Holiday by Design

by Patricia Kay

  Marcus went in, switched on the overhead light, stepped aside to allow Joanna to enter the room then closed the door behind him. Why had he done that? She couldn’t help thinking of that earlier strong sexual vibe between them. She wondered what on earth Brenda was thinking now. Although Joanna knew she was being silly to think the closed door had some kind of significance, her heart didn’t get the message and picked up speed.

  “I’ve got his paintings over there, by the wall,” Marcus said. He smiled. “Out of harm’s way.”

  His perfectly normal smile even caused a tiny flurry of butterflies in her stomach. She almost rolled her eyes at herself. What was her problem? Telling herself to get real and remember the reason she was here, which had nothing to do with sex, she followed his lead.

  Between the doorway and the indicated wall were filing cabinets, a couple of rows of shelves filled with supplies, about a dozen stackable chairs, and any number of assorted pieces of furniture and equipment. These all created a division between the doorway and the paintings, which were all loosely covered in a soft cloth. She looked around with interest because in addition to the covered paintings, there were several sculptures in the same area that she’d like to see a bit closer.

  “Another artist we’re considering giving a show,” Marcus said, seeing her interest.

  She nodded, fascinated by everything in the room. Including the way-too-attractive man standing only feet away. The one who had just removed the covering from the first painting. The one again smiling at her. And, oh, her idiotic heart was so not listening to her!

  She stepped forward so she could see the painting better—the light wasn’t great in the room, there was only one window and the one overhead fixture—but instead of looking at the painting, her eyes met Marcus’s. He dropped his hand from the painting and his gaze moved to her mouth. At the same time, he took a step toward her.

  He was going to kiss her!

  The realization stunned her. She could hardly breathe. She couldn’t have moved if her life depended upon it.

  “Joanna...” he said, his voice little more than a gruff whisper. He reached out as Joanna swayed forward.

  And...at that very moment...just as Joanna’s eyes drifted shut and her lips actually tingled in anticipation of his, the door to the storeroom opened noisily and Brenda said, “Marcus, Jamison Wells is on the phone. Do you—” She broke off abruptly as Marcus and Joanna both jumped.

  There were only about two seconds of awkward silence before Marcus said—coolly, no less, “Tell him I’ll call him back later. Probably not until tonight.”

  “But he said—”

  “I’ll call him back later, Brenda.” This time Marcus’s tone left no room for argument.

  “Fine,” Brenda said and walked out. She left the door open.

  Joanna wasn’t sure whether she was glad Brenda had interrupted or disappointed. But she couldn’t think about that now. She had to pull herself together and remember she was a professional person and she was here on business, not pleasure. And yet...

  But she broke off the thought because Marcus had lifted the first of the two paintings he wanted her to see and walked toward the window where the late afternoon sun had provided a pool of natural light. Although it was hard to pretend nothing had happened, even though nothing actually had happened, Joanna forced herself to concentrate on the work of Jamison Wells and not the nearness and butterfly-inducing closeness of Marcus Barlow.

  After they’d looked at the two paintings, which Joanna loved even more than she’d loved the photographs because now she could see the brushwork and the richness of the colors, they walked back out to the gallery.

  “Thank you for everything,” she said, aware Brenda was listening to every word.

  “You’re very welcome,” he said.

  Still acutely conscious of Brenda and feeling awkward anyway, Joanna said, “Well, I guess I’d better be going.”

  “Did you drive over?” Marcus asked.

  “No, I walked.”

  “Do you need a—”

  “Marcus, you’re not planning to leave yet, are you?” Brenda asked, interrupting.

  He frowned. “I was thinking about it, yes.”

  “I need you to look at some letters of inquiry that came in this week.”

  “Can’t they wait until Monday? I—”

  “No. I think we need to act on one or two of them quickly.”

  “I don’t want to keep you any longer,” Joanna said hurriedly.

  He sounded resigned as he answered. “We’ll have a chance to talk more next week. I’ll give you a call to let you know where and when.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.” Joanna didn’t dare look at Brenda. She could only imagine what the other woman was thinking about this last exchange.

  As Joanna walked away from the gallery, she guessed she’d never know what he had been planning to ask her before Brenda stopped him. Maybe he was simply going to offer her a ride home. But what if he’d wanted more? What if he’d decided to act upon that sexual attraction that had so quickly risen between them? What if a ride home had morphed into a dinner invitation? And then a real kiss? And possibly even more.

  Well, whatever his intention had been, it was best that he’d been thwarted. Because Marcus Barlow was dangerous with a capital D. She must always bear that in mind. He belonged to a different world, one she could never fit into.

  Chick might have been a poor choice because he was her boss...and a jerk, as it turned out, but Marcus Barlow would be an impossible choice. Totally impossible. Anything other than a business relationship with him would be a fast train to heartache.

  And she’d better never forget that.

  Chapter Five

  By the time Marcus finished looking at the letters of inquiry from artists interested in showing their work at Up and Coming, Joanna was long gone.

  Probably a good thing, he told himself, even though before Brenda had delayed him he’d intended to offer Joanna a ride home and then, once they were on their way, suggest dinner somewhere.

