by C. J. Thomas
“But no one’s getting fired, right?” Worry furrowed Courtney’s brow.
“No one’s getting fired,” I reassured her. “Get outta here. Enjoy your weekend.”
She wished me the same as I left her to close up her computer. Weaving through the cubicles, I found myself thinking about what a turn of events my life had taken. When it had seemed like I had lost everything, I was given a second chance. All thanks to Nolan. Because of him I had won, and I couldn’t be happier.
My lips were forever pressed into a smile as I found myself humming.
I was so filled with love in an abundance I didn’t know I had. All because of Nolan, his family who had really opened up to me, as well as the unconditional support I had always received from my own parents. Even Audrey had disappeared from our lives, deciding to run off with Brody Morris. Though I was busier than I had ever been in my entire life, I was also happier. Nolan and I lived by the motto work hard, play hard, and it showed.
I was so filled with energy I didn’t have time to be exhausted. Every morning I woke excited to tackle the challenges that waited for me at the office. I looked forward to coming home at the end of the day, knowing Nolan was always waiting.
When I approached the office that I’d first been promised, I felt my lips flat-line.
The door was cracked and I knew that he was inside working.
I quietly knocked, poking my head inside. Darren lifted his head and when his eyes met with mine, he smiled.
“I read over the report you submitted,” I said.
The crown of his head pulled to the ceiling.
Then my lips curved upward as I said, “It was excellent. I’m going allow you to make the call.”
He pressed his palms together and bowed his head. “Thank you, Sophia.”
I wished him a relaxing weekend before stepping out of his office and heading down the hall to my own. It was funny how things had worked themselves out. Initially, it was Darren’s office that I had wanted so bad, but in the end I got the private office in the corner.
Stepping inside, my body tingled when I saw that Nolan was sitting behind my desk. He was leaning back in my chair with his feet kicked up. And by the look he was giving me, I knew that there was something on his mind.
“Close the door,” he said in a sexy husky voice.
I gave him a look of my own before doing as he asked. Shutting the blinds, I turned to him and he sauntered over to me, taking my waist between his fingers. “You know I’m still on the clock, right?”
“What you did shouldn’t be allowed,” he said, referring to closing the door and locking it.
“I’m just following orders from my superior.” My fingers crawled up his chest.
Nolan chuckled while lowering his lips to mine.
Laughing along with him, I parted my lips and he curled his tongue over mine. Tipping me backwards he dropped his hard body over me, pinning me down to the desk. “I can do whatever the hell I want to,” his eyes narrowed, “now that my name is on the company logo.”
I took his face inside my hand, kissing him long enough to make me wet.
It didn’t take long for Nolan to decide to change the name to Foster Software Technologies. That single move was enough to refresh the entire company culture from what it had been before.
“Now,” he pecked my lips one last time before pulling himself up, “we better be going. I would hate to get stuck in traffic.”
“Traffic?” I asked, scooting my bottom to the edge of my desk.
Nolan ironed out the wrinkles in his jacket with both hands. “That’s right.” He grinned. “I packed our bags.”
“Bags?” I gave him an arched look.
“Bags,” he said, taking my hands into his own. “We’re escaping the city and heading for the mountains.”
“Just us?”
He laughed. “Just us.”
Excitement rolled through my body as my cell phone rang. Twisting around, I reached for the device, seeing that it was Sienna who was calling. “Hey girl, what’s up?”
The line cracked and I could hear that she was breathing heavily.
My expression tightened as I pushed my finger into my temple, trying hard to focus on what she was saying. “Are you okay? Tell me, what’s wrong?”
Her voice broke through. “He’s going to kill me.”
And then the line went dead.
Continue the series by reading Accidentally in Love. Click here and start reading today!
Take Me, Sneak Peek
Painting was my expertise, but his angled sculpture just begged to be polished.
It was my debut art show where I first laid eyes on billionaire Gavin Trapp. His intense stare and hard angles had me laying down the brush in lieu of the tool he had pressed up against my abdomen. He was a masterpiece and I’d be sure to test his stamina and see just how hard he really was.
There would be no tapping out tonight. This billionaire had no choice but to take me.
48
Violet
I adjusted the canvas half an inch and stepped back, brushing my hair off my shoulder. Pride swelled in my belly but I kept the emotion off my face. No one could know how excited I was about this particular show or that I had so much invested in it.
Not that they couldn’t guess that finally getting my own would be a thrill beyond belief, but I was a professional. Putting shows together at the gallery was my favorite part of working at CopperStone and I spent tireless hours making sure they went off without a hitch.
“Mine,” I whispered softly, hearing the word bounce off the canvas and boomerang back to me.
My patience was finally paying off, and though I’d known it would eventually happen, when Madrid called me into her office to tell me that it was finally my show I’d be putting together, I’d been floored.
“It’s time,” she’d said.
I’d raised an eyebrow. “For what?”
“To put your art on display.”
