Painting the Lines: A Hot Romantic Comedy (Ace of Hearts Book 1)

by Ashley R. King

  “So, that’s what this all boils down to, huh? Always coming back to what I can do for you?”

  “Which isn’t much.”

  Julian shook his head in disbelief and narrowed his eyes at her, as though he didn’t know the woman standing before him. “You know that’s not true,” he said. “But maybe if you stood up to your father, you wouldn’t have to do this in the first place.”

  Oh, how wrong he was. It didn’t matter what she did, it would always lead to this push of working for the family business, because what else did she have?

  “Again, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He jabbed his fists into his pants pockets. “It doesn’t matter. Don’t worry about me ever speaking up or defending you again. Come on, let me take you home.”

  She stiffened. Was he for real? What he couldn’t even begin to fathom was that if she made a move against her father, she would lose her world—her house, food, inheritance, you name it. The only things that truly belonged to her were the clothes in her closet and her car, which she purchased with her book royalties. She didn’t even know where she’d go if she didn’t play by her father’s rules.

  Shame wrapped her in a suffocating embrace as she kept reminding herself that she was a grown woman who shouldn’t be afraid of retribution from her father. But she was.

  However, this thing with Julian was an area of her life she could control.

  With straightened shoulders and head held high, she bared her teeth. “I don’t need you to defend me, and I sure as hell don’t need you to take me home.”

  She reached down and pulled off her high-heeled shoes and ran, those early morning runs with Julian actually paying off. She disappeared into the house, into the throng of people, pretending she didn’t hear Julian calling her name, pretending she hadn’t fallen a little bit in love with the jerk for standing up to her dad when no one else would.

  Amalie thanked the Uber driver and fumbled with her keys as she made her way around her father’s house, avoiding going inside. When she reached the pool house, her hand went to the door to find that it was already unlocked. She knew exactly who awaited her. Part of her yearned to turn and run, but another part, the fiery part that Julian referenced earlier, became an inferno which forced her to open the door.

  Her father sat perched on her couch, his hands steepled as his icy glare speared her. Judge, jury, and executioner. “Amalie.”

  “What are you doing here? You can’t just barge into my place,” she said, anger and indignation rising in her veins.

  Her father stood, his hands sliding into his pockets. “You forget that it’s not yours. It could be though, if you’d just let me take care of you. Think of it, you could stay here, and we could be a family. I know I was absent most of your childhood and then your mother left—”

  She dropped the heels dangling from her fingertips, the sound deafening as the shoes clattered to the floor. “Whatever it is you’re about to say, don’t. I’m so tired of your excuses.”

  Her father lifted an eyebrow, although it was a struggle for him to show any type of expression. “In that case, let’s cut to the chase. You need to know that I won’t stand for you and that tennis player—”

  “Julian. His name is Julian.”

  “Fine, I won’t stand for you and Julian treating me as you did. I’ve been thinking that maybe I made a mistake backing this venture. I thought this would be a good wake-up call for you, but—” Her father shook his head, derision oozing from his tone when he spoke. “It’s time for you to give up this charade.” Andrew’s mouth twisted, a sour expression slipping across his face as he continued. “You’ll take over Simone’s job in advertising. I’m moving her into the CEO position because she wants to be home more and because I’d like more time to play golf. Doesn’t that sound wonderful? You’d get to travel the world, on my dime.”

  Amalie sucked in a breath. He wasn’t even going to let her see this through. In her father’s eyes, she’d failed before she’d even started. It was what he wanted all along, to keep her under his control. Her heart had already been torn to shreds by this man and now it felt completely obliterated, nothing left except for a gaping black hole.

  Writing was everything. She lived for the smooth sailing of her fingers over her laptop keys, the satisfaction of writing the perfect line, of feeling that hum of magic in her veins as a story came to life right before her eyes. There would be no time for writing if her father had his way. Working for him would suck away every ounce of creativity from her life.

