It's Never Easy: A Boudreaux Universe Novel

by Dani Rene

  I make my lunch, a sandwich with some salad leaves, tomato, and mozzarella, which I cut into triangles before grabbing my mug of fresh brew. Heading out onto the porch, I set my coffee and plate down on the small whitewashed table that sits beside the bench.

  I take a moment to appreciate where I am. That I’m employed, and that I’m actually enjoying what I’m doing, even if my boss is a pain in the ass. The moment the thought passes, I hear his heavy boots clomping on the floor as he joins me outside.

  He’s carrying his own mug, and I wonder if it’s coffee in there or something else. On the morning of my interview, he was clearly hungover. I wondered if he had a problem, but since then, I haven’t noticed it again. He doesn’t look at me but stands with his attention focused on the garden. I want to say something, but the moment he’s near me, my nerves attack.

  “I’ve been checking up on the emails,” he says the moment I bite into my sandwich. He glances at me from over his shoulder when I don’t respond, and the corner of his mouth ticks with amusement.

  When I swallow the bite, I narrow my eyes as I watch his expression. “What?”

  “Nothing,” Julian chuckles, sipping his drink and turning his attention back to the garden.

  “Okay, well, if you’re not going to tell me why you’re laughing at my lunch, can you tell me about the emails?” I challenge him, finishing off another triangle of bread before he moves toward me, settling on the bench.

  “You’re doing well,” he tells me.

  “Thank you.” I’ve finished my sandwich when I pick up my coffee and turn to Julian, who’s still staring at me. His scrutiny making my stomach flip-flop. “Is there something bothering you?”

  “No. I’m just not used to having someone here all the time,” he tells me with a small smile. He looks so much younger when he smiles, and I can’t help but stare. The man is handsome.

  “Am I too noisy?”

  “No, not at all.” He shakes his head before continuing, “It’s just knowing there’s another presence in the rooms.”

  “I get that,” I respond. “I remember when I was younger, after . . . I just remember feeling strange if someone was there. Like I couldn’t be me.”

  “That’s exactly what I mean,” Julian says as he pushes to his feet. He offers out his hand to me, and for a moment, I think he’s asking me to take it, but then he speaks. “Hand me your plate. I’m heading to the kitchen anyway.”

  “Oh yeah, of course.” I stumble over the words as I pick it up. Once he’s gone inside, I blow out a deep breath, needing to calm my racing heart. Stupidity made me think this was something more when I know for a fact this man doesn’t actually want me, he just needs me to do the work and run the gallery.

  As I pack up for the day, I’m thinking about trying to Skype-call Phee tonight just to have a chat. We haven’t seen each other in almost a couple of weeks, and I’m dying to ask her advice about Julian. She’s been my best friend, listened to all my problems, and always offered up sound advice.

  Pushing the office door open, I rush out and slam into a hard wall of muscle. Lifting my eyes, I lock them on Julian, who’s standing on top of me. Well, not completely, but he may as well be because it’s as if our bodies have been fused together, and the heat emanating off him is sweltering.

  “Sorry,” I mumble, feeling a blush warming my cheeks.

  Julian’s dark eyes lock on mine. I swear I can hear his heart beating in his chest, thrumming against his ribs, and my fingers itch to touch him. But I can’t move because I’m in a trance of his spicy cologne mixed with the scent of paint and thinners.

  “On your way home?” he grunts, the deep baritone of his voice mixed with the Southern drawl makes every hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

  “Yes, I’m . . . I’m done for the day. All the information has been updated, and I’ve left a note on the desk for you. Just if you need it.” I’m rambling, I know I am, but I can’t stop.

  He doesn’t say anything for a long time, then nods. “Thanks.” He steps aside, allowing me to pass, and as I do, I take one more really long inhale of his scent before I head home.

  At seven, I open my laptop and hit dial on Phee’s name on Skype. The moment her video pops up, I can breathe. Since my little run-in with my boss, I can’t stop thinking about his smell, about how warm he was. Everything about him has me craving a taste.

