by Dani Rene
I don’t think this is a good idea. She can’t work for me. It’s been a while since a woman has caused me to react to her so much, and having her here on a daily basis may prove to be too distracting.
“Tell me about you.” I settle on a stool, gesturing for her to join me. My gaze lingers on hers for a long while before she sits.
“What would you like to know?”
“Why did you decide to come to New Orleans? There are plenty of galleries in cities like New York, Chicago—”
“This city has a special place in my heart. My mom grew up here, but she wasn’t around long enough to bring me to see it.” Her voice cracks on her words, which intrigues me. She’s obviously still affected by the loss of her mother from the glassy emotion that sparkles in her eyes.
“I have a specific person in mind for the role. Someone who won’t be partying every night and coming in with a hangover. I want a responsible hostess to run the gallery.” My gaze travels over her, noticing the small diamond pierced through her nose and the multitude of silver rings in her ears— three on each side.
Her gaze shoots up from the mug at my words. I can’t pretend to be her friend if I’m going to hire her. And even though I’m sure this is a mistake, I can’t bring myself to tell her to leave. Not yet.
“It’s a two-month probationary period. One month if I don’t like your work.”
“I promise you, I’m—”
“I don’t need promises, Ms. Kinley. I want to see what you can do.” I’m curt, cold, and aloof, but I can’t have her thinking I’m a pushover.
“Mr. Elliot, I am responsible. I’ve spent a year on my own, working for an art gallery in Rome. I’ve brought along my references.” She pulls out some pages from her bag, but I don’t make a move to take them. Anyone can write words on a piece of paper. It’s actions I want to see.
“That won’t be necessary.” I rise and head to the coffee machine once more. Keeping my back to her, I close my eyes and focus on the throbbing in my head. I shouldn’t have drunk so much last night.
“Mr. Elliot.” Her voice filters through the pain that’s currently got a tight hold on my chest, easing it somewhat, and I turn to regard her standing in my kitchen looking like a kitten that’s just turned into a tigress.
Chapter 4
Nea
When he turns to me, I focus on his scowl rather than on how handsome he is. Even in his disheveled state, the man is an Adonis with sharp features and an angular jaw that looks like it’s been carved from granite. His dark hair is messy, and those eyes that are the deepest green pierce me.
His lips are full, and the stubble that looks a day old makes my fingers itch to touch it. Broad shoulders are encased in a black T-shirt, and the sweatpants he’s wearing hang low on his hips, illegally low.
Shaking off the desire that’s taken hold of me, I look into his eyes. “I may be young, but I’m not a party animal. I’m responsible, I love what I do, and I don’t appreciate you acting like I’m an errant child you can admonish when I haven’t given you a reason to do so.”
I grow silent for a moment, watching him. His eyes darken to a forest color, and I wonder if I’ve angered him. Honestly, I don’t care right now because I want him to see me as an equal. Even though I’m only twenty-two, I’m more mature than he gives me credit for. When he doesn’t respond, I continue.
“I would be honored to run your gallery for you, and I can prove to you that if you hire me, I’m worth more than the money you’re offering, and I intend to show you that.”
He picks up his mug from the Keurig machine, lifts it to his lips, and I can’t help but stare at him as he sips the hot liquid. Silence hangs heavily around us, and I’m sure I’ve fucked this up with my big mouth and sassy attitude, but then he smiles. And if I thought he was handsome before, I’m definitely sure I hadn’t really gotten the full Julian Elliot effect. The man is breathtaking.
“You’re quite a spitfire, Ms. Kinley,” he remarks as he moves toward me. Gently, he sets his mug down, and it’s as if I can see the wheels turning in his head. Perhaps he’s about to tell me to leave. Maybe he’s going to pick me up and throw me out himself.
The thought of his arms around me makes my body grow hot, and my thighs squeeze together. I’m not sure if he notices, but I feel exposed when he lifts those green pools to rest on me.
