by Patricia Kay
“And I think the contrast between them would be interesting.”
“Oh, c’mon, Marcus. You don’t know anything about fashion. Her clothes cry out for high-end jewels, the kinds of things made by Neil Lane or Harry Winston.” She rolled her eyes to show what she thought of them.
“Most young women would kill to be able to wear high-end jewels,” he said mildly.
“I’m not like everyone else.”
Where had this rebellious streak come from? Until recently, Vanessa had been one of the most agreeable sisters imaginable. In fact, she would have done just about anything to please him. But lately she seemed to delight in opposing him. “I only want you to meet the woman.”
“But what’s the point?”
“The point is, I’ve asked it as a favor to me.”
If looks could kill, hers was lethal. “Oh, whatever. Fine. I’ll meet her.”
“Good.”
“When?”
“We’ll go to lunch with her one day early next week.”
“I have a really busy week coming up.”
“One lunch won’t take up that much of your time.”
Marcus put his head in his hands after Vanessa, with another elaborate sigh and still grumbling under her breath, left the room. Why couldn’t people just be reasonable? It was a good thing this day was nearly over. Between the problems he’d had this morning with a new supplier in Copenhagen, Brenda’s almost insubordination after the meeting with Joanna Spinelli, and Vanessa’s pouts and sighs, he was ready for something different.
Unfortunately, he still had dinner with his mother to look forward to. And with the way his luck was running, she’d have a list of problems she expected him to solve.
Sometimes Marcus just wanted to throw in the towel. Pack a bag and take off for parts unknown.
But he wouldn’t do that, would he?
No, because unlike the women in his life, Marcus didn’t shirk his responsibilities. He’d accepted his path long ago, and he’d follow it to the bitter end. There were no deal breakers for him.
* * *
Although Joanna could hardly wait to give her notice, there was no way she was giving up her day off, so it was Friday morning before she could tell Chick the news.
“Hey, babe,” he said when he sauntered in at ten. Chick was not an early riser.
“I’m not your babe, Chick.” She tossed the empty container from her breakfast of blackberry yogurt into the trash can.
“Ah, come on.” He smiled down at her. “No hard feelings. We’re still friends, aren’t we?”
Joanna gave him a look. Friends. What was it with some guys? Did they think they could do anything and you’d still slobber over them? She’d be willing to bet he still believed she’d forget how he’d treated her and jump into the sack with him if he acted the way he wanted her to. “I don’t think we were ever friends,” she muttered.
He acted as if he hadn’t heard her and was already heading into his office.
“There’s an important letter sitting on your desk,” she called after him.
Less than two minutes later, he came stomping out, brandishing the letter, an expression of stunned astonishment on his face. “You’re quitting?”
She smiled sweetly, tamping down the urge to say, Can’t you read English? “Yes, I am.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I’m deadly serious.”
“Oh, come on, Joanna. I thought we were past all that.”
Joanna sighed. “Chick, this is not about you and me. It’s about me finally getting the chance to do what I’ve always wanted to do.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m going to be a full-time fashion designer from now on.”
“And you think you can support yourself doing that?”
Joanna had always known he didn’t take her aspirations seriously, and his attitude this morning proved it. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be just fine.” Earlier this morning she wasn’t sure if she would tell him about her upcoming show or not. Now she decided he didn’t deserve to know. Let him be shocked when he read about it in the paper or saw it covered on the local news. “Do you want me to call the employment agency or do you want to do it?”
He stared at her. “You’re really quitting.”
She nodded. “Afraid so.”
“Fine,” he sputtered, “but you can forget about this two-weeks bull. You can’t leave until we can find someone else and you can get her trained, no matter how long it takes.”
“I’m sorry, Chick, but that’s not the way it works. Two weeks’ notice is all I’m required to give you.” She almost felt sorry for him. But not sorry enough to give him any more of her precious time than she absolutely had to. After all, it wasn’t as if she needed a reference. She had no intention of ever working at anything but designing clothes again. Besides, knowing him, he would drag his feet forever without a reason not to.
“But that may not be enough time.” Now he sounded panicky. “What if I can’t find someone right away?”
“In that case, I guess you’ll just have to use a temp.”
“A temp? Are you crazy?”
Now it was her turn to stare at him.
Finally he said, “Okay. Okay. Call the agency. And be sure to tell them it’s urgent. Christ, this is the worst possible time of year for you to do this to me.”
Ignoring his grumbling, she said, “What shall I tell the agency about salary?”
He named a figure a good ten percent higher than he was currently paying her. She figured he did it just to piss her off. But she decided not to give him the satisfaction. “I’ll call them right now.”
Half an hour later, she was in the midst of relaying to Chick what the agency had had to say when her cell phone rang. Seeing Barlow International on the caller ID, she said, “Excuse me, Chick. I have to take this call.”
“Miss Spinelli?” the caller said. “This is Judith Holmes. I’m Mr. Barlow’s assistant. He asked me to tell you he has your contract ready and wondered if you could meet him at the gallery sometime this afternoon.”
