The Lonely Artist

by Autumn Skye

  “Why don’t they like you?”

  “Because I had the nerve to put my business on the back burner long enough to enjoy a bit of my life. If misery loves company, it stands to reason that no one likes a happy person.”

  “I have to be miserable to be successful?”

  “Pretty much. Someday, you might have to decide if it's worth it. We all do.”

  “Was your father miserable?”

  “Some people find their happiness in their misery. He was a slave to his passion and that suited him. Understand?”

  “Not really.”

  “Perhaps you’ll be one of the lucky ones who never really gets it. That would make you more like me.”

  “But, you do get it. That’s why you hired me. Aren’t you a slave to your passion, too?”

  “No, Katrina, I’m a slave to my father’s memory. In some ways, that makes me the unluckiest of them all. You can’t walk away from that so easily. I've tried. Yet, here I am. I haven't give up, though. I do intend to have a life of my own someday, maybe soon, but for now, I have a business to run.”

  “I’m afraid none of this advice helps me, Corrine. If I could fit in so easily, I wouldn’t have spent most of my high school years being teased over being socially awkward.”

  “Get over it and try to keep up. You don’t have your father’s name to guarantee your acceptance, but you have my name. Use it for all it’s worth.” she said as the car stopped in front of what the largest house on the block.

  “What is the host’s name?”

  “You should have asked that question earlier, don’t you think? Then you could have done a quick search online and taken a look at his profile. You might have even researched some of his personal interests so you could strike up a conversation more easily.”

  Damn, why hadn’t I thought of any of that? If I’d come here to dazzle anyone with my business savvy, I wasn’t off to a brilliant start.

  “You’ll learn. In the meantime, don’t worry. I won’t let you drown,” she said.

  We got out of the limo and headed up the walkway, side by side. At the door, Corrine rang the bell once, then a second time impatiently. A tall man answered and greeted her with a smile.

  “Corrine, I’m glad you’re here. Now the party can really get started,” he said, ushering us inside.

  “Hello, Ryan, it’s always good to see you. Let me introduce my new curator, Katrina Wells. She’ll be taking a look at that vase of yours first thing tomorrow morning. It had better be everything you say it is. Katrina has a sharp eye,” she said.

  I hadn't expected her to play me up. She, as of yet, had no idea how sharp my eye was.“It’s nice to meet you, Mr.-?”

  “Derringer is my last name, but you can call me Ryan,” he said, shaking my outstretched hand.

  “I’m looking forward to working with you,” I said. I recognized the name. I'd run across it more than a few times while reviewing the records logged in the archives department. He was a big player and had supplied the gallery with many of his finds.

  “If you have any questions about the vase, just let me know. I’m sure it will pass your scrutiny, but tonight isn’t about business. It’s a party. Mingle. Have fun and don’t let this battle axe ruin your good time,” he said, placing a friendly hand on Corrine’s shoulder.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Ryan. You know that no one loves a good party more than I do,” she said, pushing past him.

  She pulled me further into the room and whispered in my ear. “He’s handsome, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, he is,” I agreed.

  “He's my father's oldest friend. He’s also my godfather, twice our age, and gay, in case you were getting any ideas.”

  “No, he isn’t my type,” I said.

  “And what is your type, Katrina?” She stared hard at me am and I had a strong notion she already knew the answer, maybe better than I did. She was my type and we both knew it, but being my boss, she was also off limits. Besides, she was probably used to being every one's type.

  “I’m not sure. I haven’t been dating much lately.” It was half true.

  “That’s a shame. Maybe you’ll connect with someone here, huh?”

  “That’s not why we came. We’re here to network,” I reminded her.

  “You know that old saying that you should never mix business with pleasure?”

  “Yes.”

  She waved a dismissive hand. “It’s bullshit. People in our business never really stop working. We’re always on the lookout for our next buy, or our next sale. If we didn’t blend our personal life into our work life, we wouldn’t have any fun at all. With that in mind, let’s go find the bar.”

  She led me through a crowd of people gathered into various groups. I heard tidbits of small talk as we navigated over to the bar where an array of the finest liquors were displayed. She poured two glasses of dark red wine and handed me one.

  “What do you say? Live a little?”

  I took the glass and sipped from it, glancing around the room. “Whose that?” I directed my forefinger to an older blond woman in a red dress that flowed to the floor. She had a regal posture that made her stand out.

  “Don't point, Katrina. It's rude. You really are new to this, aren't you?”

  “Sorry.”

  “To answer your question, that's Amanda Huffington. She's a benefactor to most of the public galleries in the state. She usually attends all of Ryan's parties.”

  “I thought she looked familiar. I guess I saw her picture in the arts and entertainment section of the paper.”

  “Honestly, all of these people's names and faces are probably familiar to you if you try hard enough to place them. They're all contributors to the arts in one way or another. You should go introduce yourself to some of them.”

  “I should just walk up to them and start talking? That seems awkward.”

  “They saw you walk in with me. They're probably as curious about you as you are about them. They love gossip and I'm usually at the center of it. They'll let you hang around on the hopes that you'll let some juicy detail of my personal life slip.”

