Mostly Perfect

by Heather B. Moore

  Sofia’s lips were pursed. Lauren shifted in her chair and folded her arms.

  “Give us your terms, then, Mr. Matthews,” Mrs. Ambrose said with a nod.

  He met her gaze. “Fifty percent.”

  Getting off the plane in San Diego was a bit more simple than when Lauren had flown to Texas. First of all, she hadn’t made a mistake in reserving a taxi, and there was no Nicholas Matthews to interfere with her life.

  Well, he still wasn’t completely out of the picture, but as far as Lauren was concerned, she’d never see him again. His offer of fifty percent had been ridiculous, outlandish, and insulting. Lauren’s grandmother had immediately shut him down, and he’d had the gall to offer forty-eight percent instead. All of those adjectives she’d conjured up about him were only the beginning of what she thought of Nick.

  Yeah, Nick. She was thinking of him as Nick and remembering how he’d shown up at the estate home half-wet. A good look on him, not that she’d admit that to anyone.

  After Nicholas had finished his failed negotiation and Shelton had driven him back to wherever he’d been staying, Sofia had cornered Lauren.

  “You’re in trouble,” Sofia had said. “You couldn’t keep your eyes off him.”

  Lauren had laughed it off, but Sofia had looked far from convinced.

  And now, Lauren could breathe easy, at least about Nick Matthews. She just hoped that he wouldn’t pull his funding from Ambrose Oil.

  As she climbed into the Lyft she’d scheduled, she checked her incoming emails and texts that she’d missed while on the plane. Sofia had texted: So are you going to see Nicholas Matthews in San Diego? Don’t you think it’s a coincidence that you both live in the same city?

  Lauren grimaced as she texted back. A lot of people live in San Diego. It’s not like I’ll see him at the coffee shop or anything.

  Sofia wrote back seconds later: Fate is a funny thing.

  Now Lauren was annoyed. This isn’t fate. It was a business deal that’s no longer a deal.

  You know Granny, Sofia wrote. She says no to every venture capitalist. But I think Nick is different.

  This made Lauren both nervous and curious. How so?

  The three dots on the texting app danced for longer than Lauren liked. Then Sofia’s reply came. I think he’s going to adjust his offer. I think he’s willing to negotiate. Did you see how he looked at you . . . it was like he couldn’t keep his eyes off you. He’s going to cave to Granny’s demands.

  Lauren read the text twice, then a third time. She scoffed. I don’t believe it. He’s no different than any other money-grubbing investor with a greed for oil and more oil.

  There. That should quiet her sister.

  But Sofia wasn’t done and had to have the last word. I still think you’re in trouble.

  Lauren shook her head and opened up her email app. She refused to entertain Sofia’s suggestion that Nicholas Matthews was someone interested in her . . . he was interested in what Ambrose Oil could do to his bank account.

  She had a handful of emails from charity organizations, most of which she was a regular sponsor of. The next email was from Freddie—the owner of the gallery. They’d sold another painting, which was always good news. Her art style wasn’t for everyone. She mostly painted miniatures reminiscent of the Regency era, but her paintings were not always of people but of two disconnected subjects. Like a blue jay in the middle of a lake. The gallery owner had sent a reminder email about coming to the opening of another artist’s display in order to drive traffic to the new artist. She’d almost forgotten about it.

  Typically, Lauren didn’t mind helping promote other artists, but the event was tonight, and she was looking forward to shutting the world out with a long bubble bath and the latest bestseller on her Kindle.

  So instead of having a relaxing evening, Lauren took a quick shower, then changed into a mid-thigh black dress. It was her most formal and conservative dress, and she always wore it to gallery events. Then she arranged her hair into a twist and added some silver hoop earrings. She tucked the pendant of her necklace beneath her bodice edge.

  Her grandmother had given her the pendant on her sixteenth birthday, calling it the Pendant of Protection. The pendant was in the shape of a heart, and on the back the inscription read Together We Are Strong. And none of the Ambrose women went without their good luck charm. Although Lauren didn’t feel like luck was her friend right now.