  “Oh my god,” she squeals excitedly the moment she sees my face. “You look incredible!”

  “Thanks.” I glance down and notice I’m still wearing the blouse I chose for work. I’m exhausted, and when I walked in, I went straight for the fridge.

  “Tell me, what’s happening? How is your new job? What’s the boss like?” She throws questions my way, making me laugh out loud. Phee has always been excitable. And this time is no different.

  “Well,” I start, knowing she’s going to be bouncing when she hears about Julian. “My boss is difficult. I mean, he’s okay, but I don’t know.” My cheeks heat, I want to tell her that I find him attractive, but I’m not sure why I’m having trouble finding the words.

  “Has he flirted?” Is her question, which only seems to send my embarrassment through the roof.

  “Not in so many words.” A giggle bubbles in my throat.

  “Nea, you’re so easy to read,” my best friend tells me. And it’s true, she can see right through me. “Tell me.”

  “He’s nice. I mean, nicer than just nice. Ugh.” I laugh, but the gasp on the other end of the line tells me my best friend knows exactly what I’m trying to say.

  “Oh my god! Do you have a crush on him?” Her excited tone is all I need to confirm that this is such a bad idea. “Nea, tell me right this second,” Phee demands.

  “Yes, I do. But I mean, I work for him. I can’t have these weird feelings.” I moan, frustration clear in my voice.

  “Oh please, you’re not the first employee to want her boss’s package.” She giggles, waggling her eyebrows, causing me to groan.

  “Can you not? I mean he’s very reserved. He didn’t even like my tattoos. He comes across as grumpy and aloof. But there are times… I mean, there are moments where I see him, the person he hides from the world. But I can’t act on my feelings.”

  “No, this is ridiculous. You’re acting like an old maid,” Phee admonishes me, and I know she’s right. I’m hiding behind old pains and heartaches. When I was in Italy, I enjoyed my life, and I would take chances because I could. “Listen to me, Nea, if he’s hot and you’re attracted to him, perhaps a little teasing won’t go amiss. I mean, he sounds like he needs a woman to break through that hardened outer shell.” Her announcement comes with a flourish of her hand, which only makes me laugh even more.

  “What if I’m misreading his intensity as annoyance and not want?” She stops moving to look at me like I have four heads. Sometimes, I overthink things, and that’s why I need my best friend to tell me if those things are stupid or valid.

  “You’re never going to know if you don’t take a chance,” Phee tells me earnestly. Her expression is serious for once, and I know if she was pulling my leg, she’d be laughing. “I’ve watched you grow out of your pain, out of that darkness that held you for so long. You need this, Nea.”

  “Ha, I need to get kissed, or I need to get ravaged?”

  “Both!” Her squeal echoes on the speakers, bouncing off the walls of my home. “Get kissed, slowly and tenderly, then let him ravage you. I mean, like well and truly fucked.”

  “Oh my god, Phee!”

  “I’m serious. If you go too long without it, you’ll become an old cat lady,” she teases playfully, and I have to roll my eyes.

  “I happen to like cats. There’s nothing wrong with those sweet little furballs,” I tell her, folding my arms across my chest in indignation, which only has her rolling her eyes.

  “Yeah, sure.” My best friend laughs, which has me laughing, and for the first time since I left, I feel like I can do this. Both live here and perhap
s seduce my boss.

  Chapter 11

  Nea

  It’s been a couple of days since the tension skyrocketed. Julian has lingered in the mornings but left me to do what needs to be done to get the event preparations ready. Even though he’s still looked over my work and left notes for me the next day, he’s been good, respectful. But he’s also been distant. Only coming into the office to greet me when I arrive, and then again when I leave.

  However, each lunch hour when I’ve ventured into the kitchen, I found treats he’d leave for me alongside the mug I’ve gotten used to using. I haven’t been inside the gallery since my first day here, but I know I’ll need to get back in there again soon.