“Perhaps I misjudged you,” he tells me. “I think you should start tomorrow. Even though it’s Saturday, I would like to set up for the upcoming event. There’s a show starting next week, on Wednesday evening, and I’ve got the caterer on standby.” He waves his hand in the air, flippantly, as if this annoys him. “You can go through the plans I had typed up and let me know what else you’ll need. Would that suit you, Ms. Kinley?”
“Oh, I . . . yes, of course, I can start tomorrow.”
He offers me a sly grin before stepping closer. When he reaches for my arm, he touches the material of my blouse instead of actually touching me. His gaze burns through my clothes, causing my skin to tingle with anticipation.
I can’t deny that Phee’s words come back to haunt me right in this moment. Her teasing me about sleeping with the boss was the last thing on my mind. But looking at Mr. Elliott, I can’t deny that he’s more than handsome, which is definitely not good.
Goosebumps rise in the wake of his touch, and I want to ask him to do it again. Calm the hell down, Nea.
“You have tattoos.” It’s not a question, but I nod anyway. “I don’t like them. I didn’t want someone who’s so frivolous with her body to work for me.” His words sound distant, yet they stab at my chest. “It reminds me of a child who is rebelling against her parents.”
“The swirling sunflowers represent Van Gogh, and as you’ll notice here,” I tell him, tugging the sleeve up my arm. “I have the melting clocks over my shoulder that are synonymous with Dali. Both my favorite artists.”
He snaps his gaze to me, watching me as he tips his head to the side. There’s something more he wants to say, I can see it in his eyes, but he shakes his head instead.
“Tomorrow, be here at eight.” He turns and heads for the door, stopping only a second to glance over his shoulder. “I’ll show you out.”
I grab my bag and follow him back to the entrance. He opens the large wooden door and waits for me to step outside.
“What is that perfume you’re wearing?” he asks suddenly. The man is like a goddamned puzzle. Hot and cold.
I turn to him. “It’s something my friend bought for me while we were in Italy. A small perfumer made custom scents, and she bought me a bottle for my birthday last year. It’s a mixture of lilies and apples.”
Suddenly, he leans in, and I’m sure he’s going to kiss me, which only has my heart thrumming wildly against my chest. Confusion and a wave of desire shoot through me as he inhales the scent.
“Don’t wear it again.” His voice is a mere whisper, feathering over my cheek as he moves back. I can’t help but shiver in the wake of his command, my cheeks heat and I wonder if they’re bright red because I can feel them burning.
Shock thrums through me, reminding me he’s not my friend, and he’s certainly not flirting with me. He’s an asshole, but I need this job, so all I offer is a quick nod before I turn and leave him with a quick, “Goodbye, Mr. Elliot.”
He nods. “See you tomorrow.” He doesn’t wait for me to say anything in response before he shuts the door in my face, and I’m left on the porch of my new boss. I got the job, but what have I gotten myself into?
I can’t help enjoying the freedom from Julian’s grumpiness. Even if it’s for a short time. But even as I stroll by the interesting and colorful store windows, my mind is still locked on Mr. Elliot. I’m forcing myself not to call him Julian, because the moment he becomes too familiar, I’ll allow myself to be even more intrigued by him.
When I reach a small café, I step inside and inhale the scents of flavors that make my mouth water. I haven’t eaten yet, and my stomach is grumblin
g. When I walked away from the Elliot house, I grabbed a taxi all the way into the French Quarter. I needed to explore my new home and find my way around. It’s been easy enough, and with every corner I turned, I fell more and more in love with the French Quarter. I can see why my mother wanted to return.
“Hello, how can I help you?” One of the servers walks up to me while holding a menu card in her hands.
With a smile, I ask, “Can I sit anywhere? I need some good food.”
She grins. “Of course. Since the lunch rush hasn’t yet come through, you can choose a seat.” Glancing around, I note a small table in the corner, which I make a beeline for and settle in. She sets the menu down and tells me, “We have a special, French toast with avocado and bacon today. Other than that, the menu has all our options.”
