herself against the wall.

She stared at the disgruntled maid that now held her chest, breathing a bit more heavily as she bowed her head to Amanda.

“I deeply apologize for frightening you, Madam. Please forgive me. Are you alright?” She asked.

“Uh, yeah.” Amanda stuttered as she released her own chest and smiled at the lady that stood there. She was quite sure it was just her nerves that were making her so unsteady and nervous. It certainly wasn’t the building. The entire building was peaceful and warm; quite inviting indeed. Not like the creepy, dreary castles that frightened travelers in the movies. “Sorry ‘bout that. I’m here to see…”

“Yes, yes, of course.” The lady nodded. She was somewhat plump with her graying hair pulled back into a bun. “Follow me, please.”

She led Amanda a short distance down the hall. Three doors were on this floor. One directly ahead which was the main double door, and two on either side of it on each wall.

The lady stopped at the door on her right and opened it a crack to yell down. “She’s here, George!” She then shut the door and turned to Amanda as she opened the double doors. “The Master is quite… different, Madam. He is quite forgetful as well, so he may ask your name more than once. If you need anything, just call out for me. My name is Mary.” She smiled and Amanda smiled back at her.

“Thank you.” She felt a bit better now that the maid was talking with her. The doors were opened to a large open flat with pillars supporting the ceiling every now and then.

The floor was black marble where there was no canvas covering it to keep paint splatters from falling there. One wall on the far side from the door was completely covered in windows from ceiling to floor. This was the back of the building. This entire wall also held a long balcony covering the length of the building. The dreary night showed through the open windows. The room was filled with a great warmth and a window was open to circulate air through the room. Maroon velvet curtains that had yet to be drawn draped over the floor from the windows. All the walls aside from the windowed one, were painted with various scenes. One had a castle in the distance and a battle scene going on in the forefront. Another wall held a forest scene with the eyes of wolves peering out from under the shade of bushes and off in the distance a howling wolf could be seen standing over a dead man, the moon looming in the background. The last two walls were filled with angels and demons flirting. The Devil himself was preparing to bite the neck of a willing angel and God was nowhere in sight. Beautiful. All of it. All the creatures looked as if they could jump out from their paintings and begin moving about. Even the dead from the battlefield looked as if they were leaving a rotting smell behind them. If you looked quickly over the wall it seemed as if the characters were actually moving.

Amanda stared at everything around her in awe. She had seen all of his art a dozen times each, but nothing like this. His other works had been things others had wanted him to paint. This was something he had done for himself. This was his painting room and she adored it immediately.

Suddenly she caught sight of the artist himself. It must be him. She thought to herself. He was facing the windows with his back to her. A cloth was wrapped around his body like a blanket, but much thinner. He was painting fluently with dark colors as he glanced up through the windows every now and then. He sat on a stool, his flowing blonde hair curled over his shoulder blades seductively. She had the urge to touch it suddenly.

“Master.” The maid Mary whispered softly.

The man did not respond.

Mary gently pushed Amanda closer to the man and left swiftly with a soft click of the door as she exited.

“Uh.” Amanda laughed uncomfortably as she stepped closer. “Hello, my name is Amanda. I’m your new apprentice.” She told him slightly embarrassed to be talking to this world-wide-famous artist. She had fallen in love with his work the moment she laid eyes on it.

She glanced over his shoulder and saw he was painting the dark cloudy sky outside as a background for two shadowed figures as their arms and legs entangled in intimacy. She gasped at how emotional the painting was, yet this beauty that painted it wore a blank face.

He was quite pale over his face and chest. From this view of him she could see a great deal of his pale skin and the beautiful arm that stretched out to make the perfect strokes for the moon over the cloudy sky illuminating the lovers.

Quite abruptly the artist stood from his stool, dropping his brush onto a small table beside the easel. He swiftly walked over to the window that was opened and he paused, then turned to Amanda. His eyes were half lidded as he glared at her, his body almost completely exposed from the waist up. The sheet around his body hung at his elbows like a shawl as he glared at her.

“Who are you?” He asked patiently.

“Uh, Amanda Jane Pearl.” She answered,

“Is ‘uh’ part of your name?” He demanded sharply.

“Uh… I mean… no.” She blushed slightly and looked down to the ground, then she remembered her portfolio. “I brought some of my work for you to look over.” She said eagerly. “It’s nowhere as good as yours of course…”

He glanced at the thing hanging from her shoulder as she began to look through it. “No need.” He declared and she looked up to him worriedly, her damp brown hair falling into her face as she curled it behind her ear hurriedly.

“But… I thought…”

“This was not my idea to take an apprentice.” He told her quickly, remaining still and intimidating.

“But…”

“Is that all you can say?” He grumbled, then looked away. He shot her another glance as she began to worry, then become angry that she had come all this way and gone through all this torture just to be rejected.

“I…”

“I refuse to look at your work. My secretary complained to me that you had been writing to her for three years, every day and sending some of your work to her. She demanded that I do something about it. She wrote back to you that you could become my apprentice, but, all this is, is an audition.” He gestured offhandedly with his hand. “You will prove yourself worthy of my teachings by sketching me.”

Her eyes widened as she looked his lean body over. He looked to be in his thirties with little extra weight at all. His arms were sculpted and strong. His eyes were weathered with age and powerfully strong for it. His blonde hair could now be seen to have a few stray white hairs, announcing that he was aging whether he wanted to or not.

He had small lines around his eyes, but drastically less noticeable lines around his mouth. He must not smile too often. She noted and relaxed her body as best she could.

“You want me to sketch you?”

“Did I stutter?” He replied.

She glared at him for a long moment for his rudeness, but she just dropped her portfolio gently from her shoulder, pulled off her sopping coat and hat and threw them to the side. She pulled off her boots and placed them next to her coat, then she turned back to this man.

“It’s nice to meet you too.” She growled sourly.

He smirked and she found him quite intimidating again. He stepped forward and pulled the painting off the easel, resting it against the leg of the easel. Behind the painting had been a large sketch pad and several pieces of charcoal.

“Let’s start, shall we?” He offered her a piece of charcoal and she hesitantly took it from him and sat on the stool.

The stool was tall enough and angled with the easel just right so that she could see all of this man before her perfectly. He stood at the window, his hair being blown about every now and again by a passing wind.

“What should I call you?” She wondered as she prepared her charcoal to her liking and began her sketch, including the windows and darkened sky behind him.

“You know my name, do you not?” He replied coolly.

“Of course, but…”

“Again with the ‘but’.” He groaned.

“Daniel.” She glared harshly at him and he raised an amused brow, inclining his head a bit. “Shut up and let me sketch.” She ordered bravely, though her heart raced inside her chest.

He smirked slyly at her while she wasn’t looking, then regained his demeanor.

A/N: Give some inclination as to what you think. Should I continue the story or give up?