  Last, she slipped on strappy black sandals, then headed into the small kitchen of her condo to fetch her bag and cell phone.

  She had two missed calls. One from Freddie and the second from Kevin.

  She opened her voicemail and listened to the message from Freddie. Kevin hadn’t left a message, and it was time to block him. She opened her settings and blocked the number, feeling better, but she hoped that would be the end of it. He knew where she lived, and she really didn’t want to have to deal with calling the cops on him.

  Lauren locked up her condo and headed to her car. The drive only took about twenty minutes, but the weather was perfect, and the mild warmth helped to relax her further. It was good to be back in San Diego, where she lived a relatively quiet life.

  By the time she parked across the street from the gallery, there was a small crowd waiting on the sidewalk. Lauren was surprised to see so many people, especially for a newer artist. She crossed the street and headed around to the back entrance. Freddie looked up as she came through the back room. “Wonderful, you’re here!”

  “Did you doubt me?” she teased.

  He strode to her, his tuxedo pristine, and kissed her cheek.

  Stationed around the room were various white stands with sculptures on them by the artist Viola Jenns. The sculptures appeared to be abstract depictions of humans in various poses. The walls were adorned with miniatures by Lauren. “Where’s Viola?” Lauren asked.

  “She’s, uh, in the powder room,” Freddie said, fidgeting with his shirt cuffs. “She’s been in there for ages. Could you be a sweetheart and ask if she’s almost finished?” He glanced at the door. “I need to let them in soon.”

  “Nice that you have a crowd already,” Lauren said.

  “I think that’s just her family,” Freddie said in a lower voice. “She said all her cousins were coming.”

  Lauren glanced over the waiting group. She’d never met Viola, but now Lauren realized that most of the waiting people had red hair. What were the chances that Viola did too? “I’ll go check on her.”

  Lauren walked to the bathroom, where the stenciled lettering on the door read Ladies’ Powder Room. She pushed open the swinging door and stopped.

  A red-headed woman leaned against the edge of the sink, wiping at tears streaking her face. She looked up at Lauren, and her blotchy face paled.

  “Are you all right?” Lauren asked, coming the rest of the way into the bathroom.

  “Oh,” Viola said. “I’m not feeling well, and I . . .” She placed a hand to her chest. “I think something’s wrong. I can’t catch a full breath.”

  Lauren moved to the woman’s side. “When did you start feeling this way?”

  “On my way over here,” Viola said in a small voice. She dabbed at her cheeks. “I thought maybe it was something I ate, you know, heartburn.”

  “Is this your first gallery showing?”

  Viola nodded, her eyes filling with what looked like panic.

  “I think you’re just nervous,” Lauren said. “Happens to all of us.”

  “You too?”

  “Me too,” Lauren said with a smile. “Do you know there’s a bunch of people waiting outside to get in?”

  Viola visibly swallowed. “Yeah, it’s my family.”

  “That’s amazing,” Lauren said. “They must be so proud of you.”

  Viola nodded. “They are,” she said in a whisper.

  “Well . . .” Lauren rubbed Viola’s shoulder. “How about we go out together? Freddie can let everyone in, and we’ll celebrate your amazing work.”

>   Viola’s eyes widened. “You think it’s amazing?”

  “I do.” Lauren squeezed the woman’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s go get them.”

  Viola turned to the mirror and groaned. “Everyone will know I’ve been crying.”

  “Here,” Lauren said, opening her bag. “I’ve got some powder cover-up.” She produced the compact and handed it over to Viola.

  She quickly dusted her face, then said, “Okay, that’s better.”

  Lauren smiled. “No one will know the difference.”

  “Thank you,” Viola said.

  “No problem.” Lauren followed the woman into the gallery, then stood back as Viola greeted the slew of family members.

