Mister Know It All: A Hero Club Novel

by Amélie S. Duncan

  “Before you go, can I speak with you alone, Jasmine?” Soraya asked.

  “I’ll go get ready,” Tam said after we showed her the apartment.

  “I just wanted to check in to see how you’re doing. I’m so sorry I’ve been so busy this last week, too. And don’t think I’m going all momma bear on you, but I know you stayed over at Ford’s the other night. And since he’s been away. You okay?” Oh, how I loved my cousin.

  “Yes, I did, and I like him. We’re kind of the same in some ways. I enjoy spending time with him. He’s incredibly kind and considerate.” I chewed on my lip.

  She picked up Lorenzo, and I sat next to her on the couch. “He could have said no. He obviously likes you too.”

  “But…”

  “But you deserve better than to be the other woman.”

  “Ford has told me his feelings changed, and he’s not going back to her.”

  “That’s a start, but if he’s serious, he needs to tell you everything about what’s going on between them. Have you asked?”

  My stomach twisted in a knot. “We’re new. I’m not sure we’re even serious beyond a summer. He told me he doesn’t want to be with her anymore. I want to trust him.”

  “Is that enough?” she asked, her tone and expression sympathetic.

  I swallowed and lowered my eyes. “No. I just need time to think and talk to him.”

  “Whatever you decide, don’t just think about what’s best for Ford, but for you. It’s okay to walk away.”

  “Is it really that easy, Soraya? You had to deal with your stepdaughter, Chloe’s mom. I know things are better, but sometimes things start imperfect.”

  I didn’t mean to bring it up, but Soraya went through some hard times in her relationship when Graham’s ex tried to push her out to make a family with him and their daughter.

  “Yes, but Graham and I chose each other. We love each other, that’s the difference. If you have feelings for him, you can tell Ford, and he can choose. You deserve better.”

  My throat closed. I had no answers for her and feared what I’d tell her would only show me even more conflicted. We’d only had one night together, yet . . . it felt like more. I felt like I’d met someone who knew all of me and liked what he saw. Liked me for me. I couldn’t honestly say what I felt about Ford yet, but I did know that Soraya was right. I liked him, but I deserve better than being the other woman. God, I’d been telling myself that from the beginning. It was why I’d been so conflicted all week. Despite every lovely text message telling me he was counting the days until he returned home.

  I kissed Lorenzo, then headed downstairs.

  Soraya left me speechless. Deep down, I knew she was right to call me out. I wanted to tell her I wouldn’t get caught up and end things now. But I didn’t want to lie. This other woman wasn’t me. I was doing it again. Waiting for a man I liked to see me as special as I saw him.

  Tam frowned. “Are you okay? We can stay in and chat.”

  “No thanks. I’d rather just do something so I won’t have to think about anything.”

  Tam held up a list. “I’ve got a few shops we can go to in Soho and the West Village.”

  I took out my phone and texted Jack. We left out the side door to the car, and Tam gave him the list. The first shop was crowded, but it didn’t take long for Tam to find a few dresses to try on for herself and me.

  “Try this dress on, please.” She handed over a black lace tiered minidress.

  I checked the price. “I’m good.” Now that Randall had gone quiet, and I didn’t have a teaching assistant job or too many extra funds to spare, another shopping spree was out of the question. “Besides, I have clothes back at the apartment I can wear tonight.”

  “Okay, okay,” she said, and I waved her back inside a changing room. A few minutes later, she came out in a silk dress.

  “You look crazy hot.”

  “Don’t I?” Tam did a spin before the mirror.

  “Any word from Randall?” she asked, reading my mind.

  “Not since he showed his true creepy face,” I said. “I’m wondering what to do for next semester. Maybe get a roommate at the house?”

  “You can take out loans,” she said. “Or stay with me a month and rent it out as an Airbnb. Done.”

  My brows rose, and I nodded. “Not a bad backup plan, though I don’t know how I feel about a stranger in my house. What if they refuse to leave?”