  Her mind raced, trying to figure out if there was a way to do this without him. There had to be. There was no way she was going to go work for him, to have her soul slowly siphoned away every single day.

  Pulling in shallow breaths, she said, “And if I refuse?”

  Her father’s expression faltered slightly but quickly righted itself. “Then you’ll need to find somewhere to live.”

  It was the answer she’d anticipated, one last attempt to keep her under his thumb.

  “Fine. I’ll leave,” she responded flatly. Had she really just said that? Holy shit.

  Her father blinked slowly and then shook his head, and with that, everything was back in place. “Then you’d better start packing.”

  “Yeah, guess so.” She stormed off, leaving her father standing alone as she disappeared into her bedroom, where she moved on autopilot, grabbing a suitcase and throwing clothes inside.

  Her entire world had just been submerged into a fishbowl. Oh my God, what have I done? She could stay with Romina for the night, but after that where would she go? Where would she work?

  Acid burned the back of her throat as she hastily pulled designer clothes off hangers and shoved them into her suitcase. “Amalie,” her father’s cold voice came from the doorway.

  “What, Father?” Fury ignited her tone. She’d moved on to shoes.

  “You can’t be serious. You have no means. You can’t do anything, can’t survive without me.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong!” She stuffed what would have to be the last of her belongings into her suitcase, not even looking at him as she strode from the room and tore the key off her key ring, slamming it down on the kitchen table. She was in her car and squealing down their gravel driveway before she even realized it.

  Only when she got to the main road did she completely fall apart.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Julian

  Julian hadn’t seen Amalie in over a week, not since the party. He’d even gone by the pool house, only to find out from a maid that she’d left. He knew one person who’d know where she was, however.

  “You know I can’t tell you.” Romina sat behind her desk, arms crossed, ponytail swinging as she shook her head.

  “But I need to see her, Romina.” He sat down in the chair across from her. “I’m worried. I know what I did might’ve messed things up, but me and Amalie…we can figure it out. I feel like shit, and look, I don’t… I’m not good at any of this. Never have been. But damn it, I’m going to start trying.”

  Romina’s face softened. “For her. You’re going to start trying for her, aren’t you?”

  His hands curled over his knees. That’s what he was saying, wasn’t it? Even if he hadn’t realized it. Otherwise, why did it bother him so much that he hadn’t heard one of her wisecracks or seen that gorgeous face?

  A strange feeling pierced his heart.

  Romina waved him off. “You don’t have to say anything. It’s all over your face. Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me, especially since you two are business partners, or whatever.” Her eye roll told him she didn’t exactly believe that. “I’ll tell you where she is, but I’m also going to make sure you hear what I have to say first, ’kay?”

  She tightened her ponytail as if to punctuate her words, and all Julian could think was, Oh shit. In his experience, when girls tightened their ponytails things were about to go down. He braced himself.

  “You’re g
oing to be nice to her. Y’all can keep on with that hot banter, but no more talk about her being a rich girl, because as of a week ago, she’s dead-ass broke. And I have you to thank for that.”

  Bile rose in his throat. Seeing his expression, Romina shook her head. “No, you don’t understand what I’m saying—it’s a good thing. Her dad is toxic, and honestly, I have no idea how she survived in that environment for as long as she did.”

  “Because she’s tough,” Julian interrupted.

  Romina nodded. “Damn right, she is. So for her to get out of that, thank you, because now maybe she’ll be able to breathe and write that second bestseller that’s eluded her. But you’re going to treat her like the Queen of England, do you understand? She’s low right now and trying to figure out her life, and she doesn’t need you stomping all over her heart on top of everything else. When you see her, you better remove whatever issue there is between you two and help Amalie—and yourself—move forward. If you don’t, I’ll have your balls in a vise grip so fast, your head will spin.”

  Julian choked back a laugh. This girl was scary as hell, but he had mad respect. She had her best friend’s back, and since that best friend was Amalie, well, he was glad she was on her team.

