The Artist (The Game Changers #2)

by Shealy James

  I tried to focus on my work, but it was futile. Everything I didn’t need in my life was sitting less than two feet away with his ankle resting on his knee, an iPad in his lap, and one long finger mindlessly rubbing the dark stubble on his chin. Since when did a pointer finger become sexy? Since it came attached to this guy.

  I should pause and explain something important. I have never had a crush or pursued a man. Never! This cat did not do feelings. I’ve never had to reduce myself to a desperate girl hoping for some man’s attention or affection. Of course, I have had feelings for some of the men I’ve dated. I never thought I’d be allowed to stay with someone I actually cared about, so I never allowed anything beyond lukewarm feelings to develop. My parents would do anything to make me fall in line with their wishes, and they would never approve of me marrying for love. Feelings have never been part of the game for me, so lusting after this man was a completely foreign feeling for me. I knew I had to get away from him before I humiliated myself by drooling down my chin or something equally ludicrous.

  Finally, I gave up and slapped my computer shut. “Chair’s all yours, Maverick,” I told him as I threw my laptop and notes in my favorite Kate Spade.

  “Leaving so soon?” he asked with his eyebrows raised in surprise or question. I wasn’t sure which.

  “Yes,” I said casually without looking at him. I had already burned his image into my head and didn’t need another glance to remember what it felt like to have his dark eyes looking through me.

  He stood and moved around the small wooden table that had been separating us. Before I could move away, Maverick was standing close, too close. I could feel his heat at my back, and all I could think about was what he would feel like pressed against me without the layers of clothing that separated us.

  As I said before, I was not this kind of girl. I didn’t sleep around. I did not lust after men. I did not have feelings for strange men who sat across from me in coffee shops. However, after having everything I planned for in my life flushed down the toilet over the last few months, I guess my body decided it was time to start feeling something other than numb.

  With my wits thoroughly scattered, I tried to bolt out of the coffee shop without touching the man who was singlehandedly controlling my senses. I lifted my Kate Spade to my shoulder and walked around the table as gracefully as I could. If my mother taught me anything, it was how to maintain my composure in uncomfortable situations. This definitely qualified as uncomfortable, but I was not keeping my cool as expected. In fact, Maverick would have to be blind not to recognize how I reacted to his closeness. Kitty Peters does. Not. Do. Lust.

  Before I could get away, Maverick grabbed my arm and spoke quietly near my ear. I froze and kept my eyes straight ahead. “I’ll be happy to share my favorite chair with you anytime, Duchess.”

  As soon as his grip loosened on my arm, I bolted out of the coffee shop. I could feel where his hand had held my arm, as if an invisible burn was left there. Too bad I needed another spa day or an even better method of stress relief to deal with the tension that had suddenly overcome me.

  Chapter Three

  “What is she wearing? You’d think with all of Grant’s money, he could hire her a stylist.” Victoria kept her face from expressing emotion while she stared at Grant’s Southern belle fiancée. She was standing on the other side of the ballroom of the hospital fundraiser we were all attending. While I was busy trying to think of any excuse to leave the event, my friends were entertained with gossip and judging the competition for the coveted and non-existent most attractive woman in the room award.

  Penelope swallowed a sip of champagne before she turned her head to share her gossip. “I heard she doesn’t like for him to hire a stylist. She thinks it’s a waste of money.”

  Victoria scoffed. “Clearly not. She’s a calamity. If I looked like that, I would pay my stylist good money to make me less unsightly.”

  I honestly didn’t think she looked unattractive. In fact, I thought she looked gorgeous in her simple midnight-blue cocktail dress that fit her like a glove. She was curvy in all the places I was lacking. I’d always been jealous of girls who developed those womanly curves that men went crazy over. I was barely a B-cup on a good day, and my butt…what butt? If I even gained a pound, my mother would put me on a spinach diet until I lost three.

  “What do you think, Kitty?” Penelope asked.