  “Doesn't it bother you, being the subject of gossip wherever you go?”

  “No, I don't fret over things I can't change. My father always said he'd rather deal with a thief than a liar. You can catch a thief, but you can't make a liar shut up. Anyway, you don't know any details of my personal life, do I have nothing to worry about, do I?”

  “That makes sense.”

  “Go on, Katrina, mingle.”

  “I need to use the bathroom first.”

  “I know where it is. I’ll show you,” she said.

  I followed her down the hall to the last door on the left. It was occupied, and two more people were waiting outside it, so we got in line.

  Through the other side of the door two female voices could be heard chatting. Unfortunately, it was easy to make out what they were saying.

  “I’d have never shown tonight if I were Corrine. She must be so embarrassed. Three million dollars out the window. It’s all over the papers.”

  “What’s three million to Corrine McDowan? She farts money.”

  “Poor old man McDowan is rolling over in his grave. Remember how he always bragged about how brilliant his daughter was? The gallery is his legacy and she’s turned it into the joke of the year.”

  “Corrine should stick to what she’s good at, shopping and scandals. This is worse than the time she got caught fucking one of her biggest client’s wife. What was that guy’ name? He’s heavily invested in oil, I think. One of the tycoons from Houston.”

  “Maverick Atkins. Actually, he’s a real estate developer and it was his ex-wife, Sharise After the divorce, she hired Corrine to put together a collection for a private home gallery and the two of them hit it off a little too well.”

  “It was tasteless, all the same. If Corrine wants to be taken seriously, she’ll have to get her ass in gear. I wonder who that young woman she brought with her toni
ght is. Another plaything, perhaps?”

  “Ryan said she’s the gallery’s new curator.”

  “Oh, I’m sure she was hired for her skills.”

  “She can’t do worse than what Corrine had before her. If you think this cluster fuck hurt her, imagine what it did to Greyson's career. It's over for him. At least Corrine can hide behind her daddy's name.”

  I wondered how long we were going to stand there and listen. The other two people ahead of us in line were avoiding eye contact with us, appearing as uncomfortable as I felt. Not Corrine, though. She didn’t seem rattled in the least. I knew from the way she lectured me on my networking skills that it had to bother her somewhat to have her reputation take such a hit, but she had a rock-solid poker face. I had to give her that.

  The door opened and the overly talkative women froze when they stepped out into the hallway and realized they’d come face to face with the target of their gossip.

  “Ladies, how are we this evening?” Corrine raised an eyebrow.

  “Oh, Corrine, we-

  “Don’t waste an explanation on me. I don’t care,” she told them in a voice incredibly even, considering she was surely fuming on the inside.

  I breathed a sigh of relief when they scurried away. I hadn't come here for a confrontation. Still, part of me wished she'd have told them off. They deserved it. I had to admire her restraint. Perhaps it was better to treat them as if they were too far beneath her to bother with, since neither of them appeared to have appreciated being dismissed as so insignificant.

  Once I’d taken my turn in the bathroom Corrine suggested. “Why don’t we step outside? It’s too crowded in here.”

  We'd come to network, so her desire to escape told me the scene had taken some toll on her. She was just too poised to let it show. Keeping our composure, we took our drinks out to the patio.

  “Ryan won’t mind us being out here?”

  “No, he won’t likely notice. He has a house full of guests to keep track of,” she said.

  “I’m sorry about those two women, the way they talked about you. They’re awful.”

  “Jessica and Kristen? They’re bitches. They both married their money. They have no idea what it means to run a business, although they could probably make a go of it if they wanted to start a gossip tabloid.”

  “What they said about me, was that true at all?”

  “You mean that I didn’t hire you for your job skills?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does it matter why I hired you?”

  “Corrine, of course it does.”

  “Why? You wanted the job and you have it,” she stated in a matter of fact tone.

  “My resume sucked, and I remember what you said about being perfectly willing to mix business with pleasure.”

  “Are you asking me if I’m attracted to you?”

  “Yeah, I guess I am.”

  “Katrina, I hired you because I’m in a pinch. I need a curator and I believe you’ll be a good one once you find your stride.”

  “Oh.”

  “Of course, none of that speaks to whether or not I find you attractive, because that’s another story altogether. One isn’t necessarily related to the other. See?”

  “In that case, do you find me attractive?”

  She turned to face me. “The street runs two ways, Katrina. Admit it, I’m charming. Or don’t admit it. I won’t fire you, either way. That's not how I run my ship. I give you my word. I won't throw you overboard. Answer the question and don't worry about what you think I'm hoping to hear.”

  I wouldn’t have chosen the word charming to describe her. Mesmerizing was more like it. Enchanting most definitely, along with wild and unpredictable. Beautiful, for sure. And okay, maybe that all added up to charming. I could probably add irresistible to the list, since I seemed unable to honestly care why she’d hired me in the first place. I just knew that I wanted to spend more time with her, even if landed my name into the gossip columns. At that very moment I was feeling an odd envy for the woman named Sharise, the woman who'd had such a heated affair with Corrine that people were still talking about it.