  “If you’re afraid, you can always take out a loan. If you saw my bills, you’d die.”

  “You’re going to be a doctor. More than likely, you’ll be able to make bank to pay them back. I have no idea what will happen with my sociology degree or why I thought going for a master’s degree was a great idea. I meet so many people at work with so many different degrees.”

  Tam put her arm around my shoulder. “It’s normal to panic when you leave the college bubble. It will work out. You don’t have to decide everything right now.”

  “That’s what Ford said,” I muttered.

  She squeezed my shoulder. “You’re doing that thing you do.”

  I raised my brows. “What thing?”

  “You know you’re not staying here. This is all temporary, and you just left Randall. Just try to enjoy yourself.”

  I sighed heavily, and she went back to the dressing room.

  My phone buzzed with an NYC number I didn’t recognize. “I’ll be right back.” I left the shop and answered. “Hello.”

  “Hello, Jasmine Bisset?”

  “Yes. This is Jasmine. Who is this?” I asked.

  “I’m Martin, Ford’s friend from Zmirak Gallery. Can you stop by to sign our contract? I know you haven’t started working with Ford yet, but I like to have everything in place should we proceed. I can send a car for you.”

  “You’re actually considering making a show around my photos?” Even though Ford had explained it to me, it was hard to believe people were interested in seeing me, let alone adding my photos to their collection.

  “Yes, a few art collectors who have purchased from Ford’s previous collections are eager. Your photos moved me, and I’m rarely moved.”

  The dramatic inflect of Martin’s tone made me think his compliment was a big deal. I still was unsure, but as a lover of social experimentation and reflection, I was simultaneously keen. Not to mention the hope I could pay off some of my student loans before I pile on more for my Ph.D. program.

  “A friend is visiting. We’re seeing Hamilton tonight, but I think we can make it before if you could text me the address.”

  “Great, I will. Since you’re making a special trip, I’ll show you some of Ford’s work. See you tonight.”

  “Great. Thank you.” I went back in and over to Tam in a strapless sequin rainbow dress twirling in front of the mirror.

  “A slight change in plans. Do you mind if we go to a gallery first?” I asked and told her about the call.

  “Yeah. I enjoy looking at art exhibits. I had hoped we’d go to the Guggenheim or Metropolitan Museum of Art.”

  On the way, I texted Ford because I couldn’t resist.

  Jasmine: Tam’s here.

  I took a picture of us in the car.

  Ford: Sweet. You both look happy. How are you, beautiful?

  Jasmine: Great! Your friend Martin asked me to sign the contract you mentioned. He said he’d give us a private viewing of some of your work.

  Ford: We haven’t discussed all my artwork, and I’d prefer you view it with context. I can call Martin and have him collect the contract later.

  I frowned at the phone. “Ford doesn’t want me to go to his show at the gallery?”

  “Maybe he’s sensitive to his art and wants to see your reaction. But of course, we’ll go anyway,” she added, grinning like the devil.

  I put my phone away. Ford had me too curious now. “Yes, let’s go.”

  Zmirak Gallery was in one of those elegant cast-iron Greek revival buildings in SOHO South of Houston Street neighborhood of Manha
ttan. The building reminded me of other high-end designer shops in the neighborhood with large display windows and no more than five people inside—the clientele who can afford such luxuries. We walked in and rang the door at the entrance, but no one appeared.

  My head turned to Tam after a few minutes. “Maybe we should try later?”

  She opened her mouth to answer but quickly straightened her spine and licked her lips, tilting her head to capture her “best light,” or in other words, she found a man in the vicinity worthy of her attention. His hair was white, but he had a chiseled, unlined face that put him years younger. He looked quite smart in an all-black tailored suit. His pale green eyes had a glint of recognition when our eyes met.

  “Martin?” I asked. “I’m Jasmine. The lovely lady with me is Tam.”

  “I recognize you from your pictures,” Martin said, shaking our hands. “You, I hope to see in pictures as well.”

  “Depends on the photographer,” Tam said and smiled.