“Thank you. Can I get a coffee in the meantime?”
With a nod, she leaves me to peruse the food items, each one sounding better than the last. By the time my drink arrives, I decide on the special of the day and sit back to sip the strong black coffee and stare out the window.
Tomorrow, I start my new job, and I know I have to impress the man who’s given me a chance. Even though he looks like he needs a lot more than just someone who can run his gallery.
From the disheveled appearance that greeted me at the door, I think he needs to realize that life moves on. I can’t believe he would be in that state because of his father’s passing. It’s been years, which begs the question, has he been in such deep depression for that long, or is it something else?
Even though I know I should stay out of it, my curiosity burns. I want to delve deeper and find out what makes him tick, and more so, what makes him act like a grumpy old man.
The moment the thought appears in my mind, I try to push it back, but it doesn’t relent. Did he lose a girlfriend or wife? Nothing that I found in the articles stated he was married. But he’s so private about his life; he could’ve had someone special, and nobody would’ve known.
I know what Phoebe would say. She’d convince me to find out all I can. And she’d most probably tell me I should be the one to bring him out of his funk. Rolling my eyes, I dig into my brunch and try to focus on the delicious flavors of the food instead of thinking about my new boss.
I need to remain professional.
Chapter 5
Julian
How is it that it’s been a whole day, and all that’s been on my mind is the strange girl with the black and purple hair? She’s nothing like the women I usually bring home, and she’s definitely far too young for me, but her pretty face has been emblazoned on my brain since I shut the door in it early this morning.
I shouldn’t have been rude, but my head was spinning, pounding painfully at the reminder of the bottle of bourbon I’d finished the night before. But even as I moved through my day, with every twist and turn, raven hair with wild purple strands and wide eyes captured me. And now I find myself in front of the easel that had eluded me for so long. I wanted to capture her, but not just her face. I craved to snag her essence and drench the canvas with it.
Picking up the brush, I hold onto the palette and allow the splashes of color to hit the pristine white fabric in swathes of black and purple. Deep blues and dark reds, vibrant and alluring. I move quickly, lost in the art. It doesn’t take long for me to find myself breathless, and the moment I still all movement, I look at the once blank, taunting canvas and see a creation that stops my heart.
It’s been so long since I’ve seen anything creative from my hand. But what I’ve done is breathtaking. My heart is thudding so loudly it’s deafening, and I drop the brush and palette on the floor. The splatter of paint bounces around the silence of the room, and it grabs my attention. But nothing can deter me right now. All I see is black. The darkness I was always so afraid of is right in front of me.
My phone shrieks from the other room, the ringing dancing in the darkened house, and as I make my way through to the living room, I still feel as if I’ve just had an out-of-body experience.
“Yeah?” I answer, knowing Eli is going to have my ass for my grouchiness.
“What the fuck crawled up your ass?” he bites out, causing me to chuckle.
Sighing, I head into the kitchen. “I’ve been working.”
“You have?” The shock in his tone speaks volumes. He knows how much I’ve been struggling with my art, and for me to say I’ve been working is not something even I thought I’d be doing.
I can’t stop grinning when I think about the painting I just finished. I’ll need to add a few finishing touches to it, but the imagery came from nowhere. “I have. Somehow, I found inspiration.”
“And this has nothing to do with a woman?” he asks. The curiosity in his tone forces me to still before I pull a bottle of beer from the fridge. An image of the pretty girl flashes in my mind, but I shake it off quickly.
“Why would it have anything to do with a woman?”
“Don’t sound so snarky,” he taunts. “It was an innocent question.”
“Nothing is innocent when it comes to you and questions about my love life,” I tell him, but the moment the words are out of my mouth, I want to pull them back.
“Now you have a love life?” This time, he guffaws, which only has me gripping the neck of the bottle even tighter. I’m being an idiot. I put my foot right in that one.
