by Vera Roberts
Sydney blinked the memory out of her head and crossed her legs, reminding her of the soreness from the morning. The makeup sex was amazing but the issue remained – was it possible Dean didn’t want her to pursue her art full-time?
No, it couldn’t be that. Dean actually had more to lose than Sydney did. She spent his money, not hers, though Dean told her the money was theirs. Sydney would believe it if it wasn’t for the fact she lived in Dean’s home. “I don’t know if he’s mad at him but he definitely isn’t a big fan of his.”
“Well, he’s going have to suck it up. I know Ian’s family owns the Kings and Dean definitely doesn’t want to piss him off.”
Sydney could only imagine the implications of a strenuous relationship between Dean and the Ferguson family if things went sour. They wouldn’t risk harming him because they ultimately wanted a title (read: more money from attendees) from him. Long money had a way to reaching particular corners one didn’t know existed. “I know, right?”
“Besides, it’s just a stressful time for you two and it’s just nothing,” Sarah stifled a giggle as Jameson tickled her with a feather. “Your art is blowing up, Dean is about to go into the playoffs, and you two are getting married soon. Just relax and enjoy each other!”
“That we will,” Sydney had an incoming call and saw it was Ian. “Hey, I need to go, Ian’s on the other line. Let me know when you’re coming back to L.A.”
“I sure will! Have fun!” Sarah hung up.
Sydney switched over to Ian. “Hello?”
“Meet me at The Sentiment restaurant in about an hour,” Ian’s rich baritone vibrated in the phone, “I need to go over some things and it would be easier if we did it with food around. I’ll also have my father and brother with me so you can meet them. They’re very anxious to meet you.”
Sydney swallowed. It was one thing if it was just a friendly getting-to-know-you lunch with Ian. With his father and brother there, it was business. Serious business. “Okay. I’ll be there.”
It was time for Sydney to push out all worries and put her game face on. It was one thing to impress Ian, but it was a different ballpark meeting with the other members of the Ferguson family.
If they didn’t like her, her opportunity was gone.
****
“I saw her work the other day,” Anthony Ferguson began, “I have to say, Ian, I’m quite impressed. I thought it was a daunting task trying to find the perfect artist but she’s brilliant.”
“Yeah, she’s incredible,” Ian replied, “she has this innocence about her, though her artwork is decisively more mature and sexual, even.”
“She better be worth the time and effort,” Gerald scoffed, “I don’t have time to entertain street artists.”
“Okay, why are you here?” Ian cut to the chase. There was always a bit of a power struggle between the brothers and it was never a question who had the upper hand. “If you didn’t want to come and meet Sydney, you could’ve stayed your ass home.”
“I wanted to meet her and relish in your disappointment, big brother,” Gerald smirked. “Besides, I’ve done my own research on Miss Sydney. It’s clear you have a secondary interest in her art. The first interest is getting in between her legs.”
“Even if that were the case, I’m wise enough to separate business and personal,” Ian swiftly responded, “don’t be jealous my dick receives more action on a weekly basis while you’re lucky if your wife remembers you have one.”
“Enough.” Anthony’s deep baritone quieted the squabbling siblings. “Gerald, you made your point. We need to trust Ian with his selection. This is only the first artist we are meeting and surely won’t be the last. If things do not work out with Ms. Walker, I’m sure Ian will find another artist that is suitable for the gallery.”
“Thank you, father.” Ian smiled.
“His employment depends on it,” Anthony casted a sharp glance at his son, “I wasn’t joking when I said you would be cut off this idea of yours fails.”
Ian breathed out a short breath. The Ferguson dynasty was worth a few billion dollars and his yearly allowance supported his extravagant lifestyle. Though he was financially afloat on his own, the Ferguson name made him get into doors that wouldn’t be open to anyone else. “It won’t fail.” He looked up and saw Sydney entering the restaurant. He hoped she would impress his family just as much as she impressed him. “And here she is now.”
****
The Sentiment restaurant was everything Sydney thought it would be – rich, extravagant, and definitely out of her league.