  She leaned in closer to me. “Are you going to answer my question?”

  The smell of her rose scented perfume was heavenly and our lips were so close it seemed pointless to resist the urge. Against all of my better judgment, I opened Pandora's box and let a kiss be my answer, pressing my lips to hers and parting them so her tongue could slip past them. It was a long kiss that neither of us seemed willing to break, until she finally did, pulling away from me. She looked as surprised as I was that I'd done it.

  “Want to get out of here?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I replied in a trembling voice, not even trying to hide my excitement.

  As we went back inside and made our way out the front door I didn’t bother asking myself if one night with this woman was worth putting my career on the line by risking an affair with the hand that fed me. I just knew that it was. The truth was, I didn't now, nor had I ever really felt that I was a good fit for the job. I took a gamble that one night with the exquisite Corrine McDowan would bring me more happiness than any office job. How was I to have known I'd get so much more than what I'd bargained for?

  Chapter Six

  Katrina

  We climbed back into the limo and Corrine instructed the driver, “Take us home, please.”

  “We’re going to your house?” I asked.

  “Unless you object. I could have you dropped off at your place, if you like, but I was under the impression you’d like to spend the evening with me.”

  “Yes, I’d like to,” I assured her.

  “You’re absolutely sure about that?”

  “Yes, I am,” I said after a moment’s hesitation, letting go of the chance to back out.

  “You don’t sound sure.”

  “Corrine, I’m very sure.”

  “Good, I’m glad.”

  “We didn't get much mingling done, did we?” I asked.

  “There will be other opportunities. We made an appearance, the first I've made in Texas in a long time. They know I'm back. That's enough for now.”

  “Won't your friend be disappointed that we left so soon?”

  “Ryan? He's grateful I'm on the continent. I'm not concerned about him. I want to give you my undivided attention, if that's all right with you.”

  She put a hand over mine and our fingers clasped together. Even a small light touch from her was enough to make me shiver. All I could do was hope she didn’t notice the effect she had on me. I couldn’t have hidden it if I’d tried. Part of me wondered what the hell I was doing, starting something I might not be able to finish with my boss. It was something that, in fact, could very well finish me, but it was too late to turn back. If I asked her to take me home, I'd spend all of my evening wishing I’d spent the night with her and musing over where it might have led. Then, there was also the strong pull she had on me. I didn’t want to go home and lie in a cold bed. I wanted to be with her, whatever consequences that brought either of us.

  It turned out that the ride to Corrine’s wasn’t that far. She lived on the outskirts of Plano in an estate partially hidden behind shrubbery, the street view limited to the second story. It was only when we passed the gates, guarded by two armed men, and drove up the cobblestone paved driveway that I took in the whole picture of the huge manor she called home.

  “It’s a beautiful house,” I said as I climbed out of the car.

  “Inherited along with everything else I have to my name, but my father loved it. He bought it for my mother and never had the heart to sell it once I'd grown up and moved out. It’s the family manor now. It wouldn’t be proper for me to sell it. I have too many memories, here.”

  “It almost sounds like you feel trapped.” The words were out of my mouth before I realized,

  “No, not at all. I’m proud of my heritage. It’s just that nights like these make me wonder if my father would be proud of me. I do have an ob
ligation not to run his name into the ground. So far, I haven't been doing what you'd call a bang up job.” She paused and laughed. “When I say it out loud it does sound as if I'm trapped in the life my father created, doesn't it? I have big shoes to fill.”

  So, the cruel things the gossiping women had said at the party had cut her more deeply than she’d let on. I couldn’t blame her. They hadn’t held back any punches. She wouldn’t have been human if they hadn’t gotten under her skin at least a little bit. In some way, it was good to know that hard, don’t give a damn façade could be pierced. There was a human being under that protective shell, one not nearly as shallow as she'd originally appeared the day I'd spent so long staring at the pictures of her online. I thought the women at the party were very wrong. There was a lot more to Corrine McDowan than shopping and juicy scandals.

  She let me inside and waved her hand towards the living area. “Have a seat. I’ll pour us another drink. How about a whiskey sour?”

  “That’d be fine,” I said, though I intended to sip it slowly and not let the alcohol go to my head. In the hundred and one ways I could fathom incompetently falling on my face and humiliating myself in front of my new boss, drunken belligerence wasn't going to be one of them.

  As I sat on the sofa I took a minute to let it sink in that I was inside the McDowan’s family home. The private art gallery in this house was rumored to be filled with ancient treasures from all over the world, coveted exhibits never publicly viewed. After her father’s death, many journalists had pleaded for a chance to do an expose on the estate, all clamoring to be the first to unveil the collection and stake a claim to the story of the decade, but she’d always refused. It made sense that the men who guarded the entrance gate were armed and that there were security cameras at every angle. Corrine was forced live in a fortress, which was not something to be envied, in my opinion.

  She set our drinks on the coffee table and lowered herself onto the sofa beside me.

  “Are you positive you’re all right? Those girls didn’t upset you at the party?”