  Freddie sidled up to Lauren. “Thank you for your help.”

  “You’re welcome,” Lauren said. “You know you can talk me into pretty much anything.”

  Freddie grinned. “I wish. I’d have you here every weekend helping out.”

  “I think her work will sell itself,” Lauren said.

  “Yeah, but I’ve had more than one person call to confirm that you would be here tonight.”

  Normally Lauren would be flattered, but after the attention from Kevin, she only felt worry. “Who?”

  Freddie frowned. “I didn’t get any names, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

  Lauren tried to not let it bother her. She was just being paranoid, and it wasn’t like Kevin would show up someplace public like the gallery. She gave a brief smile to Freddie and moved over to the table with refreshments.

  On her way, a couple of people stopped her and asked about her miniatures. For the next hour she talked to people, smiled, and answered questions, then encouraged them to look at Viola’s work. Freddie, who was always discreet, took patrons to his desk and wrote up orders. He even sold a few of her miniatures, which was fine with Lauren.

  About an hour into the event, Lauren saw a man walk in to the gallery, and for a second he reminded her of Nicholas Matthews. But that was impossible, she decided. He was too quickly swallowed up in the crowd, and Lauren didn’t have a good view of him anyway from her position where she had been talking to a couple of college kids. Art majors.

  “Lauren,” a voice said.

  She turned to see Viola with a woman who looked like an older version of her.

  “This is my mom,” Viola continued. “She wanted to meet you.”

  Viola’s mom’s smile was huge, and she grasped Lauren’s hand. “I love your work,” she gushed.

  “Thank you,” Lauren said, keeping a smile on her face. The woman seemed sincere, but in truth Lauren was counting down to the end of the evening. Maybe Freddie wouldn’t mind if she skipped out a little early. Her feet were starting to ache, and that bubble bath was calling her name.

  “Which one is your favorite miniature?” Viola’s mom asked.

  Lauren couldn’t exactly turn down that question, so she led the woman to the wall of miniatures near the front of the gallery. Having such a large crowd was really nice, and Lauren was very happy for Viola’s first showing.

  As they stood in front of the wall, Lauren explained some of the miniatures to Viola’s mother. She felt her excitement grow . . . this happened whenever she had a chance to talk in depth about her work. It also gave her more ideas, and Lauren realized she may not be sleeping so soon tonight after all.

  Eventually, Viola’s mother wandered away, and Lauren answered more questions from those who approached. Freddie came over more than once to put a sold notice on a miniature.

  “Impressive,” said a man to her left.

  His voice was familiar, and even as she turned to see who’d spoken, she knew who he was.

  Nicholas Matthews stood there, wearing a suit of course, his hands in his pockets.

  “Nick?” she said.

  The edges of his mouth lifted, and his hazel eyes locked with hers.

  “Hello, Lauren.”

  She could hardly believe he stood a few feet away from her . . . at the gallery in San Diego. She knew he lived in San Diego, of course, but what was he doing here? There was no way Sofia had been right. Not even her sister could have predicted this. Lauren could only guess that he wanted to talk to her about getting her grandmother to agree to the ridiculous forty-eight percent partnership offer.

  Nick turned from her and lifted his chin to study the paintings on the wall. “These all yours?”

  She should probably stop staring at his profile. “Yes.” She blinked and looked at the painting he was currently studying.

  “I didn’t know dogs rode on trains,” he said.

  “Some do.” She could smell that expensive cologne of his. All musky and male with a hint of pine.

  “Do you have a dog?” he continued, as if it weren’t extraordinary that they should be standing here, in the middle of this gallery, chatting.

  “I don’t have pets,” she said. “But there’s a cat who has claimed me as its official provider. Showed up one day, and I’ve been feeding it ever since.”

  He looked down at her and smiled.

  Breathe. Lauren’s mind raced with something to say, despite all the questions that were building up. “Do you have a pet, Nick?”

  His smile faded, and he lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck. “I did. A dog.”

