by R. R. Banks
“Because the way you looked at her tells me otherwise,” she says.
“Okay,” I reply with a laugh. “Whatever you say, Maureen.”
“I've been around the block a few times, Mr. Anderson,” she says. “And believe me when I say, when a man looks at a woman the way you did, he’s interested in being more than friends.”
I laugh heartily. “Okay, now you're just being crazy,” I say. “I'm not in love with her. Not even close. I barely know the woman, Maureen.”
She shrugs. “My point is that you have more than just, friendly feelings, for her,” she says. “Believe me, I can tell.”
“You're crazy.”
“Maybe,” she says and laughs. “Doesn't mean I'm wrong though.”
“Even if I were interested in her –”
“Which you are,” she cuts me off.
“I'm not saying one way or the other,” I say and chuckle.
“You don't have to,” she says. “But, okay. If you were – go on?”
“We come from two totally different worlds,” I say. “It would never work.”
“Why not?” she asks. “Plenty of people have opposing views, and still find a way to make it work. The key is finding enough middle ground that you don't drive each other crazy.”
“Well, it's kind of a moot point, anyway,” I say. “She doesn't like me very much right now.”
Maureen chuckles. “Why would you say that?”
“Our last – meeting – didn't end well,” I say.
Memories of having her in her studio flash through my mind, and I feel the stirring in my groin. Being with Bailey had been hot as hell. Intense. Exciting. At least, until the end. Then it got awkward, before it got ugly. And that was totally my fault. But, I can't explain it to her because I don't really understand it myself.
“Well, I'll tell you,” Maureen says. “She looked at you the same way you did. You two may have had a spat, but there's something going on between you. I can feel it, and I'm only on the outside looking in.”
“I'm not so sure that’s true anymore, if it ever was,” I admit. “She seemed pretty upset with me.”
“Well, I don't need to know the details, but I will tell you that sometimes, you need to open yourself up more. You need to let people in. I think that might be one of your biggest problems,” she says. “Bailey seems like a free spirit. To me, it seems like she really enjoys life.”
I nod. “That she does.”
“And then there's you, with your iron grip on your heart and emotions,” she chides. “You have these high, thick walls around yourself, and you never let anybody in. You know, in all the years I've worked for you, I've never seen you go on a date. I've never seen you smile when you see a pretty girl. You're all business, all the time.”
“I'm trying to build a successful company,” I say.
She scoffs and waves me off. “I've been with the company long enough to know that ADE is always going to be successful,” she says. “This company, whether it be your division, or one of your brothers, are the gold standard in this industry. Trust me, I worked for a competitor for a while before coming over, and their biggest concern was how to catch up to you.”
“I just feel like my focus should be on making this division as profitable as the others,” I say. “It's my responsibility. My legacy.”
She raises her eyebrows at me. “And who exactly are you leaving your legacy to?” she asks. “If you're not interested in dating or settling down and having a family, who will you pass on the fruits of all your hard work to?”
Damn. She has me there. I really never gave it that much thought, but looking at it from that perspective, I see her point. I lean back in my seat and scratch at my beard, giving her a sheepish smile.
“If I may be so bold –”
“Aren't you always?” I ask and chuckle. “When did you start needing permission?”
She laughs. “Perhaps. Call it a perk of being my age,” she says. “I think the bigger problem here is fear.”
“Fear?”
She nods. “You're afraid to get involved with anyone,” she explains. “You're afraid of your emotions, of getting attached to anybody.”
“I don't know about that,” I say. “But, if that's true, I think I have ample reason to be.”
“Maybe,” she says. “But, we all bear scars from our past. We all carry baggage. What we do with those things is what's important. We can either use them to teach us and help us grow, or, we can let them define us in a negative way.”
I blow out a long breath, absorbing her words, and turning them over in my mind. A lot of what Maureen is saying rings true to me. As much as I hate to admit it, I know she's speaking the truth. The question is – what I'm going to do with that truth. And at the moment, I don't have the first clue.
“I want you to be happy,” she continues. “I've never seen you really, truly happy in the whole time I've worked for you. You're a good man. You deserve it.”
“I've been happy,” I say. “I just don't show it, I guess.”
She gives me an expression that says she knows I'm full of it, and that no words even need to be said. Yeah, message received.
“Talk to her, Mr. Anderson,” she urges. “You'll see that if you're honest, and you communicate openly and honestly, there's not much the two of you can't overcome.”
I laugh. “I wish I had your optimism.”
“Talk to her, Mr. Anderson,” she repeats. “You'll see that I'm right.”
“Thanks, Maureen,” I say.
She stands up and gives me a warm, motherly smile. “You're very welcome, sir.”
“So, are you going to bill me for our counseling sessions?”
She laughs. “You know I will,” she says. “And you'll get no discount from me.”
“Nor would I expect one.”
I watch her walk out of my office, and through the glass wall until she drops back down into her seat and returns to work. I realize I'm a very fortunate man to have the amazing people around me that I do. It sometimes makes me wonder what I did to ever deserve such good fortune.
As far as Bailey goes, I really don't know if I'm going to be able to salvage that now. I really screwed that up in a big way.