As she pulled up to the restaurant in Dean’s SUV, she was greeted by a valet, who promptly took the truck away and parked it before Sydney was able to tell him, ‘Hello.’ Another man opened up the door for her and Sydney walked on polished hardwood floors, feeling uncomfortable and completely undressed. She chose a black pencil skirt and simple blouse, paired off with worn heels from her Macy’s days. She wore her hair in two long cornrow braids and kept her face fresh and clean.
She immediately felt like she didn’t belong and the maître ‘d’s face proved so. He looked at Sydney as if she were the trash he forgot to take out that morning. “I’m here to see Ian Ferguson.”
The maître ‘d’s face immediately changed and a plastic smile plastered across his face. “Right this way, Miss.” He led her to the back of the restaurant where Ian and his family immediately stood up upon Sydney’s arrival.
“Sydney,” Ian kissed both of her cheeks, “thank you for joining us. Sydney, this is my father, Anthony, and brother, Gerald. They are the Chair and Vice-Chair, respectively. They were anxious to meet you upon your massive success at last night’s show.”
“Oh, thank you.” Sydney shook the men’s’ hands, “it’s a pleasure to meet you both.”
“Come, sit down.” Anthony gestured to the seat as Sydney sat next to Ian. “So, tell us about yourself.”
“Um…” Sydney hated the getting to you know chit-chat. She always felt it was a surreal experience and she could never be her true, authentic self. Instead, her representative played the role of Friendly Sydney. “I love to draw. I’m learning how ice skate. I like anime. My favorite musician is Prince.”
Ian’s eyes lit up as Sydney mentioned Prince. “Oh really? What’s your favorite song of his?”
“I have so many but one comes to mind.” Sydney smiled. “Oh, it’s something not a lot of people know,” she shook her head.
“Oh?” Ian inquired. “Do tell.”
“Girls & Boys,” Sydney shrugged, “again, it’s not a song a lot of people know.”
“Under the Cherry Moon,” Ian replied, “one of my personal favorites.”
“Yes!” Sydney beamed. “It’s my go-to guilty pleasure.”
“How many times did you see him in concert?” Ian asked.
“Oh, no less than 25.” Sydney proudly nodded. “My parents loved him so they always took me and my brothers to see him. I’m a die-hard.”
A woman after my own heart. It seemed they were compatible in more ways than what was on the surface. “Exquisite.” Ian smiled.
Over lunch, the Ferguson family spoke with Sydney about her art, future plans for her exhibit, and supporting her growth as an artist. Once Gerald and Anthony left to go back to the museum, it left Sydney alone with Ian.
“I have to say, your family knows their stuff!” Sydney took a sip of water. “I didn’t know your father hung out with such amazing artists back then!”
“He was a bit of a wild child. He tried to go into art himself but he was never any good at it. He was great, however, finding the right artist. He has a degree in marketing and is just incredibly intelligent.” Ian shook his head. “Probably the smartest man I know.”
“You seem very close to your father,” Sydney softly smiled. “My fiancée had a similar relationship with his dad. I never met him but he still speaks fondly of him like he’s still alive.”
“Great men become great fathers,” Ian shrugged. “I hope
one day that’ll be me.” He turned to her.
Sydney immediately felt uncomfortable. It was a simple declaration of Ian’s future but the way he gazed at her, it was clear he meant something else.
He meant her.
Six
There was a reason why he was called The Lunatic.
Dean was nice and personable off the ice, often volunteering his free time to numerous charities and hosting a hockey camp every summer for kids in Inglewood. He was a regular at the Children’s Hospital of Orange County, sometimes dressing up in cartoon characters and reading to the patients.
On the ice, however, was a much different story. Dean wasn’t above fighting and had participated in more than his fair share of brawls on the court. His trash talk was legendary, seeping into the minds of his unsuspecting opponents and causing them to lose focus as he drove past them. He was quick on his feet and even more dangerous with the stick.
