The only reason that work had made it out of my studio was my friend and fellow artist Nicolai’s insistence I enter it in a cattle call—an invitation for artists to display their projects for a limited time. Then businesses and gallery owners could browse and buy. I’d lived in the Cities for only nine months and was a complete unknown, both with my art and in the Minneapolis art community. So it shocked everyone when my piece was the only one that’d sold. The Federal Reserve purchased it for its local-artists wing. It’d been the single biggest paycheck of my career. I’d immediately put the money into updating my studio and purchasing supplies.
Esther had stopped speaking while I’d been lost in thought, so I motioned for her to continue.
“He contacted you to commission a piece for our upcoming anniversary. I planned to torpedo anything you showed us.”
“Why?”
“My husband is a wealthy man. He wants something, he buys it. So he’s impossible to surprise. I saw my chance to pull off the mother of all surprises. See, I want to hire you to do that mixed-media commission, not for our anniversary but for his birthday next month.”
“Same design?”
“No. Different. You can keep some of the elements he loved. There are certain textiles I want included, but the rest of it—” She smiled. “Get as edgy as you want. Just nothing lewd.”
“Well, there goes my plan to stick a 3-D image of Michael’s head on a life-sized plaster cast of Michelangelo’s David.”
Esther laughed. “It wouldn’t be anatomically correct.”
Don’t blush. Don’t speak. Just nod your head.
“I understand this will be a rush job, and I’ll make sure you’re well compensated.”
“Define ‘well compensated.’”
She gave me a number that made my jaw drop.
“I can work with that.”
“I thought you might.” She stuck her hand in her pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper and handed it over. “Forty percent down, thirty percent after design approval and thirty percent upon completion, correct?”
“You did your homework, Esther.” The check was inside the paper, which turned out to be a copy of my rough draft for the piece rejected the week before.
“You’re the artist. I won’t tell you how to do your job, but I kept this as a template, mostly so you know what the textiles are that I’ll be giving you.”
I stood. “There’s better working space in the studio if you want to go over some of this now. Then I can have a mock-up to you by … Wednesday? And we’ll reconvene on Friday for the last draft?” I wouldn’t mention that even what she saw on Friday might not be completely what she ended up with. The best art wasn’t perfectly planned out.
“Perfect.”
Inside my studio, I unrolled a large sheet of paper and settled it on my drafting table. “All right, you start talking and I’ll scribble.”
“Talk about what?”
“Michael. How you met, what made you fall in love with him, where you lived, your kids, how you’ve been able to stick it out for almost fifty years, anything that will be useful to evoke strong feelings in him when he first sees this.”
“I met Michael when I was nineteen and he was twenty-four.”
“That’s basic, Esther—give me more intimate stuff. Like, he had the nicest buns, greatest smile, cheesiest pickup line …”
“It wasn’t love at first sight for me. We were at a frat party and he copped a feel. Not me, but my best friend, Liddie. She was easily flustered so I knew she wouldn’t tell him to get his hand off her butt. So I moved in behind him and pulled his hand away. When he turned around, I punched him in the stomach.”
I laughed. “Is that a story you’ve told your kids?” Right after I said it, I wondered how something like that would play out in my life. Yes, honey, the instant I saw your dad in that dive bar I was compelled to attach my lips to his and give him the hottest, wettest kiss of his life … before I’d even introduced myself.
My hand froze above the drawing. What the hell? Walker and I had been on one date and the next day I was crafting “how we met” stories for our kids?
Repeat after me, Trin. You’ve had one date with him. One.
“Trinity? Are you all right?”
I managed not to jump when Esther interrupted my “one date” mantra. “Yes. I’m fine. I should warn you that I’m often sidetracked by the images in my head.”
She smiled. “I’m honestly thrilled to be here seeing your artistic process firsthand.”
“It’s more … controlled chaos than a legitimate process.”
“Controlled chaos is a legitimate process if it works for you.”
How sweet that she was trying to reassure me. “Chaos is a fickle mistress, so let’s crack the whip on her while I have her full attention.” I’d need every bit of focus this week to hit Esther’s deadlines.
At the door, she said, “There is one more thing I forgot to mention. Dagmar Kierkegaard is a friend of ours. He’ll be at the party.”
Dagmar Kierkegaard was a freelance art curator who had not only acquired pieces for the Walker Art Center’s permanent collection but also acquired for four galleries in Chicago, the Milwaukee Art Museum and galleries in New York and Washington, D.C.
“Okay. And you’re telling me this why?”
“Because this one time he’ll be your captive audience since yours is the only art he’ll see. Make it shine, Trinity.”
No pressure.
Six
WALKER
Right after I’d knocked off for the day, my cell rang. The caller ID popped up on my navigation screen and I poked answer. “Hey, baby sis. What’s up?”
“I’m going to murder some family members and I need to borrow your backhoe thingy to bury the bodies.”
“Am I on the hit list?”
“Not unless you volunteered me for babysitting duty for dumb hockey players who don’t speak English.”
“Who did that?”
“Nolan.”