  I smiled wickedly and recited the words that were expected to come from my mouth. “Hideous. She needs to find a better way to keep herself covered. Her cleavage is just appalling. I don’t know how Iris tolerates having a woman dressed like a stripper for a future daughter-in-law.”

  That sounded like something a girl with a broken heart would say, right? Considering I didn’t really have a broken heart or any ill will toward the girl, it was getting more and more difficult to muster the anger necessary to appease my friends, and in turn, my mother. It had been weeks since they announced their engagement, and here I was, still playing the part of the scorned woman. Pathetic, really, but stay tuned. It would all become clear why I played this part for so long.

  “What’s with you tonight, Kitty?” Victoria asked snidely, bringing my attention back to this evening’s gossip.

  “Nothing, Vic. I’m just tired, and I don’t really feel up to watching Grant parade around with that stupid grin on his face. If you ask me, he looks ridiculous.” I was getting better at this part every single day.

  Penelope smiled sweetly at me. “You know it won’t last. Soon he’ll forget about that trash and be begging you to marry him. You’ll see. I swear that I’m psychic. I haven’t been wrong yet.”

  “Oh, Pen, you haven’t ever been right about anything. You predicted that Adam Lambert would win American Idol, swore Romney would beat out Obama, and you were sure Maddox was straight. You aren’t psychic.” I laughed at Victoria’s crude assessment of our friend. She could be such a bitch.

  “Don’t forget that she also predicted that she’d be engaged by the end of college. Here we are, practically old women at twenty-eight, and still single,” I added. “Still haven’t found the perfect man, have you, Pen?” Penelope had high standards and would settle for nothing less than Prince Charming. She had always gotten exactly what she wanted in life, so why should she settle? Honestly, though, as the years have gone by, I suspected Penelope’s perfect man criteria were getting less specific. There was only so long she’d be willing to wait to land a husband and maybe even pop out her 2.5 kids.

  Victoria waved off the notion of Prince Charming. “I, for one, just haven’t found the right paycheck. It isn’t like we haven’t had offers, ladies. I just turned Dennis Hudson down last week.”

  “That man is a hundred! Ew!” Penelope squealed. At least she still had one standard.

  “I considered it. I mean, he’s likely to be dead in a year or two anyway. It isn’t like he can get it up, so all I’d have to do is be his wife and hire a nurse to change his diapers.”

  “That’s disgusting,” I told her with a level of seriousness that let her know what I honestly thought. It was one of those rare times when I couldn’t hold my true opinion back. She was about to say more, but we all saw my mother approaching us with her practiced grace and elegance. I clenched my jaw and felt my whole body stiffen at the sight of her. In an effort to avoid her ire, I quickly adjusted my posture and tried to smile pleasantly at her arrival.

  Remember how I said to stay tuned? Here’s a little snapshot of my life.

  “Kitty, what are you doing over here? Shouldn’t you be trying to win Grant back? You should be out there flirting, so he has a chance to see that you’re actually desirable.”

  Right. Because a man who is head over heels in love with his fiancée is bound to suddenly realize how much he wants the girl who was practically forced on him because she starts acting like a slut puppy by flirting shamelessly with the pathetic, second-rate men who show up to these dinners hoping to score one of the daughters of their superiors
simply because they have a fat wallet. Not going to happen.

  Careful of my tone, I said, “We already spoke about this, Mother. He’s marrying her.”

  She pressed her wine-colored lips together tightly before turning her vile glare Eve’s way and declaring, “That tramp simply doesn’t fit in this world. You know that as well as I do. Girls, don’t you think Kitty could use some sprucing up? Take her to the restroom and make her presentable for Grant. I’ll make sure he’s alone when she comes out.”

  “Mother, leave him alone.”

  My mother grabbed my elbow so tightly that I almost yelped. I knew better than to make a noise, though. When she spoke, it was right in my ear so that I could feel every word as well as hear it. “You listen to me, young lady. We wouldn’t be in this predicament if you hadn’t run him off. Now, you get yourself together and go get what was promised to us. You are such a disappointment to your father already. Don’t make it any worse.”

