“Dinner, not supper,” she corrected me. “Martin prepared the meal last night and will only need to reheat it. Be there promptly at eight.”
“Dinner?? After the feast we had this afternoon?”
“I love to kill my guests with kindness. That’s why I catered to your artistic needs.”
“You really shouldn’t have!” I said, meaning those words literally.
“You’re really quite talented. I’ve heard your work could fetch a pretty penny.”
“Thank you.” Her kindness threw me off guard again.
She glanced at her watch. “You still have about three hours for painting until dinner. Nicole, Princess, Martha—I mean, Martin—and I will be playing bridge. Let me give you a word of caution, Miss Ivey,” she said, starting for the door. She paused to let me admire her beautiful ass, turned, and counseled me, “Try to
