Free Bare Skin: A Billionaire Romance by Leah Holt

me. Everything she knew that made me uncomfortable, I swear she went out of her way to throw them in my face.
    She had told me once before I needed to be desensitized. That if I exposed myself to more situations then I wouldn't turn into a ball of nerves and I'd be able to live freely.
    Easier said than done. It was way easier to think it, than it was for me to do it.
    Beth couldn't understand what I felt. The idea of unknown eyes riding my body, people I didn't know casting judgment or just plain staring at me, it made my skin crawl.
    I had tried to explain it to her, but she longed for the stares, while I shied away from it. She couldn't connect to my feelings, only thinking I was overreacting.
    But when your entire body is shaking, stomach is a whirling tornado of nails, and the taste of battery acid sticks to the back of your throat...
    It's more than just thoughts, it's physical.
    Aching, physical pain, that doesn't go away till the eyes are gone.
    And avoiding the eyes meant I avoided the burn.
    Side stepping out to the sidewalk, I let the breeze sweep away the sick feeling coating my gut.
    I can't believe she did that.
    After demolishing the two slices of pizza perfection, I headed towards home. The food had done its job, my stomach was no longer trying to eat itself from the lack of a real meal.
    And the short walk back gave me another chance to stop and stare at the empty store front window. The tiny place I spotted the first week I was here, the one I was about to call mine.
    It was perfect.
    The small shop had a huge front window, a great spot to display my work. The sidewalk that was home to the tiny store was always busy and full of people.
    I knew I couldn't afford the place on my own, at least not until things took off. But that was where the investor came in. I took everything I had and put it down on first and last months rent.
    My account was now down to the skins, a few hundred dollars was all I had left. Monday I would get the keys, and finally get to step beyond the doorway. My head was filled with so many ideas for what my gallery would look like.
    The last step, the final screw I needed to fit in place, the investor. Without help I'd have two months to try and fend for myself, hoping and praying that I could make enough to last another thirty days.
    Without someone to open the vault, without someone by my side helping to fund the shop, I'd lose everything.
    God, I want this so bad.
    That place had my name written all over it, it screamed at me to dust it off, and breathe a new fresh life into the closed walls.
    Stepping to the large window, I cupped my hands on the glass to look inside. Something I'd done almost every day since I found the place. Letting out a long breath, I whispered. “Soon you'll be alive again.”
    Turning to leave, I spotted a small book store right next door. Pausing, I stared at the front door. I hadn't noticed the hidden library before, it seemed to jump up from the dirt. Taking shape after I had walked the same path for weeks.
    My inner voice yelled at me to keep moving, Beth's free spirit screamed at me to give in just once, and check it out.
    She did save me ten bucks from lunch... Screw it. Why the hell not?
    Tugging on the door, I was hit with the rich scent of leather and fresh paper. It might sound weird, but yes I am fully aware of how brand knew paper smells.
    For years my grandmother would buy me reams of computer paper to draw on. It was more affordable than canvas, or Fabriano papers. She could buy me five hundred sheets for under three bucks, and that would last me a decent length of time.
    Scanning the shelves, I let my fingers glide over the smooth bindings. A beige trim caught my eye, tugging the book free, I held it firm.
    “That's a great book.” A delicate voice skimmed the air around me.
    Snapping my head up, an older woman stood at the end of the aisle. “I haven't read this one yet,” I said, flipping the cover open.
    “The Story of Art, by Phaidon,