His Ransom 5

by Aubrey Dark

  I wanted to focus on sketching out the nude woman in front of me, but Jean-Luc hadn’t given me any pencils and I was too darn nervous to ask. Instead, I began using a palette knife to do big color blocks for the background. I would work on the woman herself later.

  Jean-Luc went around the studio. It seemed apparent that a few of the artists were students. They actively asked him for help. I grew distracted watching him talk with the artist next to me. He’d done a charcoal sketch of the woman in no time at all, it seemed. But Jean-Luc was critical, pointing out places where his lines were choppy.

  When he came over to me, I hadn’t done anything but block out the back of the woman’s figure. He saw me watching the other artist’s canvas, the one he had critiqued.

  “What do you think of his work, Miss Mills?”

  “I—I think he’s very talented,” I said. The artist that Jean-Luc was talking about pretended not to hear our conversation.

  “Do you think that art is about talent?”

  “Don’t you?”

  “No. It’s about desire.”

  I looked at him levelly. His dark eyes burned into me. I swallowed the lump in my throat. I wasn’t going to cower in front of him.

  “Alright, shoot,” I said.

  “Shoot?” He tilted his head, looking confused.

  “Why is art about desire?”

  “Oh! No, that’s not quite what I meant. I meant that the desire to do art—the need to create—that is what drives people to greatness. Not talent.”

  “You don’t think talent exists?”

  “I think that the amount of inherent talent differs from person to person. Yet greatness comes more from practice and desire than it does from talent.”

  I frowned. My teachers had always told me that I was very talented at art. It was the one talent I really had. But now Jean-Luc was telling me that talent was overrated.

  “You don’t think you have to have talent to be a great painter?” I asked.

  “All the great painters I have known have all loved the art more than anything else they do. They love it more than food, more than air. They see a paintbrush, and their fingers itch.”

  He raised his hand with those words, smoothing his fingertips together. I was mesmerized by his slim, strong hands.

  “Now paint,” he said. He took my hand up abruptly. I caught my gasp in my throat and swallowed it back down.

  “Paint what you feel. Isn’t that what you said? That you paint feelings? Emotion?”

  “Yes.” My face was burning, but I stared valiantly at the canvas in front of me. I knew what I was going to paint. Jealousy. Envy.

  “Good. Then this is your chance to show me what you really feel.”

  With that, he walked away.

  What I really feel. I don’t know what he was trying to imply. Or if I had simply misunderstood. If I looked in from the outside, it seemed obvious that he was flirting with me. And yet, I could sense that he was staying back, as though deliberately, in the shadows.

  Did I want to see what was hidden, back there in the dark?

  I bit my lip, keeping the thoughts at bay, and began to paint.

  Chapter Eight

  After being coaxed into more cocktail gowns than I’d ever thought I’d wear in my life, I was beginning to realize that elaborate parties were a fact of life for the rich. Going away parties. Birthday parties. Anniversaries. Charity balls. Anniversaries of charity balls. Et cetera.

  It was as though they didn’t know how to spend enough of their money, so they used any excuse to throw a shindig.

  And Lucas Black, Jake’s best friend, knew how to throw a party.

  Jake had come into the hotel room in a flurry of preparations for the cocktail party that night. On the way to the party, he’d complimented my cream-colored dress, which I’d managed to keep paint-free. I wanted to tell him about my painting today, but he was so busy with everything else that I didn’t want to distract him.

  “I met with the art collector today,” I tried to tell Jake. But Jake’s eyes were already moving away from me.

  “Oh! The lawyer from negotiations just arrived. Sorry, yes, the art collector. We’ll talk about it later, alright? Sorry, I need to mingle. Tonight is crazy for me.”

  I bit back any comments about myself going crazy. Jake drifted off to the door, where—

  It was her. It was the woman Jake had been with in the hallway.

  Jake kissed her on both cheeks in traditional French style. He turned back and waved to me. I smiled back and pointed to the other room, where I escaped to refill my wine glass. I didn’t want to meet the sexy French lawyer who put her hands all over my boyfriend, thank you very much.