  After promising Romina that he understood, he headed to her apartment to face Amalie. Each step leading to the second floor made his pulse pound harder, the sound of his sneakers on the concrete like the soundtrack to a final showdown. God, he prayed that it wouldn’t be the end. The thought of losing Amalie scared the shit out of him. And he wasn’t ready to give up on the US Open, either.

  The door swung open before he even had a chance to knock, and there she was, like a ray of sunshine. Seven days felt like years now that he was standing there speechless and drinking in every little thing about her.

  It was two in the afternoon, and she was in her palm leaf-print pajamas that were cute as hell, and her hair was a tangled, frizzy mess on top of her head, but she was still the most beautiful damn thing he’d ever laid eyes on. He wanted to open his mouth and let those words come spilling out, but then she narrowed red-rimmed eyes at him, sizing him up. It was obvious the wisest thing to do was let her speak first.

  “Romina called to give me a heads-up. What do you want?” Her voice had lost that lyrical lilt. Instead, it was flat and lifeless.

  “I wanted to see you. I missed you.” His voice cracked. Could she hear how much he meant it? His hand came up to rest on the doorjamb while he silently prayed she wouldn’t slam the door on his fingers.

  Amalie rubbed her arms absently, her mask of indifference slipping. “Missed me?” She sounded like a child who couldn’t fathom that someone would feel that way about her.

  Man, he was one lucky bastard to even know her. How could she not see her own worth every time she looked in the mirror? From here on out he would do everything in his power to make sure she knew how important she was, how fucking amazing she was.

  “I did. I do. I’m here to apologize and to pay you back.” He leaned close enough to smell her intoxicating perfume.

  Her face screwed up in confusion. “Pay me back?”

  “Let me in and I’ll explain.”

  He could see her weighing her options as she nibbled at her bottom lip, and he had to force himself to look away because all he could think about was how those lips would taste. Sadly, he hadn’t thought of much else since he’d held her in his arms on the dance floor.

  “Fine.” She moved back from the door and opened it wider so that he could come in.

  His focus immediately snagged on the couch, where pillows and blankets were haphazardly piled at the end. On the coffee table were scattered pages and her old, trusty gray journal, along with her laptop.

  She made a sweeping gesture, her voice acidic. “Welcome to my home. A couch and a coffee table.” She crossed her arms over her chest, her lip trembling as she looked away.

  A crack like an electric charge shot through his heart. In two steps he was standing in front of her, arms wrapped around her shaking frame, his lips kissing her hair. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured.

  Her hands gripped him tighter in response, like she needed this.

  “You’re the toughest person I know, princess. If you want to fall apart right now, I’m here. I’ll help put you back together, okay?”

  Amalie nodded against his chest, a few stray sniffles escaping, and then she moved away from him so fast it was like the moment had been a figment of his imagination.

  She wiped her face with the back of her hand, straightened her shoulders, and just like that, he watched Amalie’s defenses snap right back into place.

  “So, are you sorry that I’m here sleeping on Romina’s couch, or are you sorry that I don’t have the money to help you now? I figure Romina told you my father cut his funding.”

  Julian hadn’t fully thought through the implications of her choice to move out and how that affected him. Yeah, there’d been those annoying sneaking doubts that failure was already happening, especially after he got his ass kicked by a seventeen-year-old kid, but he sure as hell wasn’t ready to throw in the towel yet. He shook his head as a thought crashed through his mind, knocking something loose and sending an epiphany shooting forward.

  “You want the truth? The truth is that I’m sorry for all of it, but even though we’re down, we’re not out. Here, sit.” He motioned to the sofa scattered with papers, and he chose a chair next to it, leaning forward, hands clasped. Reluctantly, Amalie sat down.

  “I’m not sorry for taking up for you. I’ll never apologize for that, but I am sorry for how I went about it,” he began.