  But today is Wednesday, and its time for me to dive headfirst into an event. I’ve only done smaller showings when I was still in Rome, but this particular show is going to be open to both VIP guests for a couple of hours and then any other ticketed patrons for another two hours.

  The dress code is formal. The drinks and snacks cost thousands of dollars. This isn’t some fly-by-night, back-alley art show. This is the real deal, and I’m nervous. The office door swings open, and Julian saunters in with a black garment bag. He’s also carrying a box in his other hand and that stupid handsome smile on his face.

  I’ve tried not to look at him in that way, but I can’t dismiss my girly flutters that seem to be present each time he walks into the office. He doesn’t say a word, setting down the box, and hanging the clothing bag against one of the railings meant to hold up coats.

  “What’s all this?”

  “Your outfit for tonight,” he tells me without looking my way. Shock must paint my expression because when he finally glances at me, he smiles. That fucking smile. “I thought you might want something more formal,” Julian says, his gaze raking in every inch of my outfit. I opted for something a bit more casual, knowing I’m going to be hanging paintings today.

  “Thank you.” I push off the chair and make my way over to the hanging bag. Unzipping it, I find a purple dress made entirely of a soft, sheer material. Also on the hanger is a silky negligee I’m assuming goes under the rather see-through dress. “I didn’t expect this.”

  “Well, there won’t be any time for you to go home, change, and then return and be here to greet the guests.” Julian turns and heads for the door, and for the first time in a while, I want him here.

  “I appreciate it. I have never gotten such a thoughtful gift before.” My words have him halting on the threshold. He doesn’t look anxious, but something in my gut twists.

  “Come with me.” He walks away, not waiting for me to follow, so I have to race after him as he makes his way through the enormous house and out the back door. Seconds later, we’re walking through sleek glass doors that take us right into the gallery.

  Julian pushes the doors open, and they lock in place, offering an unobstructed view of the space. White walls, light gray floors, and the colorful canvasses that hang in place offer up a contrast with their dark, yet eye-catching color. Deep blues, reds, and purples along with orange and pink leap from the artwork, and I can’t help but gasp.

  “This is incredible,” I say as I stop in front of one in particular that catches my eye. The dark circles, along with the lightened center, makes it seem as if it’s an abyss, and you could easily fall into it. The depth, the poignant melding of various hues, captures me, keeping hold of me. “This one, this is . . .” My words falter into silence.

  I can feel Julian behind me. His warmth at my back, and for a second, I almost lean into him. I want nothing more than to feel his arms around me, but that’s a ludicrous thought which I push to the back of my mind.

  “This one is personal,” he tells me, the heat of his words wafting over my shoulder, leaving goosebumps trailing in its wake. Once more, my body responds to his nearness, and I know as much as I want it, it can never happen. As much as I find myself intrigued by him, wanting to get to know what’s beneath those layers of serious contemplation, I know that being professional is important. But I can’t deny that with each day that passes, I am more and more attracted to Julian.

  “I’m . . . I don’t know what to say. I think it’s breathtaking,” I tell him, but I don’t turn, because I know he’s far too close, and if I did face him, we’d be mere inches apart— only a dangerous couple of inches.

  “I’m glad you think so,” Julian tells me. I can hear the smile in his voice, and I close my eyes for a second to picture his handsome grin, the same one that sends butterflies flitting in my stomach.

  “Have you always painted? I thought you were the critic, not the criticized.” I finally turn to face him, and I was right, we’re inches apart. He’s so close I can see the softness of his lips, the way they shimmer as if he’d just wet them with his tongue. I can make out the gentle crinkles in the corners of his eyes, and I know that if he smiles, they’ll deepen. I’m so close, too close, and when he looks down at me, heat pools between my legs.

  “Aren’t we all criticized, no matter what job we’re in?” His question hangs between us with more meaning than I think he intended to show. His dark gaze flits to my mouth when I open it, when my tongue darts out to lick the lower one, and then he watches when my teeth bite down hard on the flesh.