  He’s not your boyfriend.

  I tipped my glass up, trying to drown all of my stupid thoughts.

  “You look like you’re about to kill something with your mind.”

  It was Lucas Black. His dazzling blue eyes fairly twinkled as he smiled down at me. With the chandeliers lighting us from above, he looked like he wore a gold halo.

  I knew better than that. Lucas Black was no angel.

  “I’m not much of a party person,” I said.

  “That’s too bad,” Lucas said. “I hope you’ll forgive me for throwing so many of them. It’s so much easier to talk business over drinks.”

  Business.

  “It was fun to have dinner with you and Jake before we left,” I admitted.

  “Oh, wasn’t it?” Lucas asked merrily. “And that Clint Terrance guy, he’s a riot. Did you see him come in with his two redheads? He’s a wild horse.”

  “I hear you’re just as wild,” I said, not wanting to gossip.

  “I’m tame compared to that rock star. He wears women like accessories.”

  “No comment,” I said, eyeing him over the rim of my wine glass.

  “That friend of yours, tell me about her.”

  “Who? Rachel?” I asked innocently.

  “No, the other one. The blonde one.”

  “Steph? I don’t think she would be a good… accessory for you.”

  Lucas laughed and winked at me.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not going to put any moves on your friend. I only want her cupcakes.”

  “Yeah, well get in line.”

  “Are her cupcakes that popular?”

  “Her business would be fine if she had enough space to keep up for demand.”

  “Well, I have a birthday party coming up. It’s going to be a blowout. You’re invited, of course. Cupcakes by Steph.”

  I caught myself from saying anything, but I wondered if Jake would still have me around by the time the party came. Was I just another accessory?

  Lucas seemed to read my thoughts. He nodded over to where Jake was standing in the other room. There were two beautiful women hanging off of his every word.

  “He adores you, you know,” Lucas said.

  “He seems to adore quite a few people,” I said drily. “And they all adore him.”

  “I mean it.”

  Lucas looked at me earnestly. It was the first time I’d seen him quit joking.

  “He’s pretty nuts about you. I know it might not show, but he’s been through a lot.”

  “You mean his family?”

  “It’s hard on him.”

  “Yeah,” I said, sighing. “It’s hard on both of us.”

  “He doesn’t know what a family looks like. He’s doing the best that he can. It’s up to you to decide if that’s enough.”

  “Enough for what?”

  Lucas shrugged, taking another sip of his drink.

  “Jake grew up alone,” he said. “He’s always been alone. Alone with plenty of company.”

  “Hah.”

  “That’s why this is so strange.”

  “This?” I frowned.

  “You.” Lucas took a sip of his drink. I swallowed the lump that had suddenly appeared in my throat.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You will. I’m
sure of it, if I’m sure of anything.” Lucas finished his drink. When he turned to me again, I could see a mask of politeness come over his face.

  “I should go mingle. Thanks for chatting. I’ll be sure to invite you and Steph over the next time we have an orgy.” He grinned roguishly at me and then moved off into the clusters of well-dressed, successful people.

  I gripped the glass of wine in my hand like it was a life preserver. I stopped and chatted with a few people from Jake’s business, but there wasn’t anything for me to say to them. They were all swapping stories about sailing trips in Belize and which hundred-year-old wine vintage was the best investment.

  What could I say? I’d never been anywhere more exotic than the Brooklyn Bridge, and I sure as heck didn’t know the difference between Pinot grapes. So I smiled and nodded and finally escaped out to the patio.

  I breathed in deeply, enjoying the chill of the night air after the stuffiness of the cocktail party. I didn’t fit in, not with any of these people. The slight dizziness of the wine made me even more antisocial. I looked up at the stars. Even they looked different.

  “Lacey?”

  I turned to see Jake stepping out onto the patio.

  “Hey,” I said. “Just getting some fresh air.”

