by V. H. Luis
Describing this building could be a full-fledged architectural exam. The lobby has ultra-high ceilings, beautiful pale marble floors, and soft wooden accents. To say it’s a gorgeous building is a vast understatement, and yet it lacks everything I believe necessary for a home. It’s cold, barren of any true welcome. It reminds me of him. My heart sinks at the realization.
“Miss Snowe?” Parker extends his arm, motioning toward the open elevator doors.
I blink a few times and enter the elegant elevator.
I don’t belong here. I should leave. It’s as if I’m entering another dimension, one that will stifle the little creativity I have left. Yet, I must see what’s on the other side of that elevator door. I’m bound by a dangerous curiosity. My fate was sealed when I entered that bank, the day I met him.
As the doors open, I see an impressive foyer. White walls outline the area and two large black doors with cast iron accents stand in front of me. Imposing, exactly like Adam Black.
Parker opens the door and I get my first glimpse of Adam’s home. The furniture is modern and the color scheme matches the foyer, black and white being predominant.
I’m led to a big room that showcases a gleaming grand piano under a breathtaking skylight. It’s lovely, but so out of place. It’s the only object I see in this void-of-character apartment that’s old and weathered. It’s an antique.
The moment I see it, I want to play. My dad was a musician and wanted to teach his little girl to love music, too. He was successful. Though I’m a horrible piano player, I do love music of all kinds.
The room has a big black couch on the far end and a black-and-white patterned carpet. A few other random tables adorn the bare space. It’s beautiful yet somber.
“You’re here.”
The voice of a woman surprises me. I turn to face her, unable to hide my astonishment. She has the appearance of a woman in her forties, with long black hair styled in a ponytail with curled ends.
“I see Mr. Black didn’t mention I would be here.” She smiles at me. “I’m Cadence Wright, I work for Mr. Black. I make sure this house stays clean, I cook any meals he desires, and generally take care of him.” She speaks genially, yet there is a certain sense of finality in her statement.
“Oh.” I finally recover my voice. “You’re right, he didn’t mention anyone would be here. Honestly, he didn’t tell me much, other than that he wanted me to paint him something.”
She nods and moves a few steps forward. “Yes, a mural of your own discretion right here.” She points to the wall in front of the piano.
My eyes fall on the wall and unable to hold it back, I gasp. The wall is massive and, like the apartment, intimidating, though that’s not what puzzles me. Adam is an enigma and yet deep down in my gut, I feel this room is the epicenter of who he is. Why does a man who has everything want me of all people to paint him a mural?
“Is everything all right?” Ms. Wright murmurs.
“Yes, sorry.” I continue staring at the wall, contemplating all the possibilities it presents. “Is there some significance to this room? Do you have any idea why he would want me to paint something here?”
She laughs. “I rarely know why he does anything, not that I’m complaining. I prefer blissful ignorance.”
I look at her, a small grin on my lips. She’s frank, and I like that.
“He puzzles me, too.” I shake my head and extend my hand. “Where are my manners? I’m Evelyn.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you.” She gives my hand a brisk shake.
“Is Mr. Black here?” I ask the question with my stare pinned to the wall, wanting to appear casual. My fingers fiddle with the bracelets on my wrists as I wait for her response.
“I’m afraid not. He was called away on business. I suspect he’ll be gone for the next few days.”
“Oh.” I nod.
“He requested you be given anything you need while you work on the mural. Paint has been purchased, and if you need anything else Parker can be sent to acquire the items.”
She moves to stand by my side. “I’m also more than happy to prepare meals and snacks for you as you work. I imagine a project of this nature will take several days, if not weeks, to complete.”
I shake my head.
“I’ll be fine. I’m sure whatever has been purchased will work for what I have in mind. As for the rest, that’s nice of you, but I’d hate to be a bother.”
Her dark eyes narrow. “Mr. Black requested you be well taken care of, and that’s what I plan on doing.”
There’s no point in arguing. “Sure. Whatever works best for you.”
“Good.” She smoothes her skirt and looks around the room. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. Parker will bring in the supplies.” She strides off, her ponytail swinging as she retreats.
IT’S late on a Friday night and I’ve spent the last four evenings working on the mural. I’m exhausted, but I can’t stop. I need to keep painting.
Parker and Ms. Wright have been accommodating. Most of the time I’m fixated on painting, and in the rare moments when I’m not, Ms. Wright insists on feeding me.
I’ve received no word from Adam. Not a text message, nothing.
Maybe all he wanted from me was this painting. The thought bothers me, though I try not to focus on the disappointment.
Taking a few steps back, I appraise the mural. I’ve painted a crimson flower. It’s shrouded by an evergreen darkness that blends into ebony. The bright streaks of yellow scattered across the petals create a dramatic contrast. It doesn’t resemble a flower found in nature, but is rather an amalgamation of many. It holds a mystery I find charming. And it’s without a doubt the best thing I have ever painted.
“Beautiful.” Black’s voice is laced with wonder.
I turn to face him. I’m wearing simple jean shorts and a black tank, my hair is loose, and I’ve long-since discarded my sandals. I didn’t expect him.
