The Hard Sell

by Wright,Lulu

Mr. Magic is not what I expected. Not that Jen described him much beyond his big dick and even bigger heart. But I assumed he would be the Jen standard: hot and dumb.

  Phil’s cute-ish, I guess, but more dweeb than jock. Even though he’s in a tux, his horn-rimmed glasses, iWatch, and mismatched socks scream geek chic.

  “Nice to meet you,” he says with a confident, if somewhat dorky, smile. “I’ve heard so many great things about you. It’s good to finally meet you. You look wonderful by the way.”

  Aw.

  He takes off his glasses to clean them and it’s like a Clark Kent transformation happens in my living room. Supernerd is gone, and suddenly I notice his high and wide cheekbones, balanced by a square, masculine jaw. He runs his hands through his thick brown hair and raises an eyebrow at me. Dude is totally aware he’s secretly hot.

  Jen steps out my bedroom with the flare of a matador and Phil’s eyes bulge out of his head. I swear, for a second he’s speechless. Jen, for her part, is the happiest I’ve ever seen her.

  I swallow my jealousy and fight the pang in my gut. I’m glad that her love life is finally settling down. I’m glad she’s found the right match. I just have to ignore the fact that my own love life is currently a crashing train.

  But that’s not what I’m dwelling on tonight. Tonight is about fun and glamor and networking. I can collapse in a clump of misery tomorrow, but I can’t be a Debbie Downer at the Gala.

  My phone lights up with a text from Ricky.

  Jeffrey and I are outside … in the Roll Royce limo … Boo ya!

  I hold up my phone to Jen and Phil. “Time to party!”

  And time to forget.

  Ricky is in a shiny green tux that only he could pull off. He’s added a green stripe to his hair and his lip gloss is on point. “Look at my girl! I knew that dress was the one.”

  We climb in the limo and hooooly shit, Jeffery.

  He’s always been a good looking guy, but tonight he’s just ridiculous. His beard is full but trim and his faux hawk rocks when paired with his Armani tux. I sit next to him and he takes my hand and kisses it. He’s exactly what I need tonight; a gorgeous guy who will give me attention and not break my heart. “You’re a vision out of a dream.” He winks. “Thanks so much for being my date tonight.”

  “Thank you for asking me to be your date.”

  “We’re going to see my grandmother when we first get there. She greets everyone near the door as sort of the museum ambassador. So, that’s your key beard time. She usually cuts out after a couple of hours.”

  I nod. “Got it. Have you figured out the details of our meet-cute?”

  His eyes crinkle in a wide smile. “Just follow my lead.”

  We drink champagne and compliment the shit out of each other until the limo pulls up to the entrance. “To us,” Ricky says with his glass in the air. “To our magic night!”

  I can see the museum outside the window of the limo. Sparkling in blue and white light, the red carpet spills out of the entrance and down the museum’s famously long steps. Our ride rolls to a stop. “Showtime,” Jeffrey announces. He gulps the last of his champagne. “Ready, Lily?”

  I step out of the Rolls Royce into an explosion of flashbulbs and shouts. Thank god Jeffrey is a red carpet pro. With one hand gently on the small of my back, he escorts me through the gauntlet. We pause in front of the grand staircase for more photos, and Jeffrey introduces me to a magazine reporter as a “special friend,” with a peck on my cheek for the camera.

  “Step one complete,” Jeffrey whispers as he leads me up the staircase.

  Inside the museum, there is too much for my eyes to take in at once. It’s everything I ever dreamed and more. The celebrities outnumber the normal humans. Waiters swan around guests and sculptures alike with the grace of ballerinas. I spot ice sculptures and, even better, along one table, ice sculptures that double as champagne fountains. Hooray.

  Jeffrey is tugging my arm. “Lily, this is my grandmother Mrs. Mildred Herbert Robertson-Lion.”

  I sink into a deep curtsey. She looks like the exiled queen of some icy country in her warm, furred gown, complete with a tiara on her coiffed hair. She offers me her gloved hand and I handle it like I would a baby bird.

  “Lily Brook. Would that be the Brook family of Boston or New York?”

  “More the Brook family of Hatfield, Pennsylvania.”

  She bows her head with a twinkle of a smile. “I see, my dear. And where did you meet this charming young woman, Jeffrey?”