  I didn’t say anything as I walked away. My friends followed me to the ladies’ room because they followed me everywhere. It benefitted them to be on Violet Peters’ good side, so if she said jump, they asked what shoes to wear while doing it.

  On the way across the ballroom, I fumed over my mother’s words. It wasn’t the first time she had reminded me of how big a disappointment I was. My favorite conversation since Grant decided to marry Eve occurred right after Iris Mitchell told my mother she would be supporting Grant and Eve’s nuptials. Of course, this news surprised my mother, considering Iris had fought against Grant’s relationship with Eve since day one. She told Iris, “Of course you’d have to give in. You never had a backbone when it came to Grant. He had to find a girl he could control like he controls you.” Classy. Her response was nothing compared to my father’s, though. When my mother told my father what Iris said, he looked down at me with disgust and snapped, “This is because you already gave it up to him, didn’t you, you little slut!”

  I almost laughed, but I knew it wouldn’t help my situation.

  “Obviously, he likes sluts, Rich. He’s planning to marry one. Perhaps she should have slept with him more. Maybe we played this all wrong.” My mother said the words as if she were discussing what to have for dinner. Then she suggested, “Maybe she needs to lose more weight.”

  “I’m right here,” I announced loudly. They ignored me.

  “That Eve girl is bigger than Kitty. Maybe Kitty’s too skinny.”

  My mother scoffed, “Is there such a thing?”

  “Oh, what do you know, Vi? You used to be anorexic. Probably still would be if you gave up vodka.”

  “I would have kept my ballet body and wouldn’t need to worry about my figure if you hadn’t forgotten to use protection.”

  “You would have kept your ballet body if you weren’t such a whore.”

  Thus, the age-old fight continued about how I was never supposed to exist. Not only was I never good enough for them, I was also their biggest regret. I felt special. Not a lot of girls could say they were their parents’ biggest failure.

  My mother had been a ballerina. My father had been a wealthy patron of the arts. A ballet and dinner reception resulted in one unexpected pregnancy and a forced marriage proposal. Twenty-eight years later, my parents were still married and still hated each other.

  I checked my lipstick and inspected my reflection in the antique mirror. I was tiny, a size zero most days. A diet of vegetables and healthy shakes that our chef created for me kept my five-foot-seven body fat-free and an even hundred and fifteen pounds. That meant curve-free, as well.

  One last look in the mirror and I led my friends back to dinner for another hour of mind-numbing conversation. As soon as I could, I bolted to the solace of my condo. Silence and silk pajamas were welcome comforts after another evening with the in crowd. I opened my favorite novel about an alpha male who fell in love with his brilliant, stubborn assistant and read in the dark until I couldn’t keep my eyes open.

  Chapter Four

  The art show was one event I had been looking forward to attending for weeks. My parents had flown to New York for business, so I was going without their critical eyes. My dad wanted me to make nice with the artist, Blythe Withers, because she was working a deal with my father’s firm. He was still courting her, so he could eventually guide her financial decision-making, and in turn, make more money for himself. Fortunately, I genuinely liked this woman’s work. She specialized in understated abstract paintings that portrayed realistic images in dreamlike states, and Blythe was good. She was very good.

  Once dressed in a sleek black dress, I took one last glance in the mirror before I headed down to meet my friend. I always had to be ready for the photographers that would undoubtedly be at an event like this.

  Maddox Walker was Grant’s best friend. We all grew up together, even though I was younger by a few years. Still, I was Maddox’s first kiss, female or otherwise. I was twelve, and he was sixteen, a late bloomer, supposedly. I knew then that he was gay, but he made me swear not to tell. I kept his secret until he decided to come out last year, fourteen years later. In some of my angrier moments, I threatened otherwise, but I would have never shared his secret. He struggled with it enough. Maddox was the one thing Grant and I shared, and I didn’t take that lightly.