  The spicy scent of his cologne engulfs, and I wonder if he can smell my perfume. I ran out of the house this morning, spraying myself in the scent he mentioned he hated, but even so close, I don’t think it’s because he hated it at all.

  “It depends on the job,” I tell him. “Most people don’t allow critics to get to them, but then, there are those who are tormented by the utterances of fools.”

  Julian’s hand comes up to my chin. He pinches it between his thumb and forefinger and tips my head back just so, enough for him to lean in and whisper his lips along my own. My body shivers, a trickle of desire making its way up and down my spine and tingling between my thighs.

  “I want—” His words are broken off by the shrill ringing of his cell phone, which causes both of us to jump back in surprise. “Hello,” he says into the speaker, turning away from me, leaving me trembling from his touch. The heat he seared me with is still raging through me, and I have no way of understanding what that was or even what he wanted to say.

  I turn to the painting once more, taking in the circular shape, the colors, everything about it. But I can’t tell why it would be personal to him. I understand that most artists paint their feelings, they focus on themselves or people in their lives, and this has so much pain in it, but as you circle into the core, there’s light.

  Hope.

  Something that’s not dark and broken.

  I move onto the next painting. Black and purple also stand out from the canvas, and unthinking, I touch the lock of hair that hangs over my shoulder, the color matching so closely I can’t help but shiver.

  Did he paint these for me?

  Shaking my head, I move along, trying to forget the thoughts that take hold of me. It can’t be for me. There’s no way I could’ve had an effect on Julian Elliot in a few days.

  But then again, he’s certainly done something to me. My mind has been focused on him night and day. Long after I leave work, he’s there, constantly on my mind. I replay our conversations like a teenage girl with a crush on the popular boy in school. And each time I do, that foreign fluttering starts up in my stomach.

  It’s stupid.

  I’m grown up.

  I’m an adult.

  Then why does he make me feel like I’m losing all control of my feelings?

  Chapter 12

  Julian

  By the time I hang up, Nea is near the doorway. I make my way toward her, wanting nothing more than to go back to the moment we had, but it’s long passed. The moment I reach her, she turns to me.

  “I love all your work,” she tells me earnestly. “You’re so talented, I can’t believe you’re not doing this annually, monthly, something!” Her gaze darts around behind me, taking in the entrance, b
ut I know she’s been particularly moved by the canvasses I painted while she was under my roof.

  “As you said earlier, some people take the utterances of fools to heart,” I tell her. Even though she doesn’t know my past, not really, when she said that, it was almost as if she had reached inside me and found my most inherent fears.

  “You?” Her shock is clear. Her mouth open, forming a perfect O that has my mind wandering to places it really shouldn’t. But then again, like Eli told me a few nights ago, if I don’t take a chance, I’ll never know if this was something more. I keep pushing people away for fear of getting hurt, but what if the one person I do send packing is the one who can accept me at my worst?

  And Nea has certainly seen that.

  “Being an artist, a creative, isn’t easy.” I place the fingertips of my left hand on the small of her back and lead her out into the garden. “You put your soul into your work, you leave it bare for people to pick and prod at. Deep down, you know they’re going to break it apart because not everyone can see your pain and sorrow.”

  “Is that what your work is? Pain and sorrow?” Her question is pure innocence, and when I look at her, I see her genuine interest. Nothing like Shay. She’s the complete opposite of my ex-wife.

  “All art is pain and sorrow.” My response is true. Putting parts of you out for the world to see is difficult. It’s the scariest thing to do because those are the parts of you nobody sees, not even your closest friends or partners. It’s as if you’re flaying your soul and laying it out for everyone to stomp on.

  “And does that mean once it’s been painted, created, put out for the world to peruse, it’s healed?” Nea questions, her gaze locked on my face. She looks at me, taking in every inch of my expression, and I know she sees more than anyone else does. Something about this girl is so unique, so precious, it’s as if she herself is an art piece that needs to be protected.