  Jeffrey tickles my back. “Lily and I met in Christ Church, Grandma. During the collection.”

  My eyes want to bounce out of my head, and it takes everything I have not to burst into laughter. Pretty sure Jeffrey hasn’t set foot in a church in even longer than I have. But I keep my cool. I smile up at Jeffrey, every inch the awe-struck, doting girlfriend. “He passed the collection plate to me and our eyes met. What can I say? When he offered me his hand in peace, I was already his.”

  “Oh, how sweet,” Grandma coos. I can’t tell if the expression on her wrinkled face is joy or relief. “You two have a wonderful evening. And Lily, I hope we see you in the Hamptons this spring.”

  The Hamptons? Oh, hell yes. I can keep this up all winter if Jeffrey wants.

  25

  Lily

  Jeffrey escorts me to the nearest champagne fountain, where Jen and Ricky are indulging in a glass. Phil fills two more flutes and hands them to us. “Whew.” Jeffrey mimes wiping his forehead with his palm. “So glad that’s over.”

  Ricky grins. “Grandma bought your little con?”

  “Looks like it’s going to be a long con. Grandma invited Lily to the compound in the Hamptons.”

  “Not a problem!” I interject loudly. We all laugh.

  We all take in the museum together for a while, but split off into couples when Rick finally connects with his squeeze, Steve the stripper. Jeffrey introduces me to so many people that my head spins and my clutch is packed with business cards. My champagne glass is never empty, so to keep up my tolerance, I suck down delicate sushi and pretty bon bons between every sip. For once, I forget about Jack. About my problems. This is like living in a dream.

  Maybe they’ll let me stay, and I can just become like the kid in a book I read in middle school, who lives in a museum all the time.

  When we reach the Van Gogh room, Jeffery freezes in his tracks. “You ok?” I ask. He looks pale and a little sick.

  “Chris is here.”

  My eyes go wide. “Your ex?”

  He grimaces. “I swear I just saw him duck into that room over there.”

  I glance toward where he is fixated, but I don’t see anything. “Unfinished business?”

  Jeffrey stares down at his champagne glass, swirling the liquid within it. “Yeah. Things have been pretty friendly between us lately. He said he might come, but …”

  I put my hand on his shoulder and Jeffery looks at me with a sadness that hits me straight in my heart. I know that look. Anything to stop Jeffrey from suffering the way I am right now. “Go talk to him,” I whisper. “If he’s here, it’s got to be for you.”

  Jeffrey brightens a little. “Yeah. But … Are you sure? I don’t want to leave you alone.”

  I wave my hand at the room in dismissal. “How can I be alone when I have Van Gogh?”

  “Thanks, kid.” He leaves a peck in his wake and runs to find his Chris.

  I stand in front of “Enclosed Wheat Field in the Rain.” White and blue streaks fall on bright green slashes on the canvas. Even in bright pastel, Van Gogh’s work never lost that sense of sadness. I am hypnotized by his frantic swirls of madness and despair and suddenly I am the lonely wheat field, I am the cold rain.

  “That’s what he saw outside the window of the asylum,” says a woman beside me. I turn to see a well-preserved woman of fifty and wrapped in a dark silver dress. Fat diamond earrings cover her earlobes and her diamond necklace reflects the mood lighting of the museum. Her blonde hair is swooped
to one side to reveal her patrician face with bright green eyes and delicate French nose. “There is a sadness he captured, but …” Her finger follows the small twists of yellow and blue. “I like to think he hinted at the possibility of a happy ending.”

  “Didn’t he kill himself?”

  The woman smiles. “That’s what some believe. I prefer the theory that his death was accidental. There is a conspiracy theory that he shot himself as he lay dying in order to protect someone. But, I have been told I am a bit too romantic.” She laughs.

  The woman offers her hand. “Mary.” Her hand is cool and soft. Her eyes twinkle with warmth and her smile puts me at ease.

  “Lily.” In spite of her grace and elegance, I don’t feel the need to curtsy like a commoner the way I did with Jeffrey’s grandmother. Unlike her, Mary has the demeanor of a queen, but the warmth of a cup of tea.

  She wraps an arm around mine. “Let me show my favorite Van Gogh.”

