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

by Ashley R. King

  She picked up the phone and spoke in a hushed tone. After a minute, she hung up, a smile pasted on her face. “If you’ll follow me, please.”

  She didn’t wait to see if they’d actually follow, but instead hustled across the marble floor, her heels making a clickety-clack echo through the cavernous lobby. They took a right down an Employees Only hallway and then stopped outside the third unmarked door.

  “Please go on in,” the woman said. “And congratulations again, Mr. Smoke, for being named Employee of the Month.”

  Julian held his hand up, not even turning to look at his coach. “Don’t.”

  Paul laughed anyway, even as they entered what appeared to be Andrew Warner’s lair.

  It was well appointed, everything immaculate and in its place. An unassuming glass desk sat in the center, juxtaposed by Andrew Warner, who glared at them from behind a tumbler of whiskey.

  “Figured you’d still be here,” Julian said without preamble, moving farther inside the room.

  Without waiting for an invitation, he sat in one of the two cushy leather chairs placed strategically in front of the desk. He knew it was late but had taken a gamble that Andrew would be celebrating the win of his investment.

  “Congratulations are in order.” Andrew took a sip of his drink and sucked his teeth.

  Paul sat down, making an oomph sound.

  “For being Employee of the Month or for winning my match?”

  Andrew couldn’t even try to fight the curl of his lips on that one as he swirled the remaining liquor in his glass. “I thought it was rather clever.”

  Paul made a show of looking at his watch and then spoke up. “Look, Julian has something to say to you, so we need to get on with it. My athlete needs to rest up, not waste time shooting the breeze with you. Julian, go ahead and ask him about Amalie.”

  Andrew appeared to malfunction momentarily but quickly recovered at the mention of his daughter’s name.

  “Have you heard from Amalie?” Julian started.

  “No. You?” There was a new tone there, a thread of vulnerability woven through his words.

  Julian shook his head. “Not since that shit you pulled. I turned on Amalie, accused her of things she didn’t do, things that were all your doing.”

  Andrew placed his tumbler on the desk.

  Realizing he wasn’t going to add anything to the conversation, Julian continued. “And that’s why I’m here. I’m here for her. I’m here because even though I want to call her or fly to Georgia and get on my hands and knees and beg forgiveness, I can’t. So this is the next best thing since you and I both messed up. I’m going to have to work on things on my end, but you? You need to work on things, too. You’re her father and you’re supposed to have her back, to cheer for her, to pick her up when she’s down, not kick her.”

  Andrew rested the fingertips of both hands on his desk, then leaned forward, his eyes cold. “Don’t presume to know anything about my relationship with my daughter.”

  Julian stiffened, refusing to back down. “I’ll presume all I want because I know the truth. I’ve seen it play out in front of my face. What father does what you did that day at the hotel?”

  “A father that wants the best for his daughter, who wants her to have options, who wants her to have a future, and not with the likes of you.”

  “Because I’m not some stuck up rich hotel mogul? Fine. But the truth is you can’t let her live her own life because once she’s gone, you have no one. Simone is there, sure, and she’s doing exactly what you want by helping run Warner Hotels, but she went out and got a family of her own before you thought to stop it, didn’t she? Amalie, though, had no one after Maxwell. No one but daddy. And guess what? Daddy had no one either because he ran his wife off by being an asshole. And now Amalie is pulling free of your grip and you can’t live with the thought of losing her. Not to a writing career, not to me, not to anything. But her life is not your life, and I’ll be damned if I sit back and let you hurt her any more than you already have. Amalie is the most wonderful person in the world, and you’re going to lose her if you don’t fucking wake up, old man.”

  Paul’s stare bore into the side of Julian’s face, but he kept eye contact with Amalie’s father, not backing down.

  “You truly think I’ll lose her?” Andrew finally spoke after a beat.