“The only time I could come would be after work. But I quit at four on Fridays, so I could be there by five o’clock.” The gallery stayed open until six on weeknights.
“I’m sure that’ll be fine. If there’s a problem, I’ll call you back. Otherwise, just plan to be there then.”
“Thank you.”
Chick was glaring at her when she hung up. “Since you’re only giving me two weeks’ notice, all personal calls will be off-limits from now on.”
She felt like telling him where to put it, that if he was going to act like this, she would just pack up her things and go now. But the urge didn’t last long. She wasn’t looking for all-out warfare. Besides, Chick could blow hot air all day long, and he could establish all the rules he wanted, but the bottom line was, he didn’t spend enough time in the office to enforce rules about phone calls or anything else.
Oh, revenge was sweet.
For the rest of the day, Joanna couldn’t stop smiling.
* * *
Marcus generally let Brenda take care of getting the gallery contracts signed, but because she was so negative about Joanna and her work, he had decided he would meet with Joanna instead. He could kill two birds that way: get the contract taken care of and introduce Joanna to the work of Jamison Wells, see what she thought of it.
When he called Brenda to tell her, she said, “There’s no reason for you to make a special trip, Marcus. Just messenger the contract over. I can take care of it. I do it all the time.”
“I’ll be over in that direction anyway,” he said, “so it’s no problem. Besides, there are some additional things I want to discuss with Miss Spinelli.” He could tell Brenda wan
ted to say something else, but she didn’t. The truth was, he didn’t trust her where Joanna was concerned. In fact, he wouldn’t put it past her to do or say something that would cause Joanna to change her mind.
And for some reason Marcus couldn’t explain, he didn’t want that to happen.
* * *
Joanna had been going to make a quick stop home to change clothes before going to the gallery, but after thinking it over, she decided going straight from work would be a good test of Georgie’s theory that the way she looked had no significance when it came to her show. So when she walked into Up and Coming at four forty-five that afternoon, she was still wearing what she’d put on that morning: a black velvet miniskirt paired with a black silk long-sleeved T-shirt, shimmery silver tights and her favorite high-button shoe boots. She also wore mismatched silver earrings—on the right ear, a huge starburst, on the other a long dangle of zodiac signs. Too bad her tattoo wasn’t visible, she thought with an inner grin. That would really test his mettle.
She almost laughed out loud when she saw Brenda Garfield’s expression. The woman looked as if she’d just bitten into a sour lemon. “I’ll tell Marcus you’re here,” she said.
To Marcus’s credit, the only indication he gave that her appearance was in any way startling was a slight widening of his eyes—quickly checked—when he walked onto the gallery floor and saw her. Smiling, he said, “Come on into the office. I’ve got the contract ready.”
Too bad he was so not her type, because he was undeniably sexy with that thick dark hair of his and those cool blue-gray eyes. Today he even seemed less CEO and more GQ, in fawn slacks, a creamy cashmere sweater and a wool jacket the color of espresso. And she had to admit it; he’d gone up a notch in her estimation by not reacting to today’s outfit. She’d love to know what he was thinking, though, because she was sure he’d much rather she was dressed like Brenda, who today wore a tailored crepe dress in a deep shade of plum.
“I never asked you where you worked when we talked the other day,” he said once they were alone.
“My boss is a wine merchant. He travels all over the area buying and selling wine, and I run the office. We also do a lot of internet sales.” Joanna was particularly proud of that, because it had been her idea to go after the internet trade—which Chick had never given her credit for. Shades of Ivan the Terrible Klemenko. Man, Georgie was right, she did have bad judgment when it came to men.
“How long have you worked there?” Marcus asked.
“A little over six years.”
“I’ll bet your boss is sorry to see you go. I know I’d be up a creek if my assistant left.”
Joanna simply nodded. She didn’t want to get into a discussion of Chick. She didn’t trust herself not to say something derogatory.
They chatted a few more minutes; then Marcus handed Joanna her contract, and she carefully looked it over. But as she’d expected, the terms were simple and reasonable. By signing the papers, she would be agreeing that in return for having a show at Up and Coming, which would include all advertising and promotion, she would pay five percent of any resulting sales back to the gallery.
“How will ‘resulting sales’ be determined?” she asked.
“You’ll be on the honor system,” Marcus said.
Joanna knew her face reflected her shock. The honor system? How could the gallery do business that way?
“I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “But I never expected to make much money off the gallery. I do what I do to help struggling artists. And, as far as I know, no one who’s had work shown at the gallery has ever cheated me.”
“Well, I’m amazed. Most businessmen...and women...are a lot less trusting.”
“When it comes to Barlow International, so am I.” He smiled. “The truth is, the gallery is an indulgence for me. When I was younger, I studied art, wanted to be an artist myself. That didn’t work out, so this is the way I compensate and keep my hand in the game.”
The great Marcus Barlow had wanted to be an artist? Suddenly Joanna saw him in an entirely different light. She was dying to know why it hadn’t worked out, but it was obvious he didn’t intend to elaborate.