I hadn’t said anything for a moment, swallowing the squeal of glee and remaining composed.
I’d chosen to work at CopperStone for years for one reason and one reason only—because one day, far in the future, I’d have proven my talent and skill and could finally set my own work beside the greats.
My stuff was good enough, I knew it was, but there were rules and I’d known that earning the right was as much about putting in the hours as it was about having the talent. If I could have earned it off talent alone, my paintings would have been up the first day.
But I’d waited patiently, proving myself, and now it was finally here.
It was finally my time.
I gave Madrid a smile. “When?”
“Next month. Talk to marketing and work with Sincy to figure out the best way to market the pieces you want to showcase. I expect this show to be up to the gallery’s standards.” She’d tipped her elegant jaw upward and dismissed me.
I didn’t care. I’d long ago gotten used to her cold demeanor. She was European and didn’t mince words. I liked it, and though we didn’t spend much time together, we were a great team.
Emotions were wasted on me anyway. Get in, get the work done, move on. I liked precision and results.
Madrid did too, and if either of us had a pension for gossiping, we could have spent hours bitching about the lackadaisical work ethic of nearly everyone in the gallery. She and I poured hours into this place to make it one of the finest galleries in all of San Francisco. She’d made a name for herself and I wanted the same thing, not just as a member of the CopperStone Gallery, but as an artist—an artist whose debut showing took place at the elite CopperStone.
No one got that. No one.
And now, an hour before the show, I was standing alone in CopperStone like so many nights before, touching up all the last minute details that made this gallery what it was. And I was doing it with my own art.
I’d always known this would happen, but holy shit, standing here, surrounded by all my hard
work…I turned a slow circle, noting each painting and the small plaque on the wall in the bottom left corners, listing the name and artist.
V. Fenner. Artist.
Me.
I danced a circle, bouncing up and down on my thousand-dollar heels. I’d pulled out my brand new pencil skirt and a sleek black button shirt. I paired them with the black pumps I’d splurged on last month after my meeting with Madrid. I’d agonized over how to do my hair—up, down, up, finally settling on curling it in soft waves that flowed over my shoulders. I’d spent all morning at the spa, touching up my face and nails and toes.
I looked flawless—like always, but I’d gone out of my way to ensure that nothing was out of place. Not in the gallery and not on my body. If I could make tonight a financial success for me and the gallery, Madrid might let me do another one next year.
I checked my Rolex, noting I still had forty-five minutes. I beamed and strolled through the gallery, lightly touching Kim’s wire sculptures, so perfectly paired with certain paintings.
Having her along for tonight was the icing on the most luxurious cake. We’d been through a lot of shit together during our years at college and after, and damn if it wasn’t time for us to take it to the next level.
Not that she hadn’t already hit the major milestones between marrying Jackson and having their first kid. I was so happy for her.
Jackson…who’d-a guessed that they’d make the perfect pair. But I was glad. He was awesome and powerful and the perfect match to Kim.
And Trent, finding Paige, and then Elyse. God, I was so happy for all of them.
I stopped in front of the swirling canvas of purple and indigo. Paige’s death had affected all of us and I’d had to find my own way out of that darkness though my art.
I stepped closer to the painting titled Life, my heels clicking against the polished wood floor and echoing across the empty gallery. My fingers lifted to trace the outline of the jagged lines cut through with angry swirls.
There was so much anger in this painting.
I’d thought about giving it to Trent, but couldn’t bring myself to do it, worried that he’d be able to pick apart the emotion buried amid the flowers and landscape. This was the most natural painting I’d ever done; most of my art was surreal and impressionist. But I’d been so pissed at life when I’d taken my emotions out on this canvas that I’d wanted to hurt the world.
The entire painting was riddled with trees and streams, each one stricken with angry slashes. The untrained eye wouldn’t be able to see that, though. Kim had commented on it when she’d seen it and had hugged me, noting how I’d poured myself into that work instead of taking it out on the world. No words had been exchanged, just a look that let me know that she was there for me.
We’d both known Paige and had adored her. She’d been perfect for Trent, and when she’d come down with terminal cancer I’d raged at the heavens at the injustice.
It wasn’t like Trent hadn’t had his share of shit luck. Not like we were the only kids to lose our parents and grow up too fast in the system, but it was a fucked up world that would strip him of the love of his life.
I’d been so angry, so hateful, that it would have consumed me had I not had an outlet.
The painting wasn’t for sale but I had to include it in the showing. It had such depth and emotion that to leave it sequestered would have robbed tonight’s viewers.
We always had at least one or two pieces in every showing that weren’t for sale. That no buyer could touch for any dollar amount. It was one of the things we’d become known for and what drew the crowds like we’d had in the past.
Patrons came to see the elite paintings that the artist never revealed elsewhere. It usually took a couple of meetings before I could get them to admit that there even was a painting like this one. One that they’d created knowing it was safe from prying eyes and deep wallets, one that an artist did simply because no one else would see it. One that allowed them to pour every bit of themselves into their art.