I can't really explain what happened. After we had sex, the initial rush felt amazing. It was total bliss. But, as that glow faded, my baggage started to pop back up. Worse than that, my emotions started to creep in. I remember feeling a swell in my heart when I looked at her and realized that I was losing my grip on the control I had over myself. The control I have on my emotions.
Right now is not the time to be dabbling with romance. That leads to complications, things getting messy, and people getting hurt. At the moment, I have bigger things on my plate I need to worry about and focus on.
Such as the coming invasion of my family. I look at the calendar and feel a surge of adrenaline. I don't have too much longer before they arrive. And although the house will be ready – and there's nothing left for me to worry about on that front – what I do need to worry about is finding an imaginary fiancée. One who will answer to the name of Bailey.
I thought getting her on board would be simple. Or at least, not overly difficult. But, I'd gone and screwed that up in a big way. Now, it might not be anything at all, since I doubt she'll take my call after the way things ended the other day. I'm pretty sure Bailey hates me right about now, and probably feels like I used her. I can't believe she'd agree to be my fake fiancée at this point.
But, I need to do something. Time's running short, and if I want to be prepared for this – for whoever ends up as my fake fiancée – I need to make some progress on that front sooner rather than later. The sooner the better, actually.
I rack my brain, trying to find the solution, and the only thing my brain keeps circling back to is Bailey herself.
Opening my desk drawer, I see the flier I'd taken from her studio. It's for a showcase she's being featured in at a place called the Commons Gallery.
I check my watch and look at the time the show starts. I still have time.
This is so far outside my comfort zone it's not even funny. But, I'm in desperation mode at the moment, and need some help. I also need to set things right with Bailey. Somehow, some way, I need to accomplish both of those tasks.
Yeah, this is going to be a whole lot of fun.
* * *
There's a good crowd in the small, but chic gallery. It's definitely unlike any art gallery I've ever been in before, but I actually kind of like the electric, almost punk, atmosphere of the place. The gallery-goers are more urban than I'm used to. Instead of suits or tuxedos, and formal evening gowns, I see a lot of leather, lace, and tattoos.
And hipsters. There's a lot of hipsters here.
I feel really out of place in my black suit and tie – a feeling further reinforced by people with weird-colored hair, and piercings on their face, who are staring at me like I'm some kind of alien.
The gallery has an interesting vibe, though. It's not the uptight, almost sterile atmosphere that I'm used to. Here, there's rock music playing and people are laughing, speaking loudly, and enjoying the experience. There's a vibrancy to the place that's engaging and exciting.
As far as the art goes, there are some fantastic and interesting pieces. I'm not an expert and don't pretend to be one, but my personal take on art is that the good pieces are the ones that grab you. The ones that strike a chord deep inside of you. Pieces that, for one reason or another, really resonate with you.
I can honestly say that in most of the gallery showings I've been to over the years, nothing in those fancier, high-end galleries have ever connected with me. This place, on the other hand, full of dark, gritty art across a wide variety of mediums, is filled with work that's compelling. I see half a dozen pieces from where I'm standing that really resonate with me.
To me, the artists in a place like this are trying to say something with their art. They're trying to communicate with the world around them and everybody who views their piece, while some of the artists in the more traditional galleries are more austere and abstract. They think they're being intellectual and are making a statement. Though honestly, most times I can't understand what that statement might be. With the pieces on display here, though, what the artist is saying is as clear as day. It punches you right in the face with its bold message.
Which is the perfect way to make a statement.
I walk around the gallery, checking out some of the work when I spot Bailey standing in a corner by herself. I recognize some of the pieces on the wall behind her. She's sipping a bottle of beer and doesn't look very happy. In fact, she looks downright miserable.
I notice that almost no one is viewing her work, with most of the people crowding around a series of provocative sculptures. I'm assuming that Bailey's work is getting lost in the shuffle – especially, because she's tucked away in a back room.
I want to give her a boost, but I'm not sure how – and then it hits me.
I look around, and I have a hard time identifying the gallery employees from the guests. Eventually, I find an employee and pull her into a corner with me. Keeping an eye on Bailey, I tell the employee exactly what I want.
After that, I take a deep breath and head for the back room. Time to bite the bullet and see how this all pans out.
Bailey sees me when I step through the doorway and into her room. Her face transforms from despondent to livid in the blink of an eye.
“What are you doing here?” she snaps. “Slumming again? Liked it so much last time, you're looking for your next lower-class conquest?”
The venom in her voice takes me back for a moment, but I shrug it off and push through. I knew she was going to be pissed at me, so it doesn't come as any surprise.
“Actually,” I say. “I'm viewing some amazing art.”
She scoffs. “Right,” she says. “What do you want?”
“I wanted to talk to you.”
“You made your feelings perfectly clear, and I've got nothing left to say to you,” she says. “Please leave me alone.”
“I think you misunder –”
Her eyes grow wide, and her lips curl back into a snarl. It's in that moment, I realize that was the wrong thing to come out of my mouth.