“I don’t expect you to sign the contract now,” he said instead. “Take it home so you can study it. In fact, you can have a lawyer look it over, if you like.”
“That won’t be necessary. I’m happy to sign it today.”
“Even though you won’t meet my sister until next week?”
“Even though.” So saying, she signed both copies, and then he did the same.
Handing her one of the copies, he said, “Now, if you’ve got time, I want to show you the work of the artist we’ve booked for the month of November. I think your work would look particularly good with his.”
Walking over to a large bookcase, he removed a portfolio and brought it back to the desk. This time, he didn’t sit across from her. Instead, he pulled a side chair over so they could both look at the portfolio together. Joanna caught the faint scent of a woodsy cologne as he settled next to her.
The moment he opened the portfolio and she saw the photo of the first painting, she was mesmerized. The painting, which depicted a small boy chasing a ball, was a cross between an abstract and something more realistic, using a wide spectrum of vivid colors.
As he continued to slowly turn the pages, she saw that each painting featured at least one person. There were no landscapes, no still lifes and no “big” scenes. She particularly loved a painting that showed a young woman sitting on a park bench. It was done in shades of blue and green, with deft touches of purple in the background. Joanna could just see one of her dresses, a violet crocheted number, displayed nearby. The two, dress and painting, would enhance each other.
Another painting, this one featuring an old woman feeding a squirrel against a background that looked like dunes, was done in bold shades of gold, ochre and russet.
Delighted, she turned to Marcus. “I love them! I was so afraid you’d pick an artist who works in pastels or something—you know, faux impressionists.”
“And I was afraid you wouldn’t see the advantage of the contrast between Wells’s spare art and your designs.”
“His paintings are the perfect foil for my work, I think.”
“So do I,” Marcus said.
“What kind of style is this? It’s almost realistic, but not quite.”
“It’s called painterly. You’ll notice that the artist hasn’t tried to conceal his brushstrokes or technique, and that the style celebrates the use of color.”
“Well, I love what he’s done. It’s wonderful.”
“He’s the most promising artist I’ve seen in a long time. We’re really looking forward to his show and expect to attract a lot of potential buyers. Which will benefit you, too, of course.”
If Joanna hadn’t realized before just how lucky she was to have this opportunity, she certainly did now. “You know, I don’t think I’ve really thanked you properly for what you’re doing for me. I just want you to know that I’m very grateful to have this opportunity.”
“And I’m pleased to be able to provide it.”
Oh, wow. That smile of his was definitely dangerous. Her heart skittered a little as their eyes met, and something arced between them. Whoa. What was that? But Joanna knew what it was. She was experienced enough to know that what she was feeling was a very strong sexual attraction, and she was pretty sure Marcus felt the same vibe. Too bad, she thought regretfully. Sexual vibe or not, her relationship with Marcus Barlow was never going to be anything but a business one. Because no matter how attractive he was and no matter how sexy, he was so far from being the kind of man who held any promise for her that they might as well be on different planets.
Marcus Barlow represented old money and the upper echelons of Seattle society, whereas Joanna was from a blue-co
llar family and even though someday she’d love to be rich and famous, she had no desire to desert her class.
In fact, she loved her class. Even her friendship with Georgie and the glimpses she’d had into Georgie’s more privileged life had shown Joanna that the way she’d been raised—even when she chafed against it—had given her something valuable, something she cherished.
I am who I am, she thought, and I’ve never wanted to be anything different.
Marcus closed the portfolio and stood. “I have two of Wells’s paintings in the storeroom. Come on, I’ll show them to you.”
As they walked out into the gallery, Brenda looked around. There was an expression on her face that was almost venomous, although she quickly smoothed it out. Joanna realized Brenda was seething. Maybe there was more to her dislike of Joanna than Joanna had first thought. Maybe the woman had designs on Marcus and saw Joanna as competition. This amused Joanna, because it didn’t take a rocket scientist to see that, like herself, Brenda wasn’t in his class, either. No, honey, she wanted to say, you’re wasting your time. Neither of us is in his ballpark, I’m afraid.
“I’m taking Miss Spinelli back to see those two paintings of Jamison Wells,” Marcus said.
“Oh?” Brenda walked over to where they were standing. “Are you thinking of showing her designs during his exhibition here?” Her dark blue eyes turned as icy as the Arctic.
Even though Joanna could hardly stand the woman, she couldn’t help feeling sorry for Brenda. Her unhappiness was so obvious, and the reason for it even more obvious. After all, if Joanna, who didn’t know her at all, could figure out its origin, surely Marcus could. Then again, most men, even the smartest men, were totally clueless when it came to relationships.
“Yes, I think so,” he said. “Joanna likes his work very much, and agrees with me that it will be a great pairing with hers.”
If Joanna had thought Brenda’s original expression had been venomous, then the look in her eyes now was nothing short of murderous. She was glad that Marcus didn’t continue the conversation and instead headed toward the back of the gallery and a door that led to the storeroom.