“Thank you. I’m glad you like it. I…I didn’t expect you.”
He’s wearing gray pinstriped pants, a white button-down and an amused grin. “That’s a reasonable assumption. Why would you expect to see me in my own apartment?” Adam purrs as he moves toward me. Every muscle in my body tenses as I stare into his hypnotizing eyes, and he notices.
“Do all men make you this nervous?”
What a haughty bastard.
“I think it’s presumptuous of you to assume I’m nervous, Mr. Black.” I speak his name with a heavy inflection.
“I believe I asked you to call me Adam,” he says calmly, though a hint of anger burns in his eyes.
I tilt my head back and shrug. “Did you?”
He shakes his head. “Lying to me in my own home? I never imagined you to be so impolite.”
“Says the man who asks the most inappropriate questions.”
His laugh reverberates through the room. “They’re only inappropriate if you subscribe to archaic models of propriety. I don’t have the time or the desire to ask pointless questions. When I want to know something, I ask. When I want something, I take it. It’s a simple philosophy.”
How can I fault him for being so brutal in his honesty? I admire his lack of inhibitions, and yet that attitude is only possible for a select few. Of course, Adam Black always gets what he wants. He’s rich, handsome, intelligent, and above all else, not hindered by the shadows that are in my past. Confused by my emotions, I try to organize my thoughts into coherent sentences.
“It’s not easy to live like that. When you’re reckless, people are bound to get hurt.”
“You’re too young and beautiful to be so jaded.”
The confidence he exudes is threatening. It makes me question my opinions and beliefs. My legs tremble as I take a step back.
“Giving me a compliment directly followed by an insult won’t make me agree with you.”
He closes the gap between us. The smell of his aftershave and skin surrounds me and without thinking I take a deep breath.
“Why
are you under the impression I want you to agree with me?”
My eyes widen under his scrutiny. The air around us is charged and it’s hard to breathe.
“In fact, I would much rather you disagree.”
“Why?” I can’t help the genuine confusion resonating in my voice.
“I find you intriguing when you disagree with me. Not to mention, you’re incredibly attractive when you’re flustered. Your heart starts to beat faster and your breathing quickens.”
He raises his hand and presses his index finger along the curve of my neck. His words come true as my lungs struggle to keep up with the demands of my body. Adam’s lips curve into a soft smile as he trails his finger down my neck, resting it against my carotid.
My heart begins to race as a chill ripples down my body.
This man knows how his touch affects me, and he revels in the conquest. Part of me wants to deny him the satisfaction, a very small part of me.
“Do I make you nervous?” He places emphasis on the word I, his fingertips still pressed against my neck, against my pulse.
“Yes,” I whisper plainly, because I can’t manage anything else.
Adams hand grasps me behind the neck startling me into a gasp, as he hauls me against him. It’s everything I’ve been dreaming about for the past week. There’s an insatiable hunger between us. We both want this.
His tongue rubs against mine and I taste the faint remnants of whiskey on his lips—it’s sweet, like candy. Wrapping my arms around him and entangling them in his hair, a heat begins to surge between my legs. One of his hands trails down my back, lingering along the hem of my cutoff shorts and my upper thigh. If he wants me here on the floor, I’ll be unable to resist his charms, unable to resist this all-consuming passion burning throughout my body.
The firm clearing of someone’s throat interrupts us, and Adam pulls away from me.
My fingertips reflexively rub at my mouth. The evidence of our passionate kiss is smeared on my lips.
Parker is standing by the door, his face apologetic.
If looks could kill, I suspect Parker would be in grave danger. Adam’s eyes are dark as they focus on the guard.
Parker stares at Adam as if I’m not even in the room. He’s an immovable statue, not even remotely fazed.
I have to give him credit for being composed. If the situation were reversed, if Adam was pinning me with that vicious glare, I’d probably cave under the pressure.
“Sorry for the interruption, Mr. Black, but Victoria Chase is here to see you.”
I’m shocked to hear Victoria’s name. Victoria was the vapid blonde at Art Basel.
Adam frowns. For a split-second he looks uncertain and then that decisive businessman returns.
“Please direct her here,” he says steadily, no longer upset.
Shit! No way he’s bringing that blonde Barbie here. It would be way too cruel. I’m not exactly dressed to impress. I glower at him.
“Is something wrong?” he asks with a quirked brow.
“Wouldn’t you two prefer to have your conversation alone? Maybe in one of the many other rooms you possess in this massive apartment.” Reaching for an open tube of paint, I close it before tossing it into a bag. I rub the smudges of paint on my fingers on the back of my shorts. I feel out of place.
“No, in fact this is becoming one of my favorite rooms.” He looks toward the painting and smiles. “Besides, you being here might help the situation.”
I scrunch my nose in what is probably an unflattering scowl. Help what situation? Before I can respond, Victoria Chase’s voice cuts me short.
“What the fuck is going on here?”
Chapter Seven
“VICTORIA, YOU ARE as eloquent as ever.”
By her stance, someone might assume she was posing for a picture. “That’s because going through polite avenues has gotten me nowhere. I’ve been calling you for days. I spoke with your secretary and left several messages. I expected your call three days ago.”