  “I do. I think she’ll cut you out of her life forever if you don’t make a move now. Support her dreams. She wants to be a writer—accept that. Accept that Amalie’s different in the best possible way. Accept that not everyone in your family wants to be a part of the hotel business. Be a father. Love her no matter what. Just…just don’t be yourself.”

  Paul beamed at that, and with a loud thump on the chair’s armrests, stood. “Well, I think this has been enlightening. Let me wrap it up for y’all real quick. Julian, get your head out of your ass and focus on tennis and not being an idiot when it comes to Amalie. Andrew, stop being a prick to pretty much everyone and treat your daughter with some respect. If I had a daughter like her, I’d be proud.” Tilting his head toward the door, he looked over at Julian, “Let’s go.”

  “I think Paul just earned Employee of the Month.” Julian laughed as he rose from his chair, leaving a stunned Andrew Warner in his wake.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Amalie

  Amalie’s nerves were a jumbled mess as she sat on the edge of Romina’s couch, waiting for Julian’s post-match press conference to come on the television. Her heart had been lodged in her throat throughout the match, her body sweaty and wired, her stomach on the verge of expelling all those cheese puffs she ate earlier.

  Even though she and Julian were no longer whatever they were before, she still wanted him to win, to go all the way. Once he hit the court, she knew it would happen. The camera zoomed in on his beautiful face, and even though it made her heart ache to see him, she was proud of the ferocity that shone in his eyes. The man prowled the court like he owned it, and in the final nail-biter rally, he proved that he did.

  Of course, after he won, the crowd completely lost it. Tennis was a sport that loved an underdog. With the wild card debacle with Garner long forgotten, Julian had quickly become America’s sweetheart. He already knew how to work the crowd, and by the end of the match, he had them eating out of his hand, cheering for him instead of for the world’s beloved number four.

  The longer she sat there staring at the replays, the commentators talking about Julian, the harder it became not to think about exactly how she felt. This, what she felt for him, was more than a crush. Yep, three words balanced on a tightrope, begging to be spoken that morning she got him breakfast at the hotel.

  I love you.

  It wasn’t like she could turn that off, even though she realized she hadn’t meant nearly as much to him.

  Suddenly, Julian emerged on screen, taking a seat in front of a set of microphones and looking every bit the tennis star she always knew he was. His hair was slick from the shower, a sleek, black training jacket and shorts combo hugging his athletic frame. At least her father’s logo was nowhere to be seen on the jacket…for now. She knew he’d remedy that soon, especially with Julian’s success.

  All thoughts were forgotten with one glance at Julian, so at ease. She took in the slight tilt of his lips, lips that she had touched and tasted, lips that she dreamed of kissing way too often.

  “You’ve got this, Smoke.” Tears blurred her vision, and her chin trembled as her hands fisted, nails biting into her skin.

  Blowing out a steadying breath, she looked down at her laptop. She’d been putting the finishing touches on her story but found that she still needed a lot of help with the tennis portions. The Julian aspect. Some things simply couldn’t be found online.

  The announcers filled the silence as they waited for the conference to be called into session. Pressing a hand to her chest, she wondered how in the hell she was supposed to make it through listening to him talk. His low, gravelly voice still did magical things
to her body, and even more devastating things to her heart. Just as she was debating whether or not to turn off the TV to stop this torture, her phone rang.

  Paul’s name flashed across the screen. Leave it to Paul to call her during Julian’s first-ever press conference.

  “Paul, shouldn’t you be watching your athlete and making sure he doesn’t say anything stupid?” she said as soon as she answered.

  Her eyes flicked up at Julian. He looked so handsome with that roguish grin and infectious laugh. The media loved him.

  Paul chuckled. “They’ll save the tough questions for later. Right now it’s all fluff, so I’m not worried. I am worried about you, though. I knew you weren’t coming to this match, but what about the next one?”

  She sighed. “I can’t. Not after what happened, Paul. There’s no point in me being there.”