  We stop at “Starry Night on the Rhone.” It’s not the famous Starry Night, but the night sky is the same swirl of wonder and enchantment. “This is on loan from a museum in Paris. I first saw it when I scraped together enough money to go there. I must have visited this painting a hundred times the two weeks I was in France. Such an expensive trip, but worth the extra shifts in swimwear.”

  “Swimwear? You worked in retail?” The lady before me doesn’t seem the type to serve behind a counter. More like the type to be served.

  She pulls her diamond bracelet up her forearm and shows me an inch-long scar on the back of her wrist. “See that? I learned to handle a box cutter with a bit more care after these five stitches. Back then Hamilton had a full time nurse on staff, thank god, so she stitched me up right on the floor.”

  “Hamilton? That’s where I work now,” I admit. I didn’t exactly picture myself bragging about this at the Gala tonight, let alone meeting someone I have that in common with.

  “I know, Lily.”

  I frown in confusion. But she’s already leading me away from the Van Gogh, toward an adjacent room populated with marble and bronze sculptures. “Uh … You do?” I ask as we cross the room, weaving through the crowd of other visitors.

  Before I can ask how, she puts her finger to her lips. “Shh. Follow me.”

  She leads me away from the Van Gogh section to a room populated with marble and bronze sculptures. I’m overwhelmed by the magnificence as she gives me the story behind each piece. “I like this one,” I say, glancing up at a young woman on a pedestal frozen in a shudder, her arms clasped around her to fight the chill.

  I feel that. It’s me right now. How can an artist from so long ago have captured my pain?

  “Ah, it’s called Winter. It’s about the chill of that season, the death of the world, the despair of the innocent young woman … But it will pass. As all things do. She will thaw in the warmth of spring. This is just a moment in time.”

  I hope she’s right, but I say nothing. Her kindness is giving me a safe place to feel emotion. But there’s a little too much emotion bubbling to the surface right now. I change the subject. I have to. “How do you know so much about the museum?” My voice sounds shaky, but if the lady notices, she’s too polite to say.

  “I’ve been on the board for years.” She squeezes my arm. “But I will confess, sometimes I miss the energy of Hamilton. Did you know, I met my husband working there?”

  I blink. “At Hamilton?”

  “He was such an arrogant young man.” She laughs. “But such a hunk,” she adds with a wink.

  Suddenly my smile feels painful. Forced. Been there. Done that. “I’m not sure arrogant is really my type, from experience,” I admit.

  Her laugh comes even louder this time. “I can’t say I blame you. My husband … I swear, every time he opened his mouth some days, he made me want to slap him. I think he enjoyed it, actually. Taunting me on purpose.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “And you married him?”

  She smiles, a little too knowingly. “People aren’t always what they appear to be. Sometimes it can take a while for them to reveal themselves. My husband was like that.” She pauses and holds my gaze. “But I’m glad I waited him out. He was worth it.” She glances behind me and her smile changes. Grows softer somehow, more intimate. “And speak of the devil.”

  I turn to see Mr. Hamilton—the elder, I should say—walking toward us. He has a glass of champagne in one hand and a bejeweled purse awkwardly dangling from his shoulder. I swallow hard. “You’re Mrs. Hamilton.”

  “Yes. Surprised?” She leans into me. “When should I have told you?” She asks this with a raised eyebrow, just before she turns to greet her husband.

  I try not to gape at her. But at the same time, my insides twist uncomfortably. I think about the deleted texts. The unread messages. Should I have at least read those? Heard him out that night at the bar, when I stormed out?

  Her eyes are on mine, but she’s not judging me. Just smiling, benign.

  Then it hits me. Jack told his mother about me. His very rich, very influential mother. He went to her for help, for advice maybe, about me. Would he do that if he wasn’t serious?

  Mr. Hamilton holds out a hand, and I’m torn from my reflections. I accept his handshake, but it’s not a hard business shake this time. It’s more like his hand is hugging mine. “You look lovely, Miss Brook.” He turns to his wife and sighs. “Mary, please take your bag.”

  Jack’s mother rolls her eyes. “Really, John, nobody thinks it’s yours.”

  He smooths his suit. “It doesn’t go with my tux.”

  “And that tie does?” She raises an eyebrow.

