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Summary
James dumped two large teaspoons of sugar into his mug. “I said that my flatmate, oldest friend, thorn-in-my-side—“
Marlene flipped him her middle finger.
“—is an artist, and a damn fine portrait painter. Sirius asked for your number.”
Or: how it takes painting a portrait for an art dealer and an artist to realise they've got more in common than they think.