  He knew taking her to dinner would have been a mistake, that it would be best to keep their relationship strictly business, the way he did with all the artists he featured. He’d learned long ago it was never a good idea to mix business with pleasure. Only problems could ever come from the combination, especially when the other party happened to be a woman. Although Marcus only knew what Joanna had chosen to tell him and what he’d observed with his own eyes, he recognized danger when he saw it.

  And Joanna Spinelli, she of the spiked hair, chocolate-brown eyes, sexy little body and gorgeous legs—oh, yes, he’d noticed her legs, all right—might as well have been wearing a red flag with flashing lights.

  Today, when their eyes had met over Jamison Wells’s paintings, Marcus knew exactly what it was that had momentarily stopped his breath and almost caused him to kiss her. And he also knew enough to steer away from it. Far away from it. Because when a person wanted more than a romp in bed, it made no sense to pursue a relationship where you had nothing in common beyond a sexual attraction. And unfortunately, Marcus and Joanna were totally different.

  The two of them as a couple made no sense. For instance, unless Joanna were to change drastically, Marcus couldn’t imagine ever taking her home to meet his mother. Laurette would take one look at Joanna and be appalled. Not that his mother’s reaction would sway him if he believed he was making the right choice, but still...any wife of his would need to get along with his mother.

  Wife? Was he really thinking of Joanna Spinelli in those terms? Had he lost his mind?

  Sure, he could probably persuade Joanna to change her outward image so that it was more suited to promoting her designs. But that didn’t mean she’d magically turn into the kind of woman Marcus needed in his life. Not only did he think
she and his mother would never see eye to eye, but he couldn’t envision her being happy running his household. And he knew instinctively she was not someone who would enjoy the philanthropic, business and social activities and responsibilities that dominated his life. She hoped to have a dynamic and thriving career of her own, one that would not be compatible with his.

  For all those reasons, at this point in his life, when he was tired of relationships destined to be temporary and wanted to find someone with whom to build a future, it only made sense to stay away from Joanna. Far away.

  Telling himself he had enough personal problems and didn’t need more, he firmly put Joanna out of his mind. Briefly wondering if he should wait until the worst of rush-hour traffic had subsided before heading home to Washington Park, he decided to gather his briefcase and iPhone and be on his way.

  He was glad tonight was free. He wasn’t in the mood for any kind of obligation, social or otherwise. All he wanted was a good dinner and a drink in front of the fire, preferably in the privacy of his own apartment. He was just walking back into the gallery when his cell rang, showing Vanessa was on the line.

  “Marcus,” she said without preamble, “Tad’s home.”

  Marcus swore inwardly. There went his peaceful evening. “What kind of shape is he in?”

  “He seems okay. A lot quieter than usual. He’s in with Mom right now.”

  “Thanks for letting me know. I’ll be there soon.”

  After telling Brenda to have a good weekend, Marcus walked over to the garage where he had parked his red Ferrari 458 Italia. He deliberately didn’t think about Tad or the upcoming scene until he was well on his way. Thankfully, driving had always soothed him. Even heavy traffic seemed easier to bear when he was in his much-loved car.

  When he finally allowed himself to think about his brother, he wondered what excuses and promises Tad would make this time. This kind of thing—quitting something he’d promised to see through till the end—had been going on now for at least ten years, ever since Tad had just barely graduated from college, and each time Marcus hoped would be the last, that Tad would finally grow up and accept responsibility for his life. But instead of things getting better, they seemed to be getting worse.

  Marcus wondered what fresh hell he was in for tonight. He also wondered why he hadn’t heard from Celia Kimball at Rosewood Rehab. She always alerted him if there was a problem. Surely they realized Tad had left the center. Or did they? It wasn’t as if he’d been locked up. Rosewood prided itself on its progressive attitude toward drug addiction and the latest in treatments.

  Maybe his brother had just walked out. But why? Marcus and Tad had cut a deal. Marcus would pay for Tad’s treatment at Rosewood and, in turn, Tad would complete the program and get clean. Afterward Marcus would see about finding a place for Tad in the family business. Because one thing was for sure. Tad needed to work, not just because it would be good for him to become a productive part of society but because he’d run through all the discretionary money left to him by their father. The rest of Tad’s fortune was tied up in the business itself, and he couldn’t touch it unless he sold shares of his stock, and he couldn’t do that without both Marcus’s and Laurette’s permission. At least their father had put that safeguard in place.

  So surely Tad hadn’t just walked out of Rosewood. The consequences were too dire for him to simply quit the program.

  And yet...knowing Tad and how reckless he could be, nothing would really surprise Marcus. On and on his thoughts went. By the time he reached the gates of the Barlow Estate, he had the beginnings of a nasty headache. He decided to head for his own apartment first. Fortifying himself with a couple of Advil, he thought about changing clothes but decided it was better to talk to Tad first.

  Back in the main house, he heard voices coming from the living room. As he approached, he told himself no matter what, he wouldn’t lose his temper.

  “Hello, big brother.” Tad, who sat near the fireplace where a cheery fire was well under way, looked perfectly comfortable with his long legs stretched out in front of him and what looked like a half glass of red wine in his right hand.

