My Dashing Billionaire: A Clean Billionaire Romance (My Billionaire A-Z Book 4)
Page 15
Everly recognized the package as the one that Jennifer had dragged into the house and up the stairs the other night—although it had been wrapped in brown paper this time, rather than creamy muslin. She watched as Jennifer began to unwrap the paper from around the parcel, revealing an extraordinarily beautiful painting of a sailboat bobbing on open water.
“I’ve called it ‘Sailing’, like the Rod Stewart song,” Jennifer said, ripping the last few bits of paper from the edges.
The rest of the winners gathered around, and Everly could hear the ooos and ahhhs of wonder filter over to the back of the room. She knew she should probably go and voice her thoughts too, but she wasn’t sure she could contain the negative ones enough to stop them spouting out in place of the positive ones—if there were any positive ones in the first place. Despite Jennifer’s incredible final piece, Everly was finding it hard to not think about all the mean things the woman had done to her over the past week, for no reason other than jealousy.
“Anyway,” Jennifer’s voice cut across the room. “Let’s all have a drink to celebrate. Coffees everyone?”
A loud cheer rang around the room as they grabbed their cups and drank. Everly started wiping down her brushes, keen not to let them dry up while she was celebrating. Jennifer had spotted Everly and was heading over with a cup in hand. Everly gritted her teeth as Jennifer approached, her perfect hair bouncing with every step.
“Don’t want it to get cold, Everly,” she said, proffering the cup.
Everly opened her mouth to reply when Jennifer’s foot got caught on the leg of Alison’s workbench. The next few seconds happened in slow motion, as though time itself was trying to give her the chance to stop the inevitable from happening. Jennifer, caught off balance, skidded forward. Her outstretched arm, weighed down by the coffee cup, started to drop. Jennifer threw her arm upward to counterbalance the cup, except the cup didn’t stay in her hand.
They both watched, opened mouthed, as the cup and its boiling hot contents flew into the air in an exploding arc—landing smack bang in the middle of Everly’s finished painting.
25
For a split second, the silence in the room could have smothered them. The two women looked at each other, then at the ruined painting between them, coffee dripping to the floor and glistening with oils. If it had not been so catastrophic, it would have almost been comical.
Then Jennifer started making a noise that made Everly’s skin prickle. It was so high pitched that the others turned to look to see what was going on. Jennifer doubled over and held onto her sides. Everly couldn’t see her face, but she was on the verge of jumping over the table and giving Jennifer what for, as it looked and sounded to Everly as though she was laughing.
“I’m so sorry,” Jennifer said in between wheezing chortles.
Everly couldn’t move. Her head was a kettle coming to boil, a high-pitched whistle in her skull. She wondered if there was actually steam coming out of her ears.
By now, the rest of the gang had hurried over to the workbench and were looking at the painting with horror. Alison’s hands shot up to her mouth. Everly wanted to tell her it was okay, that it wasn’t as bad as it looked. But it was, the paint that hadn’t been quite dry yet was warped and mangled, great chunks of it leaking onto the floor. The coffee had stained the rest of it a murky brown color. It no longer looked like the windows of the studio, it was now a puddle, and not even Everly could turn something this mundane into something beautiful.
An arm slid around her shoulders, squeezing gently. Rory looked down at her and tried to say something, but all his words were drowned out by the noise spewing from Jennifer’s mouth. She was no longer laughing, she was crying.
“I… I… I was just trying… coffee…” she said through deep sobs.
Her eyes were puffy and her nose was red. It was almost convincing. Everly squeezed Rory’s hand as a thanks and walked around her bench to Jennifer. She knew that the woman had been trying to sabotage her, but was she really capable of outright destroying her artwork? Despite her suspicions, Everly found herself giving Jennifer the benefit of the doubt. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she drew her into a hug.
“It’s okay,” she said. “It was an accident.”
Had it been an accident? Or was this just the final straw in the campaign to ruin her chances of winning? As Everly comforted a sobbing Jennifer, she realized that throwing coffee over her artwork wasn’t the final straw at all. The artwork itself had been the final straw, because it just hadn’t been very good. It certainly hadn’t been a winning piece.
But wasn’t this Jennifer’s fault too? Jennifer had ruined Everly’s chances way before throwing coffee all over them. And Everly had let her. She’d let her get into her brain and mess with her thoughts and throw her off her game so much that her work had been unrecognizable. Suddenly the world around Everly turned red. She gripped Jennifer’s shoulders and stared into her perfect blue eyes, which even in their puffy red state were still ice cold.
“Was it an accident? Really, truly an accident?”
Jennifer’s already red face turned a shade deeper. Her mouth twisted into a shape that Everly couldn’t decipher.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she spat at Everly.
Taken aback, Everly didn’t know what to say. Could she spill all of Jennifer’s wrongdoings here, in front of the others? That wouldn’t be fair, especially without proof. Biting her lip, she spun away and tried to calm down.
“Of course it was an accident,” Jennifer hissed at Everly’s back. “You’re just jealous that Edward picked me.”