  “Hey, Kit Kat. Ready to go scout some art and kiss the artist’s ass?” he said by way of greeting as he held the passenger door to his Porsche open for me.

  “You know it. I love kissing ass in the name of my father.” He closed the door once I was in and headed to his side of the car.

  “You love kissing ass in the name of Dick?” He grinned. I hadn’t mentioned yet that I called my father, Richard Peters, Dick. Not only was it exceptionally funny to the boys when I was in middle school to call my father Dick Peters, but Dick was the best word I could use to describe my father. It truly suited his personality.

  “Oh, shut up. So why didn’t Nolan want to come?” I changed the subject as he pulled into traffic.

  “Oh, he did.”

  “And?”

  “He’s bringing Eve.” I saw Maddox’s eyes dart my way to gauge my reaction. When he saw how unfazed I was, he continued. “Grant had to fly to San Fran for a meeting. The only way he’d leave Eve behind was if Nolan was going to keep an eye on her. Crazy bastard.”

  “A bit overprotective, isn’t he?”

  “You have no idea. Once she told him she was pregnant, he has made it his mission to keep her in a bubble.”

  “She’s pregnant?” I screeched in surprise.

  “Shit…yeah. I probably wasn’t supposed to say anything. With Iris getting treatments and them planning their wedding, I think they wanted to keep it private. Don’t you dare say—”

  “I won’t.” I cut him off. “Good for them. I bet Iris went nuts when she found out Eve was knocked up.”

  “I think Iris has come around. Eve has a way with Iris…like you do.”

  “Yeah. I have a way with her, all right.” I rolled my eyes at the thought I had been kissing Iris Mitchell’s ass for years just as Maddox pulled into the parking lot of the gallery.

  “Grant has no idea how much he’s dodged because of you. One day he’ll be grateful.”

  “No need. I’m doomed no matter what. I can take the heat from both sets of parents.”

  Maddox gave me a sympathetic smile. He knew what it was like to disappoint your parents. He spent the last fourteen years worrying about doing exactly that. Grant was the golden child, and at the end of the day, Iris Mitchell loved her children. Maddox and I didn’t have that luxury.

  Being the ultimate gentleman, Maddox came around to my side of the car and held out his hand for me while I climbed out in my four-inch heels. I hooked my arm in the elbow he offered, and we slowly made our way into the gallery.

  The large warehouse-like space was dark except for the lights highlighting the art on the walls and the sculptures in the middle of the room. I knew Blythe painted, but the sculptures were
a welcome surprise. Familiar faces and waiters with champagne quickly greeted Maddox and me. We made quick conversation with business affiliates of our fathers before making our excuses to see the art.

  By the time we made it to the back of the room, Nolan and Eve had arrived, and Maddox was ditching me to spend a moment with his boyfriend. I didn’t mind. I had found the pieces I would advise my father to buy. They were a pair of paintings of a woman’s profile, one of the left side and the other of the right. They were colorful and ethereal in a way, but I could see the subject was lost. I couldn’t tell you what about the painting made me believe she was lost. Maybe it was the look in her eyes, or the way Blythe combined the reds, greens, yellows, and blues that created the image, but there was something about the subject that spoke to me.

  As I stared at the images, I felt a warm presence at my back. Assuming it was Maddox, I didn’t turn around, but then a deep voice spoke familiar words. “See anything good, Duchess?”

  Goosebumps trailed down my neck and arms, and suddenly I was having difficulty breathing. “Excuse me?” I asked in that embarrassingly breathy voice that only one person had ever evoked from me. I kept my head forward but tilted it slightly to show I was questioning him. I couldn’t turn to look at him for fear of giving myself away.

  He stepped closer so there was only a hair between us. We weren’t touching, but I could feel him everywhere.

  “See anything good?” he whispered closer to my ear.

  I tried to ignore my baser instincts that were trying to take over and focus on the art. “Yes. She’s very talented.”