We all did it, and that was usually the piece that allowed us to learn the boundaries of art, when to hold back and when to slit a vein open and bleed onto the work, showing all the passion and hurt and angst that life throws on people.
This was that painting for me. It was the first one I’d added to the list, and the one I’d told marketing to elude to. People would come for it, even not knowing anything about my other pieces. That work would draw them in so they could purchase the others and decorate their homes with my life’s work.
But not this one.
This one wasn’t for sale.
Not to anyone.
Or for any price.
49
Violet
“Ahhh!” Kim burst through the back door, arms outstretched, looking stunning in a blue dress that hugged her curves.
I smiled. Damn I’d taught her well.
Before me, Kim didn’t think about how she dressed or what she wore. She thought putting on jeans instead of her running shorts was cleaning up. I’d turned that woman into a label whore. It didn’t hurt that Jackson bought her whatever she asked for; the man had taste and didn’t mind spending money where it mattered.
I ran toward her, lithe and fast on my feet. I’d worn heels my whole adult life and could move with serious dexterity. Kim still hadn’t quite figured that part out.
We hugged and twirled in a circle. “I can’t believe it!!!! I keep thinking I’m going to wake up from the most amazing dream ever and we’re going to be so bummed that it’s not really happening.”
I turned her and linked her arm through mine, escorting her through the gallery. “Oh, it’s happening, babe. It’s happening.”
She gasped and oohed and ahhed and carried on like a first-time artist. I teased her and laughed along with her, knowing I’d have to turn it off in a few minutes when the others started arriving. Elyse would be the next, opening the door at any moment, getting ready for her part of tonight.
Tonight might have been about my paintings and Kim’s sculptures, but we had another surprise for our guests beyond just the exclusive pieces we’d be unveiling. Elyse had finally sold her ice cream shoppe in Boston and was jumping into her dream in San Francisco. Her homemade ice cream was being paired with our art tonight, alighting more senses than just the eyes.
Kim tugged loose of my arm and stopped in front of the sculpture I’d placed with Life. It was one she’d done when she’d first found out about her mother’s cancer diagnosis before she was serious with Jackson. It was her private piece and it had taken me until two days ago to convince her to put it in this show.
We’d used it as the centerpiece at her mother’s remission party, and since then it had stood in the foyer of their house as a reminder of all the good that had happened to her since.
That seemed lifetimes ago.
I moved behind her and wrapped my arms around her waist and hugged her. “We made it.”
She squeezed my arms. “We did. God, Vi, there were so many days that I didn’t think we would.”
“Survivors. All of us.”
She nodded and I felt the drip of a tear on my arm. She sniffed and flipped her hair. “Survivors. And here we are,” she said brightly—a little too brightly.
I let it go without comment, not wanting either of us to devolve into blubbering messes so quickly. We had the whole night ahead of us. Our deep breaths matched and we smiled. “Ready?”
She smiled and the tears vanished. “Ready.”
Jackson came through the door, Trent and Elyse behind him. We spent the next thirty minutes pairing Elyse’s custom ice cream with the art, enhancing the senses and making each exhibit a 4-D experience.
I couldn’t wait.
50
Violet
The night exceeded my wildest dreams.
I moved through the crowd again, smiling and engaging patrons as they wandered the gallery. Elyse’s tasting experience blew everyone away. I was so proud of her, and of Kim.
We’d brought our best tonight and it paid off.
Madrid showed up halfway through, and though she didn’t say more than a few words or let a single emotion slip past her mask, I could tell she was more than impressed.
Kim had already sold two pieces, and last I’d checked, I had a couple picking out the third for me.
Three pieces.
I couldn’t believe it.
I’d moved a few before tonight, but they’d been private showings. Nothing like tonight, nor at these prices.
I was on cloud nine.
Trent appeared at my side and I beamed up at him. “I’m so glad you encouraged Elyse.”
He snorted and hugged me to his side. “Encouraged, hell. Good thing you sent my ass halfway across the country to bring her back.”
I bumped my hip against his and twisted the giant silver ring on my index finger while I watched the crowd mingle and discuss my art. “Thanks for everything,” I said quietly so only he could hear. I didn’t look at him, too scared to let the emotion rise to the surface. It had been the two of us for so long and we’d worked our asses off to survive.
Now we were thriving—more than, so much more than.
His arm tightened and he swallowed. If we weren’t careful, the two of us would be blubbering messes while we were trying to hold it together. “You deserve it,” he said, just as quietly.
“So do you.”
We stood there for a few more minutes and watched two more sales, one for me, one for Kim. Elyse had scored a dozen catering requests and three of my artist friends had already asked her to come do their shows. After watching Madrid taste the Burgundy sorbet Elyse had paired with Life, I had a feeling Madrid was going to demand this for every show we did from now on. If she was smart, anyway.