  “I take photos, but I’m more of an art appreciator than an artist.”

  He went behind the desk and removed a file with my name on it. “I’m old-school. I prefer paper. I’ll send you a copy by email.”

  I took the pen and signed my name on the pages marked. Even though Ford had told me the contract was standard, I still took the time to review it. On a search online, Zmirak had won a lawsuit against someone who attempted to sell the artwork they contracted exclusively to the gallery.

  “Thank you. I’ll have our assistant send you a copy for your records. We’re not open for the evening yet, but I’d be happy to show you some photos from one of Ford’s collections.”

  A nervous excitement went through me as Tam and I followed Martin around a half wall.

  I froze.

  There was a life-size image of Cecile staring lustfully at the camera, the composition of the photo eerily familiar.

  Ford had taken a similar picture of me.

  “Cecile Arpin,” Martin said as if we asked him. “Most of them are sold, but the gallery selected a few to display permanently. Is this the first time you’re seeing his collection?”

  “I saw some in a portfolio,” I muttered as my gaze went to the group of images on the wall.

  Cecile naked on his bed.

  Cecile naked with bound hands, some stylized painting I hadn’t been aware he did. However, what caught my eye was the 3D-printed hearts fixed into the canvas.

  The final photo was of Cecile and Ford entwined in his sheets, their eyes fused in love. Yes. Ford’s art collection was a visible sonnet. Their love. The close-up of her face, her need and longing so evident. The images were so similar to the ones he took of me on his phone. Did he use me to recapture what he was missing? Am I fooling myself again?

  “These images are older,” Martin said. His brows furrowed as he studied me. “An artist’s work can be his signature.”

  “These are insanely hot. I’m a big fan.” Tam’s smile wilted, and she raised her brows when she looked at me. “What’s wrong?”

  I swallowed and shook my head.

  “I think we’re ready to go now,” Tam said. “We’re off to see Hamilton.”

  “Great show,” Martin said. “I know we’re going out tomorrow, but if plans change, and you’d like to see more art . . .” He took out his card and handed it to Tam.

  She dropped the card inside her purse without looking at it. “I’m only visiting for the weekend. I’m in Boston.”

  “Boston’s not far,” Martin replied, giving Tam a broad smile.

  “It’s further than you think,” Tam said and lifted her chin.

  Martin laughed. “On that note, I’ll leave you two to prepare for your show.”

  I put on a smile. “Yes. We need to go.”

  “Okay,” he said, and we followed him outside.

  I leaned against the side of the building to take some deep breaths and cool my hot skin.

  “You went quiet in there. Tell me what’s wrong so I can be upset with you,” Tam said.

  “The pictures were beautiful,” I murmured.

  “But . . .?” she coaxed.

  “He took similar pictures of me, and now I feel like he’s recreating the love of his life.”

  Tam hugged me. “She’s not around—”

  “Not by his choice. Why did he take similar pictures with me?”

  “I’m going to give you some tough love here, babe. He was attached when you met him. Even if he said he’s changed, it’s good that you know what’s in his head now, so you don’t get caught up in him. You don’t need to break up or anything dramatic; play it fast and loose. Enjoy him, shake his hand at the end of the summer, and revel in the memories.”

  I averted my eyes and didn’t answer. My heart up in my throat, and I, for some reason, thought of the gothic romance, Rebecca. Why am I always cast as the second Mrs. de Winter? Why couldn’t I find a man who’d raise me up and treat me as special? Ford was just using me for his artwork. He’s just like all the rest.

  “You can still be sad.”

  “Not tonight,” I said and took a deep breath. “Let’s go see what all the fuss is about. What do you think of Martin?”

  “He’s got style but not my type. I hate you’re unhappy now, though. What can I do to cheer you up?”

  “I’ll be fine. Just talk about anything else.”

  She hugged me.

  We climbed in the car, and Tam started singing “The Schuyler Sisters” from Hamilton, and I put my feelings aside and joined in.

  My phone chimed.

  Ford.