As Two-Tone passed the puck to him, Dean swiped his stick, sweeping the puck into the net. The goalie never saw it coming. The TV sportscasters had to replay the shot a few times and pause, slow it down, and analyze the quick play, all the while praising the Kings’ efforts.
After a brief interview in the locker room, followed by a quick shower, Dean finally relaxed. He briefly answered questions and kept the answers brief. All he wanted was to go home to his fiancée.
They had one of the most awful fights in memory, even going as far as sleeping in separate bedrooms. While the makeup sex was off the charts, the issues still lingered.
Was his jealousy to blame? Dean didn’t consider himself to be a jealous man but Sydney brought out the worst emotions within him.
Envy. Possessiveness. Rage.
He’d never felt that way about any woman, not even Rebecca. But Sydney…she was his everything. She was his sunshine on a cloudy day. She was his Christmas morning. She made him feel again and her arrival in his life after his father’s death couldn’t have been more perfect timing.
She was imperfectly perfect. She laughed at her own jokes and wasn’t afraid to show emotion. She told him in explicit detail what her favorite Beyoncé song was and Dean pretended he cared. But seeing how excitable she became dissecting the Beyoncé album and how it inspired her art, made him closer to her in a way, like if he was let in on a secret of her soul. Whenever Dean had a bad game, she supported and encouraged him, letting him know it was just one game and not the end all.
And he was deathly afraid of losing her.
Ian represented everything Dean wasn’t. He was cultured, from a different class, and could understand Sydney in a way Dean couldn’t. It was clear they made a connection on the first night and it would be the start of a long-lasting relationship. Sydney would spend many hours and days working closely with Ian. Dean wouldn’t have minded that if Ian hadn’t made a not-so subtle threat.
“Do me a favor. Don’t ruin this for her.”
Dean felt his jaw clench so hard, he thought he was about to break teeth. Instead, he quickly released his stance and blew out a small breath. He’d deal with Ian another time. He was more focused on the Kings’ home games before they took off for another extended road trip. He needed all of his focus to ensure their positioning for the playoffs.
He know what he needed – beer and a good jukebox.
****
He loved the name of the bar the moment he saw it the first time – The Five Star Dive Bar. The oxymoron wasn’t lost on him and he’d been a regular ever since.
As Dean took a seat at the corner booth he’d regularly frequented, he placed a text to Sydney. She didn’t reply back and he suddenly remembered she was going to meet with Ian. He blew another small breath and grinned as he pushed the jealous feelings out. He’d never been jealous of anyone in his life. Whatever he wanted, he received. If he didn’t have it, he worked hard to get it. He had a life and background many considered to be lucky.
There was some truth to the saying – love did bring out the craziest of emotions. Or just the crazy.
No. He was not going to let his jealousy get the best of them. He was not going to let his jealousy get the best of him. Not now when the Kings were on the verge of winning the Stanley. Not when he was in the middle of planning the biggest day of his life.
And most importantly, not ever. It was no coincidence A Tribe Called Quest’s “Find A Way” played in the background. “Should I just sit out or come harder?” Dean whispered the lyrics to no one in particular. “That’s the real question.”
“Well, well, well…look who’s here?”
Dean looked up and smiled. “Hello stranger.”
Rebecca McDonald slid into the booth across from Dean. Wearing tight blue jeans, a black sweater, and expensive Dior boots, she was always overdressed for the dive or any occasion, really. It was a quality Dean found particularly fascinating and not for a good reason. “May I join you?”
“Since you’re already seated, it would be silly for me to kick you out,” he replied.
“I caught that shade,” her red-painted lips flashed a smile, “how are you?”
Jealous. Angry. Maybe a tad bitter. “I’m good,” Dean lied, “how are you?”
“I’m doing well,” she leaned forward and rested her neck on a palm, “I’ve been thinking about you.”
“I bet,” he chuckled.
“I wanted to formally apologize. It was wrong of me to lie. I guess I was desperate to keep you and well, I lost my marbles.” She woefully admitted. “Not my brightest moment and I’m known all over the web for something other than my accomplishments.”