  “What’s wrong with my tie?” He scowls down at the diamond-patterned, bright violet tie. I have to admit, Mrs. Hamilton does have a point. He could blind people with that thing, it’s so bright.

  Her eyes catch mine, a twinkle in them. “Boys. They’re all the same, aren’t they, Lily?”

  I say nothing because my head is still reeling. He told his mother about me.

  “Lily, you’ll have to pardon us,” Mr. Hamilton is saying. “The mayor wants to bore us with another rambling anecdote about his childhood.” Hamilton nods at someone over my shoulder.

  “Of course,” I stutter. “So nice to …”

  Mrs. Hamilton embraces me. “Look behind you,” she whispers in my ear. “And remember. Winter passes.”

  I turn toward the sculptures and see Jack stepping out from behind Winter. He’s so dreamy in his tux. Tall, handsome, the suit cut just right to fit his form. Not to mention his perfectly sculpted features above it, and that sexy mouth of his bent into a hesitant smile.

  I hold my breath. Am I Winter? Frozen here, chilled by the things he didn’t tell me? Or will I melt? Will I understand why he waited, and hear him out?

  With his hands in his pockets, he strolls up to me. His green eyes flash and his dimples peek out as that tentative smile of his widens. “Congratulations,” he says, when he reaches my side, and for a second I’m confused. “I heard about the promotion,” he adds.

  My face flushes. All that time working for it, and when I got it, I can’t even remember what he’s congratulating me for. “Thanks,” I murmur as I fold my arms across my chest. Part of me wants to run.

  A much bigger part tells me I should stay. Thaw.

  I take a breath. “You told your mom everything?”

  His ears turn red. He ducks his head a little. “Not everything.”

  “But about me?”

  He nods.

  My chest hurts. I don’t know what to do with this man. This lovely, sexy, confusing contradiction. “Why did you lie to me?”

  “It’s not—” He stops himself, with an effort. “I wanted to tell you,” he starts again. “I was trying to find the right time. I just … I wanted to break the news the right way. To explain why I did that. It wasn’t just you, Lily; I didn’t tell anyone my identity.”

  “Anyone except Crystal,” I mutter.

  He grimaces. “
She found out the, shall we say, stalkery way. She used that as blackmail, too. To try and force me to stay with her.”

  Ah. So that explains a few more things about his and Crystal’s on-off whatever-it-was. I bob my head a little, to show I understand. Kind of. “But why did you even start to do that? Why pretend to be someone you aren’t?”

  He rubs his face and paces around me. “After the arrest … After everything I did. I wanted to prove my worth. To my family, to my dad. To everyone at the store, too. I was born rich, but I don’t want to let that define me. I want to work hard, to earn what I have, and not take it for granted.” He stops pacing and looks at me, straight into my eyes. That look could pierce diamond, I swear. It definitely cracks the shell of ice around my chest. “You saw the mug shot, Lily. I had a lot to prove. To myself, especially. It was never about deceiving you.”

  He puts his hands on my shoulders and I gaze up at him for a long, quiet moment. “Do you understand why I felt I had to be Jack Stewart?”

  I nod.

  “Good.” He smiles. “Can we start again?”

  “How?” I laugh.

  He extends his hand. I hesitate, but accept it, and he gives me a hearty shake. “Nice to meet you. I’m Jack Hamilton.”

  His arrogance and broad shoulders, he got from his dad. But his heart and big green eyes, those he got from his mother. I don’t respond. Not with words. Instead, I just wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him, long and hard.

  “I take it that means you’re okay with starting over,” he replies, when I finally let him go long enough for him to loop his arms around my waist and hug me against him.

  “No,” I say, sharp and hard.

  Poor guy. He actually goes a little pale, and bites his lip.

  I grin, and lean up to bite that for him instead. “I don’t want to start over. Then I’ll have to spend weeks chastising you all across the stock room before you talk to me like an equal and not your employee,” I mimic his deep, stern tone on the end.

  He smirks, though his eyes look relieved. “Good point. I’d have to put up with you constantly calling me an asshole, or trying to goad me into a fight, instead of just being able to toss you across my desk and spank you.” He lowers his voice to a purr on that last one. I reach up to tangle my fingers in his hair, and he sighs against my cheek.