“Oh, so it's my fault?” she hisses. “It couldn't be that you're an asshole who was just looking for a cheap thrill, right?”
“Is this guy bothering you, Bailey?”
I turn and see a guy in all black, walking toward us. He's all of five-five, and one hundred and thirty pounds, soaking wet. But, he looks like he wants to rip my head off. He steps up to me – and has to crane his neck upward to make eye contact. His face is red, and his nostrils are flaring. He reminds me of a kid on the verge of a tantrum.
“Really?” I ask, arching an eyebrow at him.
“We're fine, Billy,” she says. “It's fine. Thank you.”
Billy the bodyguard gives me a withering glare before he turns and slinks out of the room. When he's gone, I turn back to Bailey to find that she's got a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. What Billy the bodyguard lacks in size, he apparently makes up for in balls. I'll give him that.
I step closer to Bailey and force her to look up at me. She finally looks at me with those bottomless, soulful dark eyes of hers, and my heart stutters. She's so beautiful, and she doesn't even seem to realize it.
“No, that's not it, Bailey. Not at all,” I say. “What I meant to say, was that I didn't communicate properly, so how could you have understood? I know you're not a mind reader, right? I handled what happened between us incredibly poorly. I freaked out and completely fucked up. That's on me. I'm here tonight to apologize for that.”
She opens her mouth, presumably to rip me a new one, but then closes it in the face of my apology. What can she say, really? I fucked up. I'm taking ownership of it. Case closed.
Not that she's not still pissed, but I know she's reasonable, level-headed, and mature enough that she can accept an apology.
“Believe me when I say it wasn't some weird conquest or me looking for a cheap thrill,” I continue.
“Then why did you get all weird afterward?”
I sigh and give her a tight smile. “Because I don’t handle my emotions well,” I answer. “I don’t handle my emotions at all, actually.”
“I noticed.”
“And after we – afterward – I kind of freaked out,” I say. “I felt this rush of emotion for you, and –”
“Wait, did you just say you had a rush of emotion?” she asks. “For me?”
“Yeah. For you.”
I see her cheeks color, and she looks a bit embarrassed but happy at the same time. A heart-melting smile stretches across her face, and for a moment, she's rendered speechless. Only for a moment, though.
“So, I guess you kinda like me, huh?”
I chuckle nervously and run a hand through my hair. “Yeah, I guess that's kind of what I'm saying.”
“You like me,” she says in that sing-song voice. “You have a crush on me.”
I roll my eyes theatrically. “Don't let it go to your head or anything.”
She steps over and throws her arms around me, wrapping me in a big hug. I feel somewhat stiff and awkward at first – I've never been much of a hugger, really. But, I give into the moment, and embrace her back, relishing how her body feels pressed to mine. She steps back after a moment and looks up at me, that smile still on her face.
“You like me. You've got a crush on me,” she sings.
I laugh and shake my head. “How is the show going?”
She frowns and shrugs. “Great. For other people,” she says. “Kind of hard to display your work when you're relegated to the back rooms.”
“Yeah, I noticed the lack of traffic back here,” I say.
“It's fine,” she says. “It'll be fine. If I don't get spotted at this show, it'll happen at another one. It's just hard to get into the bigger, more prestigious galleries with
out connections.”
She sounds frustrated, and I can't blame her. I guess art, like everything else, is a matter of who you know. Knowing the right person can open doors for you that you never dreamed possible. I hate seeing her down, and although I can see that she's trying to keep a chipper, upbeat attitude, I can see that it’s wearing on her. I can see the bitterness around the edges and can hear the frustration in her voice.
That spark in Bailey, that fire, and passion – is something I never want to see her lose. I never want to see that fire extinguished. As far as I’m concerned, it’s one of her most attractive, endearing qualities.
Which gives me an idea. Before I can pitch it, though, the gallery employee comes into the room, and gives Bailey a big smile.
“Your pieces are a big hit,” she says.
Bailey's face immediately brightens, and she clasps her hands in front of her chest, bouncing on the balls of her feet like an excited child on Christmas morning. It's absolutely adorable.
“Really?”
The employee nods. “Yup. Somebody bought your entire collection.”
Bailey's eyes widen, and the look of excitement on her face quickly transforms to one of shock. She watches the employee putting the red tags that denote a sale on the placards with something like awe on her face. But then, I see the wheels start turning in her head as she puts all the pieces together. A dark shadow crosses her face, and the excited smile morphs into a small frown as she turns to me. Shit.
“Congratulations again,” the employee says as she departs the room.
“Really, Colin?” she asks.
“What?”
“All seven of them?” she asks, her hands on her hips. “Kind of obvious, don't you think?”
She's right. In hindsight, it's totally obvious. I should have been smarter about it. I just couldn't bear to see her look so unhappy. It was actually causing me physical pain.
“Bailey, I –”
She shakes her head and holds up her hand to cut me off. “You might think that's sweet, and maybe, on some level, it is,” she says. “But more than anything, it's patronizing. By you doing that, you're telling me I'm not good enough. That I'll never sell my work unless I have some rich guardian angel sweep in and snatch them all up. Do you even know how degrading that feels?”