Dean raised an eyebrow. He wanted to ask what accomplishments Rebecca had other than a popular reality show but he kept silent. “Why now?”
“What?”
“Why are you apologizing now?” He repeated. “The scandal was a couple months ago. If you wanted to apologize, you should’ve done it then.”
She gave a wry smile. “I didn’t want to cause more attention to it. Besides, I wanted to wait for everything to calm down before I was able to talk to you in person.”
“That’s nice but I’m not the one you should be apologizing to,” Dean took a swig of beer, “it’s Sydney.”
Rebecca tightened her lips. Ah, yes, Sydney. Five, almost six months later, and she was still firmly in the picture. She followed the ongoings of Ms. Walker enough to know she had a very successful art show and seemingly the entire Internet was in love with her. Any gossip or tea on Sydney was few and far in-between. She was described as being nice, sweet, with a touch of shyness. Any rumors of bad girl behavior was promptly dismissed by newfound stans. She was as boring online as she was offline.
Somehow, Dean was head over heels in love with her. Rebecca didn’t know what sickened her the most – Dean falling for Plain Jane or the fact she wasted her time with him. At least she got a reality show out of the whole ordeal. “Send my apologies,” She blankly stated.
“What can I help you with, Becca?” He asked as he casually glanced towards the front patio, looking for signs of paparazzi. “I know this chance meeting isn’t one.”
“I’m becoming a reporter,” she admitted, “I’m using my journalism degree for once.”
“Okay,” Dean slowly nodded, “so, you want a story?”
“No, not that. I’m not that naïve to think you’ll give me one after everything. I wanted to tell you this because there might be chance you’ll see a whole lot more of me. I’ll be fair, though. I’m not going to sing your praises when you obviously sucked.” She bit and Dean raised an eyebrow. “But I won’t railroad you, neither. I’ll only report what is relevant.”
Dean grinned. He knew Rebecca long enough to know there were underlying reasons for her 180 degree spin. It was only a matter of time before she told on herself. “That’s great.”
****
Her passion was driving her nuts.
She worked outside on the balcony to enjoy the fresh ocean air and bright L.A. sun. She also needed to work on her t
an as a side bonus.
Stripped down into a tiny bikini, Sydney sat back on her heels as she examined her drawing of Bree Newsome. The emotion from the picture came out perfectly – a defiant and determined Bree climbing on top of the pole to remove the Confederate flag while a thought cloud appeared above her head. Not in my country, it read.
She painted Bree wearing colors of the American flag while the onlookers who watched her represented different parts of history – slavery, the Harlem Renaissance, the Civil Rights Movement, and Black Lives Matter.
The title of the painting was simple – Hate, Not Heritage.
It was a powerful, risky, and controversial. It was, what Ian had coined during their lunch, “the thing that makes people go into shock and awe.” Sydney wiped her sweaty brow as she examined it one more time. She shook her head in defeat. There was no way the Ferguson gallery was going to accept it.
She needed to be more clear – there was no way in hell they were going to accept it.
Taking a sip of ice-cold water, Sydney got up and walked back inside the house. It was clear Ian and his family had high expectations of her. They were taking a huge risk bringing Sydney on and her success depended on many factors – if she could bring a more diverse audience to the gallery, if she could sell any drawings, and most importantly, if she could be consistent.
While the Fergusons were concerned about the bottom line, Sydney was concerned about something else – if she could really live up to her own hype.
As the cool liquid trickled down her throat, Sydney stretched her arms over her head. She needed to have less worry about her career and more faith in God and the universe. Whatever will be, will be.
Her cell phone suddenly went off and she rushed over to see who called her. It was Ian. “Hello?”
“Ms. Sydney,” his deep, British accent came through, “I want us to meet for lunch so we can go over your plans for the gallery.”
Sydney was confused. Was the other lunch just for shits and giggles? “We didn’t just talk about that?”
“We talked about generics with my father and brother. I need to get inside your head and find out what makes you tick,” Ian’s voice was authoritative, “and what better way to do that over lunch.”