Chapter Text
This wasn’t the first time Chloé had had a faceoff with Madame Kahlo. The art teacher was the only person at the school who refused to bend to her will, which meant that Chloé had actually had to try to get a good grade in that class. Whatever, not like there was anything she couldn’t do of course. But when Madame Kahlo handed back her very detailed very good oil pastel lily with yet another B on it, Chloé was furious.
Once the final bell rang, Chloé marched up to the teacher’s desk—the sound of her heels clicking with every step giving her power—and slammed her paper down upon its surface. Madame Kahlo didn’t even flinch. In fact, that woman had the audacity to raise her index finger in a silent gesture telling Chloé to wait. Just who did she think she was? The queen of England!? Hah, as if even the queen would dare disrespect her in such a manner. Nonetheless, Chloé waited, remembering her father’s sound advice that one must choose their battles.
Finally the teacher set down her pencil and looked up to meet Chloé’s furious gaze. “Yes Chloé? What is it?”
“My oil pastel. I demand to know why you’ve given it a B and not an A.”
Staying perfectly calm, feigning obliviousness to Chloé’s attitude, she replied, “There’s a note attached that explains the grades.” Madame Kahlo flipped to the grading page and held it out for Chloé to see. “Here I noted that while it was good, you simply did not take full advantage of the spectrum of colors. Just like the rest of your work, you show great ability, but you lack the touch with color that you need to achieve an A.”
Chloé grumbled. “This is ridiculous! You’re holding me up to impossible standards. I don’t plan on being an artist someday!”
“If you don’t plan on being an artist, then a B is a very good grade.”
“No! I deserve an A! I worked very hard on that piece! I think my daddy will agree with me,” Chloé threatened pulling out her cell phone. Madame Kahlo sighed.
“Chloé, your threats won’t work on me. I have tenure and I highly doubt the mayor will go so far as to get rid of the entire art department just to get me fired. Sorry, but you’re going to have to earn an A the old fashioned way.” Perhaps the thing that Chloé hated most about Madame Kahlo was the fact that she wasn’t afraid to look her straight in the eye when she challenged her. If there was anything she hated, it was people who weren’t afraid of her. She couldn’t control those people.
Just like she couldn’t control Madame Kahlo.
With an angry grumble, Chloé snatched her underappreciated piece of work off the desk and stalked away with her head held high. Madame Kahlo may be able to take away her good grades, but she couldn’t take her pride.
If Nathaniel had been told that morning that later that day he would be showing up at Chloé Bourgeois’ hotel suite to tutor her, he would have scoffed at the ridiculous notion. I hate Chloé Bourgeois, he would have said. I can’t stand being in the same room with her, let alone speaking to her. You would have to pay me quite a large sum of money to get me to do that. Yet here he was, walking down the ornately decorated red hall to her suite without promise of an extremely large amount of money.
But he had to if he wanted to keep his internship with Théo. Nathaniel was the one lucky artist that Théo—otherwise known as the greatest artist currently in Paris—was willing to accept as his underling. So far it had been amazing working side by side with such a talented man. And that day Nathaniel had been really excited to start working on a big commission they had just received.
…And then the mayor called. Apparently Chloé needed a tutor for her art class. Théo’s initial response was to point the mayor in the direction of some great tutors he knew, but the man would have none of that. He needed the best artist in Paris for his little Chloé. And when it was a direct request from the mayor, he had no choice but to accept.
The only problem was that their commissioner would be extremely angry if they fell behind schedule. And since Théo had to be the one in charge of the commission, that left poor Nathaniel to take care of Chloé.
So no, he wasn’t being paid to do this. But the prospect of losing his internship just because he refused to talk to his school bully seemed childish as well as depressing. Just suck it up Nath, he told himself. Yes she was arrogant and rude and obnoxious and annoying and everything else wrong with the world, but Nathaniel knew he had the power to overcome that. To be strong in the face of adversity.