“Annika, here’s where I point out you’re an adult and no one can make you do anything you don’t want to.”
“Oh, really? If you could be doing anything else tonight, you still would’ve chosen to volunteer at the community theater?”
“Yes.” I might’ve answered differently last week, but knowing I’d get to see Trinity changed things.
“You’re not there at Mom’s command? Bull.”
“We’re all at LCCO’s command. And we do get to choose.” Better this gig than the bachelor auction. No way would I strut around in a leopard-print loincloth, regardless of whether the money earned went to a good cause.
“I have no problem giving time to LCCO, but this doesn’t have anything to do with community involvement. And I did tell Nolan no. The jerk went behind my back and enlisted Mom’s help. She told Nolan I’d be ‘happy in a clamshell’ to translate.”
“Translate?” I asked.
“From Swedish to English for hockey player number one. Nolan assumes I’m fluent.”
“Uh, you are fluent.”
“So are you, Mr. I-lived-in-Sweden,” she reminded me. “And Nolan didn’t call you to translate.”
“Nolan hardly ever calls me for anything anymore. You work with him, so it makes sense he asked you.”
“Except I’m not fluent in Russian, which is the only language hockey player number two speaks.”
“You’re babysitting more than one?” I whistled. “That is asking a lot. Who are these guys?”
“Friends of Jaxson’s. One of them is named Igor—probably the Russian. The Blackhawks traded him to the Wild. I don’t know the Swede’s name—probably something unpronounceable with twenty consonants—and he’s a recent trade to the Wild too.” She sighed. “And I shouldn’t know any of this news since I don’t give a puck about hockey, so will you please blow off your volunteer duties for one night and come to dinner?”
“I can’t. I have to be two steps ahead of the artist, and
we’re running night shifts on the McHenry job the rest of this week, so this is my only free night.”
“Fine. Be upstanding.”
“I don’t know any other way to be.”
“Boring.”
I laughed. “You done nagging me?”
“Almost. Brady said I’m supposed to ask if you had any luck finding what you were looking for—whatever that means.”
“Why are you asking me instead of Brady asking me himself?”
“Because he and Lennox took off on vacation Sunday afternoon. I hate that you guys have secrets.”
“And you and Dallas don’t?”
She paused. “Dallas! Of course. I’ll ask her to be the fourth wheel at the babysitter’s club dinner.”
“Good luck.”
“I’ll call you later.”
“Don’t. Seriously. I’ll be busy.”
TRINITY
Normally on a job like this I didn’t bother wearing makeup or fixing my hair. I put on my white painter’s pants, an old shirt, tossed my hair into a messy bun and I was good to go.
But today I’d decided an upgrade from my usual sloppy look was in order. It made me hot all over whenever Walker’s lusty looks expressed his appreciation for my overly curvy body and I couldn’t wait to see it again.
The actors were sitting in a circle onstage while the director paced around them outside of the circle. Nate gave me a chin dip in greeting and I cut through the auditorium to the backstage area.
The door to my room had been propped open. I flipped on the lights and saw the specific paint colors I’d asked for lined against the wall. Canvas tarps had been spread out and the next pieces I needed to work on were stacked against the wall.
Wow. That was a big stack. Walker had accomplished a lot.
You’re slacking. Is that the impression you want him to have of you?
My thought processes were skewed to the negative side. A trait I’d had since childhood. My stepmother chirped at me incessantly to think “happy thoughts,” as if that would alter my mood or fix me. I hated that they believed I was in need of fixing. I really hated they believed I’d succumbed to the brooding-artist stereotype. They never once considered I might’ve had a serious issue with depression. We didn’t talk about it after the one time I’d brought it up and my father lost his shit. He listed all the things I should be grateful for. He snapped that there was no reason on earth why I should be depressed.
When I struck out on my own, I finally understood that my artistic gift had manic bursts of creativity followed by episodes where I couldn’t create at all. There was no magical formula to change that, so instead I’d accepted it’d always be a struggle to find the balance points between highs and lows.
Gen was the only one I’d ever shared this with because it was intensely personal and to some extent it still felt like a flaw. I’d managed to mask that aspect of my personality during the few intimate relationships I’d allowed to last more than one night. I didn’t let lovers get too close—and the sobering part of that was that none of them had seemed to notice I wasn’t giving my all.
“You’ve been staring at that piece a long time,” Walker said behind me. “Is there something wrong with it?”
“No. I was just lost in thought.” I turned around. He stood back, his hands in the pockets of his jeans, a hopeful smile on his lips and wariness in his eyes. His hair was loose and it looked like he’d been running his hands through it all day. Oh, such lucky, lucky hands.
“That happens to me too. Then I wonder where the hour—or sometimes half a day—went.”
“I only lost around ten minutes this time.” I tried really hard not to stare. But the man’s presence just filled a room in a way I’d never encountered before.
“Are we really gonna do this, Trinity?”
“Do what?” I asked. I wasn’t clear on what he meant.
“Stand here and look at each other awkwardly? I don’t know what you want me to do.”
“Maybe the real question is, what do you want to do, Walker?”