  I hesitated, trying hard to ignore the phone. But then it chimed again.

  Ford: We need to talk. Let me explain everything to you.

  There wasn’t anything to explain because now I had more clarity. I hadn’t understood his yearning to take photos of me post-sex. But I did now.

  It had nothing to do with the beauty he claimed he saw—adored—in my sated expression.

  It was because of her.

  Everything has to do with her.

  And I was done.

  Jasmine: You don’t. We’ll just leave things between us now. Okay? I should never have gotten involved with you.

  Ford: Yes, you should have. That was old artwork. I’m not with Cecile. Hell, I can’t even talk with her. I left a message (the only way she agreed to communicate) that I’d met you and I was ending our relationship, just as I told you I would. Don’t make me do this by text. Please, see me.

  I couldn’t respond. I couldn’t erase those images from my mind. I . . . wasn’t strong enough. Not this time.

  FORD

  I’ve met someone

  I called Cecile, and just like the other times I reached out, she let the call go to voicemail. I’d leave a message into her void, hoping whatever she heard in my voice would make her pick up or return to me out of love. But this time, my heart didn’t burn in my chest.

  “Cecile, this is my last phone call to you. I don’t want to get back together. You were right about the proposal. I made it out of fear, not love. I didn’t want to lose you, but what I’ve come to realize in the months you’ve been gone is that I lost you well before the accident. Not just because of Andre, but because we weren’t right for each other. You may think I started seeing Jasmine out of revenge. But even if she left, I would want to end our relationship. Like I told you on my previous call, my feelings and needs have changed, and I will no longer compromise myself to keep you.”

  The weight on my chest lifted, and all brooding thoughts evaporated. I took a deep cleansing breath, then checked my watch. Jasmine should arrive from the Peabody Hotel soon, and I wanted to pay for her cab.

  I peered at the enlarged photo of Jasmine I had on the canvas that I’d taken after we had sex the first time. I’d been afraid the lighting wasn’t good, but it turned out just right. My eyes could make out the sheen of sweat on her skin, the swell of her full lips still wet from letting me suck on them. But the star of the image wa
s her eyes lit with amusement, lust, familiarity. There was intimacy on display that clued any viewer in on what had happened without seeing us in the act.

  Jasmine had me right in the palm of her hand.

  Dammit, Jasmine. She wouldn’t see me, and I could hardly blame her. I’d kept Cecile on a pedestal, and she’d left me. I should’ve explained what had happened between us.

  The studio door creaked, and Blair walked in. Her movements were less stiff, the swimming working to strengthen her legs. She came over and beamed at the picture. “Damn, this photo is fire. So intimate. Martin will lose his head.”

  “Fuck Martin,” I growled. “He operated on impulse as usual. He didn’t see a problem until it blew up in my face.”

  “You’re forcing me to side with Martin, which I won’t forgive you for. Photographs are a snap in history. There is a pattern of attraction. It’s hardly your fault that Jasmine and Cecile both have a doe-eyed gaze when they fall in love with you.”

  “You’re trying to goad me. It’s not what I need now,” I snapped, and she laughed. What I saw in the photo of Jasmine’s face were lust and trust. There was also fear. I recognized the same in myself.

  “Jasmine is not in love with me.”

  “You captured her unmasked, so she looks besotted and scared. That’s what I feel when I fall in love.”

  My brows rose. “Are you in love, Blair?”

  She smiled. “Maybe.”

  “With whom?” I asked, but I suspected Ivan, her bodyguard. He treated her like she was a precious stone.

  “Too early to jinx,” she said and sat down on the three-seater leather couch, the only thing to sit in the room beside the stool I had next to the pedestal my canvas was on.

  I painted flower petals freehand onto the canvas, then stood back. Perfect. “You and Martin can both stop interfering in my personal life.”

  “I’m interfering because you should have ended it with Cecile when she left you. I understand time apart. I wanted to disappear after my attack, but you didn’t allow me to hide away, and I’m glad you didn’t. You don’t cut those you love and care for out of your life.”