“So because your expectations weren’t met, you decided to pay me a visit?” Adam shakes his head, annoyance on his face. “We stopped seeing each other several months ago. I don’t owe you an explanation.”
“We went to Art Basel just last week.” She looks at him imploringly.
Adams eyes don’t soften at her pleading expression. “We went as part of a group to an event. As I remember it, Melinda insisted you accompany us and I had no idea you were coming until after I picked up Melinda and David.” He seems exasperated.
The piercing blue eyes of Victoria fixate on me. “What is she doing here?”
I stiffen at the intensity of her gaze, though I offer nothing else as a response. What am I doing here? I should have bolted at the mention of Victoria’s name.
“That’s none of your concern. This conversation is over. I’ve indulged your behavior too long.”
“Are you sleeping with her? Are you so bored with your life you’ve resorted to bedding random women?”
“I think he would be better off with a random woman, rather than desperate ones who obviously refuse to take a hint.” I give her a sarcasm-laced smile.
She has the nerve to appear appalled.
Adam glances at me, and for a second I see a touch of pride in his gaze. The adrenaline of the fight makes me want to lunge at him, to kiss him. I’m dragged away from my thoughts by Victoria’s now-shrieking voice.
“He will use you and then leave you!”
She’s probably right, though I would never give her the satisfaction of agreeing with her statement. The truth is, I’ve suspected as much, and come to the conclusion that being used may not be so horrible. After years of being a recluse I’m interested in the idea of putting myself out there.
You say that now, but wait until Victoria’s prophecy comes true. I take a deep breath and shake away the fear invading my head.
“Maybe it’s me who’ll do the using.”
Adams throaty chuckle makes me flinch.
Is he laughing at me? Both Victoria and I turn to face him.
“Mr. Black,” Parker says cautiously.
“Parker…” Adam turns to the guard. “Victoria was just leaving. Please show her out.”
Victoria opens her mouth to protest, but Adam’s expression halts her. She turns and glares at me before stalking out of the room.
I focus my attention on Adam. I’m still angry at Victoria’s harsh assessment, though I’m not willing to let my nagging insecurities win.
His voice is smooth as silk. “I do hope you plan on keeping your word. I like the idea of being used.”
“Why?”
He saunters toward me. It’s an elegant walk, one he has undoubtedly practiced.
“You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want to. From the second I laid eyes on you in the bank I felt an attraction, and I know you feel, too.”
“Victoria has been walked to her car.”
It’s reassuring to hear Parker. Being alone with Adam is an emotional rollercoaster.
Adam turns to face him. “Thank you.” He eyes his watch. “It’s eight already, why don’t you take the rest of the night off? I’ll take Miss Snowe home.”
He’ll do what? I stare at Parker, who for the first time since I’ve met him, has a grin on his lips.
“Yes, sir.”
“Has Ms. Wright left for the evening?” Adam unbuttons the cuffs of his white shirt and rolls up the sleeves.
“Yes, an hour ago.”
Adam nods. “Have a pleasant evening.”
Parker turns and walks out of the room. The soft click of his heels against the marble floor quickly fades. He’s gone.
Damn it. Why am I so nervous around this man? The question is stupid. He’s a handsome, successful man who’s always put together. I’m usually falling apart at the seams. Of course I find him intimidating. Most people would.
When I drag my gaze from my feet I’m an emotional wreck.
Adam stares at me with a gentle expression
and I get the impression he knows I’m operating on pure adrenaline. He looks past me at the mural, appraising it with genuine interest.
“This is truly…” He pauses for a moment before completing his statement. “Stunning. The duality is what impresses me. The sharp contrast between the flower and its dark background is enchanting. While working, what exactly were you thinking about?”
The question takes me by surprise. Most of the time when I’m painting, my mind is racing, a hundred thoughts consuming my focus. However, while I worked on this mural I was oddly at peace.
“To be honest, I don’t believe I thought of anything in particular. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but there is no definitive underlying message in this painting.”
“Evelyn.” He speaks my name softly. “There’s always an underlying message in the things we do. People are just too scared of confessing their true motives, even to themselves.”
This man consistently makes me question my actions and beliefs. He leaves me bewildered and grasping at straws. I try to form cohesive thoughts, and I settle on angry ones.
“Is that your subtle way of implying I’m hiding something from myself?”
The tenderness in his eyes has been replaced with arrogance. “I didn’t think I was being subtle. Yes, I think you’re hiding something from yourself.”
He takes a deep breath and shifts his gaze away from me, back to the painting. “This flower is being consumed by the shadows.” He speaks as if that simple statement proves his point.
“It’s just a painting.” I fidget with the hem of my tank, unsure of what else to say.
“Maybe.” He steps close, his eyes narrowed and his penetrating stare so pervading a shudder runs down my spine. “But my guess is that it’s something much more. And that intrigues the hell out of me.”
The assertion, his proximity, the confrontation with Victoria—it’s all messing with my head. How did this conversation get so intimate? I can deal with playful banter over the general merits of art, but the careful examination of my own work is uncomfortable. Needing to regain some measure of control over the situation, I shift the focus on him.