That strength was gone the second he heard her shrill voice carrying its way through the thick door. “YOU WHAT!?” Nathaniel felt his face immediately drain of the color that it had. If she was already in a bad mood, he didn’t stand a chance. Maybe he could just turn and walk the other way— “What do you mean you sent a replacement!? Do you know who I am!? I could ruin you if I wanted!!” That must be Théo on the phone. Figuring he’d better save his boss if he could, Nathaniel forced himself to turn back around and walk the rest of the way down the hall to her door. With a deep breath, he centered himself. She’s just a simple bully. That’s all. It doesn’t matter if she’s the mayor’s daughter and practically evil incarnate. Underneath that she’s just a normal girl with a normal life. Who also happens to be the only thing that ever pushed you to evildoing, but still. Just a girl. She’s just a girl.
He knocked on the door. Chloé’s voice cut short in the midst of her ranting, the sudden silence a blessing to his ears. A moment later, the door swung open to reveal the woman of the hour.
Chloé Bourgeois stood in her full glory in black stilettos, white jeans, her bedazzled golden belt, her black and white striped shirt, and her loose yellow sweater that hung down to mid-thigh. Though subtle, Nathaniel remembered greatly appreciating the change to her outfit when it had appeared last summer. He thought the longer sweater complimented her tall thin figure better for sure. He was also glad she had gotten over that dumb habit of wearing sunglasses even when they were completely unnecessary.
He didn’t see her for long however as a mere two seconds after the door had been opened, it was being slammed in his face.
“HIM!?” He could hear from the other side of the door. “I ORDERED THE BEST ARTIST IN PARIS AND YOU SENT ME HIM!?” Any pleasant thoughts he might have had about Chloé were instantly purged from his mind.
Nearly all of his life, Nathaniel had been rather timid. He didn’t speak up often and when he did he was rather quiet about it. People like Chloé had been walking all over him for years and for the most part, he’d been able to live with it and silently go on. But hearing his classmate—the girl who needed help in his subject—disparage him to his boss while he was right here pushed him over the edge.
Something in Nathaniel snapped.
Chloé’s ranting was interrupted with yet another knock at the door. Still on the phone with Théo, she threw the door open ready to chew that stupid art boy’s head off. Was slamming the door in his face not enough to get the message across?
As soon as she saw him however, the words died on her tongue.
Nothing had really changed from the moment before. It was still the same boy from her class who stood in front of her wearing dumb hipster chic with converse, jeans, a T-shirt, a loose long sleeve over shirt, and of course the two piercings in his right ear (one in the left) and the piece of metal stuck through his eyebrow. The boy was a walking Hot Topic ad just like always.
But something had changed.
The eyes. It was the eyes. Of course she’d always noticed his pretty eyes. He was one of the only people she’d ever seen with prettier eyes than her—not that she’d ever admit that. But for once those teal orbs weren’t directed at the ground or somewhere else in fear. They were looking straight at her.
He wasn’t afraid of her.
Suddenly Chloé was 14 again. She was wrenched back into the one time when those eyes hadn’t feared her.
When they’d wanted to kill her.
“You know, it’s rude to slam the door in someone’s face like that,” he said, thankfully snapping her out of her thoughts. “Especially when they’re here to help you.”
Théo, who could apparently hear his lackey from the other end, decided to chip in. “I really couldn’t send you a better tutor since he’s actually worked with your art teacher.” Chloé’s eyes narrowed at the artist. He didn’t back down. Those teal eyes stared back, gaze more solid than she’d ever seen it before.
She clicked the red button on her phone, closing her call with Théo, all the while maintaining her silent duel with Nathaniel.
“You’re here to help me,” she said flatly.
“Yep.”
“You.”
“Me.” Chloé just stared at him. He eventually made a clicking noise with his tongue and said, “Or I can just leave and you can settle for a C in art.” Her eyes became slits, narrowing even more in anger.
She was really sick of people challenging her.
“Fine,” she growled.
“Fine what?”
That bastard! He was going to make her say it! She stared at him, sending him the most intense glare she could manage, but he remained steady, gaze unwavering.
“Fine, I’ll accept your help. On one condition.” He raised an eyebrow at her, making the light glint off his piercing. “You don’t tell anyone. At all. Ever.”
“Sounds good. Can I come in?”
“You promise not to tell anyone?”
“Not a soul.”
“You promise.”
“I promise,” he replied, stifling a laugh.
“And don’t laugh at me!” She exclaimed, her cheeks heating up a little.
“Sorry, you just said one condition,” he said as he brushed past her, making his way into the suite. She (rather forcefully) pushed the door shut behind him with a growl.
This was going to be a very long tutoring session.