He eliminated the ten feet between us in three quick steps. Then his hands cradled my face and his mouth crashed down on mine.
His kiss was electric. Hungry. Relieved. Sweet.
After he ended the kiss, he crushed me to his chest. “That’s what I want to do every time I see you.”
“Well, speaking from experience, that is a great way to say hello.”
He chuckled.
I tipped my face back and nearly lost my head again as I gazed into his intensely beautiful blue eyes. “Thank you.”
“For?”
“Making the first move. Even when we’ve kissed, and gone out on a date, I wasn’t sure if we’re together.”
“Yes, babe, we are.”
“Then I will accept your class ring on a necklace as proof that we are going steady and are officially a couple.”
Walker gave me the dimpled grin that made my knees weak. “Or I could give you a hickey.”
“That actually sounds like more fun.”
Soft, warm lips landed on the side of my neck. He brushed his mouth up and down in an erotic arc. “I could spend hours kissing you right here,” he murmured against my skin, “trying to choose the perfect spot to leave my mark.”
Yes. Let’s start now.
“Hey, Walker, is Trinity in here?” Nate yelled from the doorway.
Walker raised his head and said, “Do you want to keep on the down low here? Or do we admit we’re coupling?”
Two voices warred inside my head:
Keep it under wraps; who knows how long it’ll last?
Screw that. Let the entire world know that this hot man is hot for you.
Keeping one hand on Walker’s chest, I stepped to the side.
Nate looked confused for a moment. “Oh, uh … hi, Trinity. I didn’t, uh … see you there.”
“Walker casts a pretty big shadow. What did you need?”
“The director wants to know if you can paint the section with the flowers next. We’ll be doing the blocking for that scene first thing on Thursday.”
“No problem.”
Walker faced Nate and draped his arm over my shoulder. “The schedule is done?”
“Yes.” Nate pulled out a piece of paper and handed it over. “The other thing I’m supposed to ask Trinity: Would it be easier if someone else primed the sets?”
“That would be great.”
“I’ll let the director know. If either of you can think of anything you need, don’t hesitate to ask.”
“I do have a question,” Walker said. “Would it be possible to get a key so I can come in late when no one is here? I have insomnia some nights and I might as well be productive.”
It shocked me that Walker had admitted that to a stranger. But there were more important things to address. “I imagine the answer will be no since I also imagine there’d be issues with liability insurance, especially since you’d be here alone running power tools. From a commonsense standpoint that’s not safe. What if something happened? You couldn’t call for help. And if you could, emergency services would have to break down a door to gain entrance. And no offense, but how can they be sure if something did happen that you wouldn’t sue them?”
Walker made a noise like he was choking down a laugh. “I can promise I’d never file a lawsuit. But I understand your concerns, Nate—” he said to me since I’d just jumped on in. “Why don’t you call LCCO, ask for Priscilla in the main office, explain the situation and my request for a key. I suspect she’ll give you an immediate answer.”
“Sure. It’s worth a shot. I’ll let you know. Later.” Nate hustled out the door.
I shook my head at Walker.
“What?”
“It’s dangerous to be here alone.”
“I’m not an amateur, babe. I’d probably stick with finish work, which requires minimal power tools.” He bent closer and kissed me on the nose. “It’s sweet that you’re worried.”
“I was worried. Now I’m just annoyed because you’re acting as if a big, macho tool expert such as yourself couldn’t possibly have an accident.” I poked him in the chest. “FYI: They’re called accidents for a reason.”
He curled his hands around my hips and squeezed. “Then in that case maybe you’ll have to meet me down here. That way, if I break a nail you can patch me up.”
“Funny.” I slid my hands up his chest and smoothed my fingertips down his beard. “Do you really have insomnia?”
“Yes, unfortunately.” He sighed. “And it’s worse when I have to work nights—I get home and I can’t wind down. I figured I’d use that time to my best advantage since I’m not sleeping.”
“Maybe, after we’ve been going steady for more than a couple of days, we can come up with a better way to kill time together in the wee small hours of the night,” I said, adding a rowr.
“Jesus, Trinity.” His sexy growl rolled over me as potent as a caress. “Lock the door so we can try out a few of those late-night fantasies right now.”
His phone buzzed in his back pocket.
I stepped away to let him answer it, because I knew he would.
“I thought I told you not to call.” Pause. “Like I’d know the Swedish phrase for that? You wanna call him a scum-sucking douchebag, do it in English! He’ll get the gist.”
But I didn’t bother to pretend I wasn’t listening.
“No,” he said adamantly. “Because you’ll end up in jail and I am not bailing you out. Oh yeah? Call Mom and tell her what your plans are. Or maybe I should tattle on you like you used to do on me?” He laughed. “Anatomically impossible. And just for that—no way. You need help, call Jens. Fine. Ash is in town. Or call Nolan—he’s probably still at the office. It’s only Monday. He hasn’t picked his skank-of-the-week yet. I’m hanging up now.” He held his phone in front of him. “Fuck.”
Just What I Needed (The Need You Series) Page 9