  “There’s every point in you being here. You’re part of the reason that boy is here. You kept him believing in himself, and I know he did the same for you. I think you should be here, Amalie.”

  “I…I can’t.”

  “You could use it for your book. It’d be great research.” There was a brief pause before he spoke again, this time a little sheepishly. “Besides, I’ve already bought you a plane ticket and everything.”

  Amalie was stunned. He what?

  “Oh, Paul. Thank you, but no. I can’t accept.” The words tasted vile on her tongue, completely at odds with the way her heart raced at the chance to see Julian again.

  “I’m sending it anyway. Amalie, I know you still care about him—that’s why this hurts like it does—and I’m telling you he cares for you, too. He needs you. He needs all of us. You can’t come this far and then step back behind the curtain. I’ll see you in New York. Gotta go.”

  The phone disconnected. Darn it, Paul. He seemed mighty sure of himself.

  She looked back at the TV. They were now talking with Meklau. She’d missed it. She’d missed Julian, but she was still hurting and…she just wasn’t ready yet.

  She kept telling herself that as she curled up on the couch, pulling the blanket over her body. She kept telling herself that as tears fell from her eyes. She kept telling herself that as she replayed Paul’s words over and over.

  Julian needed her.

  Julian cared for her.

  Julian…

  Amalie found herself thinking about Paul’s offer, especially after the plane ticket arrived on Romina’s doorstep the next day. On top of that, Paul was trying his hardest to keep her in the loop, to make her feel like she was still part of the team.

  He even sent her a picture of Julian after he won his second-round match in straight sets. The thought of Julian actually winning the entire tournament was less of a dream and more of a reality. Amalie had watched that match, even though it pained her to do so. It was bittersweet. On the one hand, she was desperate to see him succeed, on the other, with each swing of his racket, her heart took a beating. Though the match had been pretty easy, she noticed there was something different about him, something…hollow about his play, about his press conference. He was still well-loved, but he seemed more uncomfortable now, more awkward.

  Julian Smoke was never awkward.

  It tugged at her heart, and she looked at the plane ticket again. She shook her head and got back to work on emailing her book cover designer with some input on the final cover.

  Then came the third-round match, and holy crap—that was one for YouTube. His opponent, Gaspard Durrand from France, had an infamous unpredictable streak. The guy was wild. He threw his racket, broke it over his head, and threatened the chair umpire and, eventually, Julian, too.

  Finally, the chair had enough and disqualified the out-of-control son of a bitch even though Julian was easily winning. In the end, even Amalie knew it was a good thing. Julian didn’t have to expend any extra energy and he wasn’t drawn into the bizarre head games. Julian was clearly in the zone, turning into a beast on the court.

  August bled into September and Julian’s fourth-round match came and went without any particular fanfare. He breezed through it, defeating his opponent in straight sets. That difference Amalie noticed in Julian during the second round intensified after the win of his fifth match, the Quarterfinals. He won in straight sets again, but seemed tighter, shoulders hunched. This wasn’t the Julian she was familiar with.

  She leaned forward on the couch, listening to the announcers as they awaited the press conference. They showed highlights from the match and then showed pictures of Julian—pictures of him and his father, him and Nadine. Her heart dropped as her foot tapped out a frantic beat.

  “Even though the media loves Julian Smoke,” an announcer said, “it’s apparent the feeling isn’t mutual. According to multiple sources, he refuses any interviews aside from the USTA-mandated post-match conferences. He even turned down several sports networks. One wonders if it has something to do with his fall from grace nine years ago. Oliver Smoke coached his son until Julian made it to the pros and snagged the attention of then super-agent Anthony Fox. A lot of things happened following that change, none of them good, and I’m certain a lot of reporters are digging to find out exactly what went wrong.”

  It was clear to Amalie that Julian was still fighting those demons, and if they were to ask him… Bile rose at the thought.