“Is there something you wanted, Eli?” I snap back, hoping he’ll drop the subject because I don’t want to talk about her right now. About the woman who’s going to be at my door bright and early tomorrow. About the woman who’s been on my mind all fucking day.
“Yeah, we wanted to invite you for dinner before Wednesday and the gallery opening,” he tells me. “You haven’t been over in a while, and I’m starting to think you have something against me.” Another chuckle makes me smile. We’ve been friends for so long, and even though we don’t talk every day, I know if I ever needed anything, he would step up.
“I do,” I tell him with a laugh. “You’re far too fucking snarky for my liking. You know they say that’s the first way to lose friends.”
“Fuck you,” he bites out, but I can hear the smile on his face.
“You’d love to.”
“You know it,” he throws back, and we’re both chuckling.
“Would you two quit it,” Kate says in the background. “Just come for dinner. I’m making your favorite dessert.”
“Is she really bribing me with her decadent double chocolate cake?”
“You know my wife. She plays dirty,” Eli tells me, and I have to nod. I know she is a good woman, and I know she’s just telling me about the dessert to get me out of this house.
“Fine,” I sigh. “I’ll be there; just tell me when.”
“Tomorrow night. Let’s say around six,” Eli informs me happily, and we say our goodbyes before I hang up. Tomorrow I’ll have a long day with Ms. Kinley, but at least I know by the time the sun sets, she’ll be gone, and I’ll be on my way to see Eli and his wife. And I’ll enjoy my evening without my new employee.
The red numbers on the clock glare at me.
I haven’t slept. My mind has been a mess, and even though I tried to ensure I passed out by drowning myself in half a bottle of bourbon, it’s not worked. I wanted to forget, to get lost in the delirium the alcohol brings, but nothing can stop the images of a feisty purple-haired beauty from running through my mind.
I watch as the minutes tick by. By three-thirty, I shove the blankets off and push to my feet. Pulling on a pair of sweatpants, I make my way into the kitchen and find a mug. I set it under the coffee drip and press the button for a strong Americano.
I’m going to need all the coffee in the world if I’m going to get through this day. And having a bubbly twenty-something-year-old bouncing around my house is going to be torture enough.
I pick up the mug and head straight for my studio. Even though it’s still dark out, the painting I finished before I fell into bed last night stares back at me,
a reminder of what that twenty-something-year-old did to me.
There’s no explanation as to why or how she managed to force my creative brain to spark, but she did. And now, I’m stuck in the limbo that comes after I create something exquisite. I feel as if I can’t make anything that could match it.
Sipping my drink, I stare long and hard at the colors swirling together, and I get lost in it. My focus blurring as a memory hits me suddenly— the fierce nature taking hold and dragging me into the past.
“Are you going to spend all day in here?” My wife’s voice is cold, angry, but right now, I’m lost in the work. I don’t turn to her. She doesn’t come near me, and I continue painting. My hand moving of its own accord, and nothing can stop the need to get the paint on the canvas.
Bright red, soft blue, and gray that make up the sky. The water is a navy shade that melds with the horizon on the painting I’m creating. I haven’t answered her, but I can’t. She knows, when I’m in the zone, to leave me be, but lately, we’ve been fighting more and more.
Her need for freedom and my need for creativity have locked us in a prison I’ve found we can’t break free from. I feel the fire of her gaze burning into my back, but I still can’t stop.
“I’m so done with this bullshit, Julian,” she says from behind me, and I know I should go to her. Perhaps I’m the asshole she always tells me I am. Maybe I’m not the good husband I thought I could be. But right now, I know even if I did go to her, it wouldn’t change the anger she’s spewing my way.
“Please, can you just . . . Please, Shay,” I plead with her as my focus starts waning. This is what happens when she interrupts me. The money that I’m being paid to create this will pay for her shopping sprees, but she doesn’t understand. I’ve tried so hard, I’ve done everything I can, but my wife is lost to the promises of money and fame instead of life with me.