The rest of the group were stunned into silence. Everly turned to face Jennifer again, the rage burning up her throat and exploding from her.
“Edward hasn’t picked anybody. It was never a competition. We couldn’t help the fact we fell in love with each other. He took me out to the opera before you two went for dinner. Which you would know seeing as you were sneaking around in the garden taking photographs of us—and selling them to the papers, which is way worse. What did you think you were going to achieve? And why were you trying so hard to damage my reputation as an artist as well as a person? You stole my work and passed it off as your own. Ever since this began, for this whole week, you’ve been trying to bring me down.”
Everly stopped talking, drawing a lungful of oxygen which made her head spin. The room was so silent she thought maybe she’d gone deaf—until she heard Arthur’s lungs rattling away in the corner. Everly looked up and saw Edward standing in the doorway. The color drained from her face.
“Edward,” she stammered, drawing people’s attention away from her and toward the handsome man standing stock still and wide eyed at the entrance to the studio.
“What’s going on here?” he asked in a fierce voice that didn’t exactly fill Everly with hope.
She’d broken their promise to each other and revealed everything, revealed just how much she loved Edward. She’d told them he loved her too, but at this moment it didn’t look like he loved her at all. He walked slowly into the studio, each step purposeful and strong, his expression dark and unreadable.
“I’m sorry,” Everly said. “I—”
“Not now, Everly,” Edward said, shutting her down.
Everly clamped her lips between her teeth, wishing she could curl up and disappear. Edward’s eyes boiled with his unspoken emotions. He looked so angry. A tear tickled its way down Everly’s cheek. How could it all have gone so wrong, again? She wiped it away with the back of her hand, smearing paint on her cheek as she did so. Edward faltered and looked over to where she stood, his expression softening.
“Everly.” He rushed over to her and swept her up in a huge bear hug, squeezing her so tightly it was as if he meant to never let her go. “Don’t cry, I’m not angry with you. I know exactly what’s been going on. I’m here to make things right again.”
An audible gasp emanated from Jennifer.
“What?” she said, her face ashen.
“But daddy told me you were going to take me out again!” she protested. “He told me you liked me. He was so proud of me. He’s never been proud of me for anything. His face was so happy. He was finally going to get the social status he’s craved for years.”
Her tears could no longer be contained and started rolling down her cheeks. She looked from Everly to Edward.
“He was the one who made me apply for this placement, knowing full well you were the patron, knowing full well I’m utterly useless at anything arty.”
The tears were falling hard now. James and Rory both stood there, wringing their hands, shuffling their feet, looking neither at Jennifer or at Everly and Edward. It was up to Alison to comfort the young woman, who looked far more vulnerable than Everly could ever imagine her looking. Between them all, Everly’s painting was now dripping with vigor onto the floor below. Nobody mentioned it.
“You’re not useless at art,” Alison hushed Jennifer, trying to get her to stop crying. “Look at that masterpiece by the door. And no, Arthur, I’m not talking about you.”
Arthur let out a rattling laugh and slunk out of the studio. Everly watched as Jennifer crumpled further into herself. She mumbled something into her chest as she sobbed even harder.
“Shhh, shhh,” Alison said, enveloping her in a comforting hug.
Edward straightened his shoulders, letting go of Everly. She missed his touch immediately, as if a piece of her own body had been pulled away.
“No, Alison, let her speak,” Edward said, standing his full height and breadth. He was a force to be reckoned with. “What did you say, Jennifer?”
Jennifer broke out of Alison’s hug and stood there, shoulders hunched, her eyes not leaving the oil-thick coffee as it splashed to the floor.
“I said the artwork over there, my finished piece, isn’t mine.” She chewed the inside of her mouth. “I didn’t paint it.”
“No, I didn’t think so,” Edward said firmly, but with an air of kindness about him. “And your storyboard? The one that won you your place here?”
Jennifer shook her head almost imperceptibly.
“Do you do any of the story boards with your name attached to them? The ones for your parents’ company?”
The head shake came again. She looked up at him, finally, still chewing the inside of her mouth. Turning to the rest of the group, Jennifer hung her head and muttered an apology. Nobody replied. If they were feeling anything like Everly, the shock had rendered them silent.
“Daddy wanted me to have a career with him in the industry. He wanted me to do something that people would find endearing and cute. It was either storyboarding or makeup, but my sister decided she wanted to be the makeup artist and, as she’s the oldest, she got her wish.”
She looked wistfully out of the window.
“When he realized quite how awful I was at art he hired professionals to do the boarding on the quiet. He passed it off as mine. I applied here to try to develop my skills, but I think I’m about to get chucked out of this place too, no matter how many times daddy tries to be a benefactor. I tried to stop him sending in an application to this program on my behalf, but he was having none of it. Any excuse to meet you, to pair me off with you. They want to be up there with the elite, to rub shoulders with royals. And they’re not afraid to use me to get there.”