  She waited.

  “He died last year.”

  Lauren knew he’d also lost his father last year. Must have been a rough time. “Sorry. What was his name?”

  “Her name was Lady, or Little Lady.”

  Lauren liked the softness she saw in Nick’s eyes. Not that she was going to change her mind about him, but it was good to see that he had some human component to him. “As in Lady and the Tramp?”

  He chuckled, and Lauren wasn’t sure if she’d heard him laugh before.

  “I’m not going to answer that,” he said. “Sometimes pets decide on their own name, you know?”

  “I do know,” Lauren said. “Like the cat I feed told me her name was Silver.”

  Nick’s brows shot up. “Really. Let me guess, does she have gray fur?”

  “She prefers to call it silver,” Lauren said.

  His smile was warm. “And does Silver ride trains?”

  “I have no idea,” she said. “But there’s a lot I still don’t know about her.”

  Nick nodded, his eyes filled with amusement. “Cats can be like that. My mother has one.”

  The crowd jostled around them, and someone bumped into Lauren. She stepped sideways to keep her balance, which meant she bumped into Nick. He grasped her arm to steady her.

  “Sorry,” she said.

  “No problem.”

  He was still holding her arm.

  “So what brings you here tonight?” Lauren said, folding her arms, which caused Nick to drop his hand. She didn’t let herself think about his smooth, warm fingers.

  “I was thinking how we got off on the wrong foot in Ambrose,” he said in a low voice. “And I wanted to rectify that.”

  Oh, this was rich. “And how did you intend to do that?”

  “Well,” he said, slipping his hands into his pockets again. “I was thinking that we could go out for dinner after you’ve finished up here.”

  Nick wondered if he’d ever seen a woman look more surprised at his invitation to dinner. But Lauren Ambrose topped them all. Was it really so shocking? Yeah, it probably was. He wasn’t exactly on her friend list or even on her respected business associate list. Somehow they’d ended up talking about cats, though, so maybe there was some hope of continued civility between them.

  “Why?” she said, her tone changing from the soft, almost flirty tone from moments before to suspicious. “So you can try to talk me into changing my grandmother’s mind?”

  Nick opened his mouth, then closed it again. “No business. Just . . . an apology.” Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea after all.

  The suspicion didn’t leave her expression. “Look, thanks for coming to the gallery, and I wish you al
l the best with everything, but—”

  “One hour,” he said. “That’s all.” Why was he pushing this? And why had he come at all? It was like she had cast some sort of spell over him and he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her since . . . well, since he met her at the airport.

  It was probably the first time in his adult life that he didn’t have an end goal in mind. He’d shown up, seen her in her fitted black dress, those blue eyes with the depths of a vast pool, her bare pink lips . . . and he wanted to talk to her. Stand closer to her. See if she still smelled like wildflowers and honey. He could now confirm that was the case.

  “I don’t think so, Nick,” she said, but her tone was less wary now. Almost . . . like she wanted him to convince her.

  “There’s an Italian place two blocks from here,” he said. “We could walk if you wanted. I know the manager, and they’ll get us right in. The shrimp scampi is amazing. Completely authentic.”

  “And you would know,” she said, her gaze scanning him, until her eyes reached his shoes.

  He smiled. “My favorite place to buy shoes.”

  Her gaze returned to his face. “Do you go to Italy a lot?”

  “A few times a year.” He moved slightly closer. “Have you been?”

  “No.”

  He was openly staring at her, that he knew, but it seemed he couldn’t do anything about it. “You should come with me.” He had no idea where that had come from, but he couldn’t take it back now.

  Lauren laughed, which sent all kinds of relief through him. She thought he was joking, and yeah, he was, sort of. Impulsiveness was not his norm, and tonight had been completely impulsive.

  She patted his chest, and it took everything he could do not to grasp her hand and hold it there. All too soon, she’d lowered her hand. “I wouldn’t want to cramp your style, Mr. CEO.”