  The camera shifted, and there was Julian taking his seat at the press conference table, back in his black gear, and just like Amalie predicted, a big old, ugly Warner Hotels logo sewn onto the sleeve of the jacket. She bet he loved that. But when her eyes scanned the face of the man she couldn’t help but love, she noticed small blue half-moons beneath his eyes. He looked drained and, with the vampire media essentially digging into his past, Amalie got worried.

  The usual post-match questions came first: Did you ever imagine you’d be here? Tell us about your father and the huge role he played in your life. How are you feeling after that last match? With surprising patience, Julian answered every single question as if he were hearing it for the first time.

  “Julian, you were once engaged to Lorentz Schaaf’s wife. Will that factor into your game at all? You’ve got to admit it’s pretty distracting for a semifinal match.”

  What the what? The next opponent Julian would face was his freaking ex-fiancée’s husband?

  Amalie’s mind rushed to those pictures of Julian and Nadine on the internet. She was stunning and sophisticated and…married, thank God, although according to Julian she didn’t have much care for fidelity. But Amalie couldn’t help but be irrationally apprehensive. Would he see Nadine? Would he fall for her again? He’d said he was over her, but he admitted that he’d loved her at one time.

  Thankfully, he cleared his throat and schooled his expression into one of polite disinterest. “I can assure you that it won’t factor into the semis. This has been my dream ever since my dad brought me to this very court to watch Pete Sampras play. I won’t let anything get in the way at this point.” He gave the reporter a nod and then began to answer another question, this one about how he would prepare to take on Schaaf.

  “Thank you, Jesus.” Amalie exhaled, not even realizing she had been holding her breath.

  Just when she thought he was out of the woods with stressful questions, the reporters flipped the script and asked Julian another question that was completely brand new.

  “So, Julian, we’ve asked you about your father’s influence on your tennis career, but do you ever regret letting your dad go as your coach? Do you think things would’ve been different if you’d kept him instead of letting Anthony Fox hire your new coach?”

  Amalie flinched, bringing her curled knuckles to her mouth. She watched this proud, swaggering man reduced to a twenty-one-year-old all over again. His shoulders curled forward, fear and guilt and self-loathing filled his eyes as his mouth flattened into a grim line. Her heart broke as she leaned forward so much that she stumbled over the edge of the couch, her hand reaching out to catch her fall.

  She mov
ed closer to the television on her knees, her hand still covering her mouth.

  “I…” Julian started, his voice a cracked mess. “I…”

  “Come on, Julian. I’m here,” she said under her breath as she watched him struggle to answer what would seemingly be an easy question for anyone else.

  But she wasn’t really there, was she? She was in Georgia while he was in New York getting hounded by the media after the biggest win of his life.

  “I’d rather not talk about it,” he finally gritted out.

  Amalie released a breath, relieved he hadn’t put himself through that.

  Buzzing filled her ears, erasing the sounds of the rest of the conference. She staggered to her feet like a zombie, stumbling a little, then straightened herself. She closed her laptop and then packed as quickly as she could.

  “Hold on, Smoke. I’m coming,” she said softly as soon as she closed the apartment door.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Amalie

  Nerves and three sodas did not mesh well. Amalie was a hot mess as she spilled herself into a taxi once her flight landed in New York. Her heart pushed her toward Julian—and she definitely wanted to go there, even though they had some work ahead of them—but there was somewhere else she needed to go first.

  As her foot jiggled restlessly, she reminded herself that this was all for Julian.

  When the car pulled to a stop in front of the imposing gray building, Amalie felt her stomach tumble. This was the olive branch she’d extend to Julian. She just didn’t think she’d have to ask her father for a favor so soon, especially one he didn’t stand to benefit from.

  Paying the driver, she stepped onto the sidewalk, the city lights twinkling overhead. The evening breeze ruffled her hair as she adjusted her purse. Placing one foot in front of the other, she found herself being personally greeted by the doormen inside, along with the front desk staff. Knowing her father, he probably gave them pictures of his family to memorize—though it was shocking that he’d included her.