  Amalie inched forward, placing a hand on his. “No. Don’t apologize for that. I’ve replayed that night on a loop, and I’m mortified by how I acted. That’s why I haven’t tried to contact you. I should’ve reached out to you sooner and apologized. I was awful and I’m sorry.”

  Julian shook his head. “Apology not needed.”

  She remained silent for several heartbeats, picking at the sofa. “So what are you going to do about…stuff?”

  Julian knew what she wasn’t saying, could still feel her walls up a mile high. He also realized that what he was about to do would change everything between them, and would hopefully prove to Amalie that he was all in.

  “I’ve got to do this tennis thing whether you help me or not.” His hands gripped the arms of the chair as he took a deep breath and then let the truth slide out. “My dad was my first coach when I started playing at five. He was amazing and had tennis in his DNA.”

  Amalie gasped, her hand moving to her neck. “Like you,” she spoke gently.

  He shook his head. “Not like me.”

  “You can say whatever you want to downplay your talent,” she said fiercely, “but you don’t get that kind of skill by training, Julian. It’s something that comes naturally.”

  Her words wrapped around his heart, meaning way more than they should. He inclined his head slightly, his “Thank you” hushed. “Anyway, I went pro at twenty-one. It got off to a good start, but then I started to fade.”

  Amalie nodded. “Now that I did know. That and Nadine, but that’s for another time.”

  Nadine. His jaw clenched. He’d rather have a prostate exam than ever talk about that woman.

  Julian swallowed the lump in his throat—he had to get this out. “My dad was everything good in my life, but I got lost somewhere along the way despite everything he instilled in me.” The words were becoming harder to say. After all, this is what had been eating away at him, bit by bit, for the last nine years. Hell, even before his dad died.

  Amalie placed a hand on his forearm, her touch soothing and steadying. He tried to overlook the way his heart sped up. He was thirty years old, for crying out loud. One single touch should not undo him, but Amalie wasn’t your average woman, either.

  “When I started to suck, my dad wanted me to go back on the Challenger Series to find my way again. I refused. Quitting the pro circuit and goi
ng back down to the Challenger world would be embarrassing, not to mention a huge blow to my ego.”

  “And then Anthony approached you when you were weak?”

  He nodded, anger flooding his veins at the thought of that vulture. “Yeah, when he approached me, I didn’t hesitate. I jumped at the chance to remain pro with all of the perks, without even discussing it with my father. I thought I knew everything.”

  “And that’s changed?” Amalie asked sarcastically, throwing a pointed glance at him. She was attempting to lighten the mood, and the fact that she cared enough to do that caused his breath to bottle up inside his chest.

  His first instinct was to blurt out some smart-ass comment in reply, but Amalie, completely oblivious of the effect she had on him, added, “So tell me, what was it about having Anthony as your agent that enticed you so much?”

  He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes focused on the beige carpet, careful to avoid her gaze even though he could feel it boring into the side of his face. “It was his talk of fame and endorsements and girls that had me intrigued. I wanted all of those things, Amalie, and I didn’t care how I got them, even if it meant losing my love for the sport or firing my dad after…after everything he’d given up for me, everything he’d done for me.”

  “Julian…” Her voice was soft, but it still echoed through the quiet of the apartment. “We don’t have to—”

  “No. I need to. I owe it to you.” He met her wide eyes. “You’re the only person I’ve ever talked about this with, and if I just get it out, then maybe I won’t always feel like I’m suffocating.”

  She gave him a reassuring nod. “Tell me everything, then.”

  Julian focused on just how easy it was to do that with this girl. He’d been engaged to Nadine for six months, and they’d never talked about anything other than sex, money, or parties.

  “When I was a kid, my dad worked two jobs so that my mom could stay home with me. What he didn’t tell me, what my mom let slip later on, was that he had a third job on the weekends. He worked so that I could have the best tennis equipment and gear.”