  Jake stepped forward, lacing his arms around my back and pressing a soft kiss against my lips. Tears sprung to my eyes. I loved him so much, and yet… all of this…

  “What’s the matter?” he asked, pulling back.

  I shook my head, blinking back my tears.

  “I just… I feel like I’m getting farther and farther away from home.”

  Jake furrowed his brows. I could tell he didn’t know what I was talking about.

  “What’s home?” he asked.

  “Home is family. Home is…” I trailed off, biting back the sob in my throat that threatened to come out.

  “Lacey, babe. What is it? What’s the matter?”

  “I miss my parents,” I said. It wasn’t exactly what I was feeling, but it was close. “I miss feeling like I’m in the place I belong. I don’t know.”

  “Look,” Jake said. “We’ll be done with this soon, and—”

  The blond lawyer stuck her head through the door.

  “Jake, viens. The Luhrmans are saying goodbyes.”

  Jake turned back to me with a stressed look on his face. I steeled my face and waved him away.

  “Go on,” I said. “It’s business.”

  He paused and then smiled a tense smile.

  “Thank you for understanding,” Jake said. He leaned forward and gave me a sharp peck on the cheek before disappearing. It was less of a kiss than the one he’d given that lawyer.

  I blinked back tears as I looked up. The Eiffel Tower was supposed to be a romantic view. Then why did I feel so unromantic?

  So far from home…

  Chapter Nine

  Jake was already snoring by the time I got out of the shower and to bed. And in the morning, he was gone before I was awake. This time, he hadn’t left a note.

  He probably didn’t have time.

  I was starting to understand what he meant when he said that this trip was all about business. I hated to think this way, but waking up in an empty bed was not my idea of a Parisian vacation. I felt grumpy; he might as well have left me in New York.

  I wouldn’t have seen that woman in the hallway if he’d left me in New York. Was ignorance really bliss? I wanted to trust Jake; I really did. But it was so hard when we couldn’t even talk for just a moment…

  My phone rang. I slapped my hand onto the end table and fumbled around before picking it up.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, Lacey?”

  Jean-Luc’s voice came rumbling into my ear. I twinged with guilt for feeling so good that he would call me.

  “The deal we spoke about yesterday—”

  “Yes,” I said boldly. “I’m interested in a deal.”

  I was going to be professional now. I was going to make Jake proud of what a good businesswoman I was. And if I got the job, I would make sure that Jake stayed with me in Paris—and I would make time to sightsee around with him.

  “Wonderful! Would you meet me tonight at around six o’clock, at Les Roses?”

  “Sure. What—what was that name again?” I scrambled for a pen, not understanding his French accent.

  “Les Roses. Rose, like the flower. Yes?”

  “Absolutely. Yes.”

  “Wonderful,” he said. “I’ll see you soon.”

  I ate breakfast and went out with renewed determination. I was going to shop, and I wasn’t going to feel bad about it. I found myself standing inside of a shop on the Champs-Elysees, staring at a row of size-zero mannequins and turning Jake’s credit card over in my hands. I was going to buy something. I had to. I couldn’t wear the same thing again to see Jean-Luc.

  A saleswoman came over to me, her eyes sweeping down the cream-colored dress that I was still wearing. Evaluating me to see if I was worth her time. Her eyes settled on the credit card that I was holding, and I saw one of her eyebrows raise slightly.

  “I need an outfit for a business meeting tonight,” I blurted out. “Do you have anything that would work for that?”

  “Of course, mademoiselle,” the saleswoman said. “Let’s see what colors suit you.” She snapped her finger, and another woman appeared instantly. She spoke rapidly in French and the other woman disappeared into the back.

  “Let’s get you to a dressing room,” the saleswoman said, gesturing inside with a kind smile. It was crazy, how money could buy good service. She sat me down on a white leather sofa and brought me a glass of cucumber lemon water while I was waiting.