She turned to the group. Her face, now wiped clean of makeup by her tears, looked younger and softer than it had before. Everly felt a stab of pity as she watched Jennifer tuck her hair behind her ears like a young, hopelessly lost girl. Rory and James had replaced their awkwardness with concern. Jennifer was paying no attention to them, or to Everly, as she addressed Edward once more.
“Imagine how ecstatic my dad was when your parents called him and invited us all to dinner. Especially as it was based on the pretense that you wanted me there.”
A flush appeared over her peaches and cream complexion.
“I’m sorry to put you in that position,” Edward said, reaching out and taking Jennifer’s hands in his.
“Thank you,” she smiled up at him. “To be honest I don’t really like you in that way anyway. Sorry. You’re not my type.”
A laugh burst out of her lips. Her sadness seemed to be dissipating.
“And I’m really sorry to you all for being so difficult to work with. I know I’m not a very nice person. I think I push people away so that nobody will get close enough to see all the lies.”
She looked directly at Everly, her jaw clenched.
“And I’m so sorry, Everly. I never meant to hurt you.”
Jennifer poked the puddle of oily coffee with her toe.
“Why did you do it?” Everly asked. Her anger had been replaced by sadness—sadness for this young woman, and the lies she had been forced to tell, the lie she had been forced to live.
“I honestly didn’t mean to,” Jennifer said. “I must have tripped on something. I would never, ever ruin someone’s hard work, especially as I know how difficult it is to produce that kind of quality. You’re really something, Everly. You have such a talent.”
Everly shook her head.
“No, not the coffee, I can accept that was a mistake. I saw you fly though the air. And I think you did me a favor, my painting was awful.”
There was a murmur of discord.
“No, it really was. But my mind wasn’t focused because of everything else that has been going on. Why did you take that photograph of Edward and me? Why did you knock my picture from the wall on the first night? And why steal my work and give it to Valeria Baudelaire? Surely you must have thought that was a little too close to home?”
“Wait, what?” Jennifer looked appalled. “I never did those things. Stole what work from you? Took what photograph?”
It was Edward’s turn to look ashen. After Jennifer’s confession, there was absolutely no reason for her to lie about anything else. Everly put a hand to her mouth, thinking of her next question at the exact same moment that Edward spoke it aloud.
“If you didn’t do all of those things, then who did?”
26
Edward had guessed something was awry when he’d spotted Jennifer’s painting in her bedroom back at the townhouse. The technique looked too familiar, too obvious to be Jennifer’s. So he’d done a bit of digging.
It hadn’t taken him long to leaf through some old photographs his family had of Robbie Seaward’s work, and he’d spotted it immediately. No wonder the work looked as though it would fit in well at the Mason—it had been created, many years ago, by one of the gallery’s most famous painters.
So he’d put two and two together, deducing that Jennifer was the one behind every malicious act. Only now, though, surrounded by the winners in the studio, did he realize that he’d added those numbers up and made three, not four. Jennifer looked as though she was telling the truth. And why would she lie about that when she’d just spilled her guts about everything else, jeopardizing her position and her reputation?
The studio was buzzing with anticipation, everybody looking to him to make a decision about what to do next. He glanced at Everly, as beautiful as the day he’d first met her. A fluttering in his stomach made him more certain than ever that he had to find the person responsible for hurting her. He felt immensely proud of how well she was taking all of the information Jennifer had just hurled at them.
She caught him looking at her and smiled, her eyes lighting up with happiness. Then he glanced down at her workbench and noticed, for the first time, what the two women had been talking about moments earlier. Everly’s painting was ruined, its precious oils dripping onto the floor of the studio.
She saw him looking at the mess and shook her head at him, not wanting him to make a scene. His heart practically burst through his chest at her boundless compassion. Her work was in tatters, yet she wanted to protect the feelings of the person w
ho’d done it. She really was something.
He cleared his throat and decided to quiz the others. One of them must have taken the key to the back gate, knocked Everly’s painting from the wall, and stolen her work. It didn’t make sense. At least, when he’d suspected Jennifer, he could assume that she was the jealous type and was trying to make Everly look small in his eyes. But what was the real reason? Why was Everly being targeted?
He carefully studied the faces in front of him. Jennifer looked calmer now, dabbing her eyes with a tissue. Rory and James were standing together, each taking solace in their male counterpart. And Alison…
He scanned the room, but she was nowhere to be seen.
“Where’s Alison?” he asked, his pulse starting to drum in his ears.
The others broke their silence, mutterings of confusion filling the studio as they all searched for the older woman. Nobody had any idea where she was.
“She was here just a minute ago,” Jennifer said, the quavering in her voice all but gone. “She practically tried to suffocate me when I was about to confess.”
“I thought she was comforting you?” said Edward, sharply.
Jennifer shrugged.
“I guess she was, but she could have been a little gentler.”
Edward moved with three giant steps to Alison’s workbench, searching for anything that would give a clue as to where she had vanished to. He felt a hand slide into his, Everly’s touch instantly calming him. With his free hand, he moved papers aside on the desktop, careful not to damage anything.
Then he saw it, a slip of paper that made his blood run cold.