  “This is a surprise,” Marcus said. He glanced over at his mother, who sat across from Tad. She, too, had a glass of wine, but hers looked barely touched. Her wary glance met Marcus’s briefly. “Did you know he was coming?” he asked her.

  She frowned. “No, of course not. I would have told you.”

  Marcus wasn’t sure he believed her but decided not to press the issue. Directing his attention back to his brother, he said, “So, what brings you home, Tad?”

  “I was homesick?” He smiled, obviously amused.

  Marcus told himself to count to ten. “Is this something you and Mrs. Kimball discussed? Did she give her permission?”

  “I don’t need anyone’s permission to leave.”

  “I know that, but you did promise me you would complete the program. Have you?”

  “That promise was given before I knew how worthless the program is.”

  “Worthless? A program costing thirty thousand dollars for ninety days is worthless? You know yourself Rosewood came highly recommended.” He wanted to add that if Tad had had to pay for the program out of his own pocket, he might not be so quick to label it worthless. But what good would that do? Tad only heard what he wanted to hear.

  “I was tired of it.” The amused expression had disappeared. Now Tad only looked and sounded petulant.

  “Tired of it.”

  “Will you quit repeating everything I say?”

  “It’s hard not to, when what you say doesn’t make any sense.”

  “For Christ’s sake, Marcus, stop treating me like a child. I’m fine. I don’t need that damn program anymore. I’m sick of being told what to do, by them and by you!”

  Marcus felt like grabbing his brother by his expensive jacket and yanking him up out of that chair. “I see. So you’re ready to get a job now? Take responsibility for yourself? Pay your own way?”

  “Well, yeah, but not right this minute. I’m going to need some downtime. You know, to destress.”

  “Tell you what, you can destress all you want, but you’re not going to live here while you do it.”

  “Now, Marcus...” Laurette said.

  “I mean it, Mother. If Tad wants to go his own way, I think he should.”

  “Just because I don’t want to stay in that stupid program doesn’t mean I want to abandon the family!” Tad stood and drained his glass of wine. He stared at Marcus.

  Marcus chuckled.

  “What’s so funny?” demanded Tad. His face had turned red.

  “I just find it amusing how quickly you can backpedal. You don’t want to be told what to do. But when I tell you that you can make your own decisions and live any way you want to, you suddenly don’t want to abandon the family. You really are something. Could the fact that you can’t afford to be on your own have anything to do with your sudden affection for living here?”

  Tad looked as if he was about to explode. “You think you’re so smart, don’t you?”

  “I don’t think I’m smart at all,” Marcus said, suddenly exhausted. “I’m tired and I really have no desire to talk about this anymore tonight. Right now I plan to pour myself a drink, then go and talk to Franny.” He looked at his mother again. “I’m sorry, Mother, but I’m going to have my dinner upstairs in my own apartment tonight. That way you and Tad can get caught up. And, Tad...” His gaze moved to his brother. “We’ll settle this in the morning. Meet me in the dining room for breakfast at nine.”

  Marcus walked out without waiting for an answer.

  * * *

  By the time Joanna got back to the office, retrieved her car, fought rush-hour traffic and arrived home, it was nearly six-thirty. Normally, after a day like today, she’d be exhausted, ready to j
ust plop on the couch, drink a glass of wine, watch a little TV and pet Tabitha.

  But today she was too wound up to relax. She wished she had somewhere to go and someone to go with her. She could have gone clubbing with some pals—she’d been invited—but she’d turned them down. Now she was sorry.

  And yet, was she really in the mood for a smoky club and a too-loud band? Face it. You’re still thinking about Marcus Barlow and the almost kiss and the dinner invitation you were hoping for.

  It really was ludicrous that she felt so disappointed not to be invited to dinner. But maybe inviting her to dinner had never even entered his mind? She’d probably simply imagined he was attracted to her, that he’d intended to kiss her. Anyway, what did it matter? Hadn’t she already decided he was totally out of her sphere and that she should absolutely not think of him in that way?

  Of course, it was a lot easier to tell yourself you needed to do something than to actually do it.

  She was still lecturing herself when her cell rang. Seeing it was her mother calling, Joanna debated letting the call go to voice mail. Then again, maybe talking to her mother would be good for her. Bring her back to reality.

  “Hi, Mom,” she said.

  “Hi, honey. Did I get you at a bad time?”

  “No. Just pouring myself a glass of wine.”

  “I was anxious to find out how your meeting with Mr. Barlow went.”

  Since it didn’t look as if Joanna was going anywhere, she put the phone on speaker and while talking to her mother changed into her oldest and most comfortable jeans, an oversize sweater and her UGG slippers.

  “Well,” her mother said when Joanna was done, “that all sounds very promising. So, what’s next?”

  “Next I have to get six more designs finished. I also need to hire someone to help me, maybe two someones. And I have to find a place where I can work and have a showroom.” Good grief. It had just that moment dawned on Joanna that she had to do all that before her show at the gallery. A show that was a mere eight or nine weeks away, and during two of those weeks she would barely have time to breathe, because knowing Chick, she would be working her buns off.