  The other woman appeared with an armful of skirts, blouses, and dresses. I normally only tried on one or two things before deciding, but the two women coerced me into trying on half of the store, it seemed. I felt like a Barbie doll. They would dress me up, then put on a jacket, then take off the jacket and put on a scarf. Then take off the scarf and try again with another dress.

  It was exhausting, but kind of fun. I could see how women could get into the whole shopping thing. And then, just when I thought I was never going to be finished, the saleswoman led me out to the big mirrors and showed me the last outfit she’d decided on.

  Wow.

  It was a dark red wool suit that fit me perfectly. The pencil skirt curved over my hips and hugged my thighs. The jacket was the same dark red, buttoning at my waist and flaring slightly at my hips. A cream cowl-neck blouse opened up at my collarbone, giving the whole outfit a softer, more feminine look. Dark pantyhose led down to black pumps that were heeled only slightly higher than normal.

  I hadn’t ever worn anything like this before, and I certainly wouldn’t have picked it off of a rack.

  “The only thing missing is the accessories,” the saleswoman said. “Would you like to see—”

  “Oh!” I cried out, digging in my purse. “I have earrings! Only…” I motioned to my ears.

  “I see,” the woman said, examining my unpierced ears.

  “Do you know where I can get them pierced?” I asked hopefully.

  “Wait one moment,” the woman said. She left me in the fitting room. Her assistant brought me a tray of delicate pastries and bonbons while I waited. I tried hard not to eat the entire tray, but each one was more delicious than the next.

  Then I heard the door open. A man came in dressed in a suit.

  “This is the jeweler,” the saleswoman said, coming out from the back.

  “Jeweler?”

  The man was already sitting next to me. He pulled out something that looked like a steel needle.

  “You wish your ears to be pierced, yes?” he asked me. I nodded, my eyes wide. The saleswoman had called up a personal ear piercer for me! “Where is the earrings?”

  I handed over the diamond studs that Jake had given me. He examined them with an approving nod. Then he cupped my ear with one hand. My heart skipped a beat, but
before I could prepare myself, he was already at the other ear. The only thing I felt was a slight pinch.

  “Here is a cleaning solution,” the man said, standing up and handing me a black pouch. “Make sure you are cleaning the ears every evening and morning.”

  “Okay,” I said, nodding. “Sure.”

  He left and the saleswoman rang me up. I looked at myself in the mirror again while she packed up my old dress. The diamond studs shimmered on my ears, the lobes only slightly pinked. And my figure was sleekly curved under the red wool suit. Feminine, but not too feminine. It surprised me how well the outfit suited me. I tossed my hair back and winked at the mirror, feeling much, much better.

  There. Perfect. Very professional. And very, very chic.

  Les Roses was a wine bar on the rooftop of one of the swank buildings near the Arc de Triomphe. A fancy wine bar. All of the women I saw were in tight cocktail dresses, and the men were all in button up shirts, most wearing jackets.

  I stood on tiptoe to see over the row of ferns at the entryway, trying to look into the wine bar to see if Jean-Luc was there waiting for me.

  “Can I help you?” One of the waitresses came over to me, immediately switching to English in a haughty tone. Her features were pinched into a polite expression, but I could tell she thought I should be somewhere else. I was an American tourist, I suppose. Even in a chic dress, I stood out like a sore thumb in the sleek crowd of Parisians here to drink expensive wines.

  “Hi!” I said, smiling tightly back at her. “I’m here to meet my friend. Jean-Luc?”

  “Are you sure that you’re in the right place?” the waitress asked. Her face grew even more tense in the polite smile she was holding.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Yes. He said to meet him here.”

  “Why don’t you wait here?” the waitress asked, only it was more of an order than a question. “And I’ll go find your friend.”

  I could tell she didn’t believe me, so I tiptoed again to peer into the room. Instead of finding Jean-Luc there, I felt a touch on my back. I spun around to find Jean-Luc standing behind me, his dark eyes sparking with pleasure. He leaned down to kiss me on the cheeks, and I smelled his cologne.

  The waitress’s smile faltered only for a second, and then she snapped back into a curt smile.