So Damn Beautiful (A New Adult Romance) by L.J. Kennedy Page A

he had any cute artist friends.
    “Ken, remember that place we saw Chase Adams
a couple weeks ago?”
    “Mmm-hmm,” she mumbled absentmindedly as she
lay belly-down on her bed, ankles crossed in the air, thumbing
through a fashion magazine.
    “What do you know about . . . how often
street artists gather to make work in that area? I mean, is it,
like, a regular thing?”
    She looked up at me suspiciously. “Why?
You’re not going by there, are you? Because if you do and you see
that asshole, you should totally hand him a bill for that dress he
ruined. That was Carolina Herrera, not Forever 21!”
    I smiled at my friend’s priorities.
“ And I got it secondhand, so it’s no biggie. Also, I’m not
planning on running into Chase Adams anytime soon.” I felt a little
bad lying to my best friend, but what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt
her. “I just wanted to see if I could check out more work is
all.”
    Kendra studied me for a long moment, and for
a second, I thought she saw through my flimsy cover. “You live in
the craziest city in the world, Annie. I’m sure that if you wanted
to, you could find a street artist on pretty much every
corner.”
    I groaned. “Oh, it’s no use, Kendra. I feel
like a total failure. I don’t know the first thing about what I’m
doing, where to go, who to talk to. I should just give up right
now, because there’s no way I’ll be able to find an artist to
commission in time for the meeting next week. Game over! Annie,
zero.”
    Kendra tossed her magazine aside and propped
her head in her hands, looking at me with concern. “Annie, you’re a
bright girl. Don’t even start talking that way, because it’s won’t
lead to anything good. Buck up, kiddo! You’ll find the perfect
artist for this project—I just know it.”
    It was nice that my mom and my best friend
had faith in me, but it wasn’t enough. “I don’t know,” I said. “The
clock is ticking.”
    “Well, if it helps any, there’s some kind of
street-art team that gathers in that area of the Meatpacking
District most days of the week, so you should be in luck,” Kendra
said, retrieving her magazine to show me. “Art’s hot right now,
especially since Quentin Pierce is in town. And I may not be
working with all that boring shit you guys on the committee are
doing, but believe you me, I’m definitely honing my PR skills by
making sure I stay very 2014 about the scene.”
    “But it’s 2013.”
    “Exactly.”
    I smiled as she went back to her magazine.
“Seriously, Kendra, I’m not sure what I’d do without you.”
    “Well, if you wanna thank me, bring home some
Pinkberry tonight, yeah?”
    “Will do.” I grabbed my coat and headed for
the door.
    “And, Annie?”
    I turned around to see Kendra with an impish
grin on her face.
    “Yes?”
    “Say hi to the asshole for me.” She ducked
under her magazine before I could throw a pillow at her.
    “I’m not going to see Chase
Adams!”
    “Just sayin’!”
    I decided to let her comment pass and headed
out. As it turned out, Kendra was right. There was some kind of
weekly tag-team effort of street artists who gathered to paint
murals in dank and smelly alleyways, make permanent chalk drawings
on sidewalks, and snazz up street lamps with interesting potpourri.
There were a few video cameras there as well, but it looked more
like MFA film students shooting a documentary than some local TV
station.
    I looked around at the small handful of
people, mainly somber-looking guys with sweaty T-shirts and intent
expressions, all of whom were painting. A boom box on the ground
was blasting early-’90s rap music. While a few onlookers stopped to
marvel at the creations, the area was relatively devoid of
tourists. This was the kind of stuff that would cause a public
spectacle back in Apple Creek, but I guess it just went with the
territory in New York City.
    I looked around to see if Chase was in sight.
I guess I could have talked to any one of the guys painting