by Lilli Feisty
That stopped her cold. “A-a poor woman? But how can she afford you?”
“Pro bono. We’re not all a bunch of selfish assholes, you know.”
Her stomach churned, unsettled. “What about that blond woman? The one sitting next to you that day?”
“You mean Bitsy?”
“Bitsy?” Seriously?
“She was on the case, too.”
“Is she your girlfriend?”
Now it was his turn to look uncomfortable. “Um, not anymore.”
“But she was.”
“Yes.”
A bitter laugh escaped her throat. “Bitsy and Beaumont. How perfect.”
“I’m not seeing her anymore.”
“But she wants to.”
“Maybe. I don’t care about her, Erica.”
“Okay, I need you to leave now.”
He stared at her, and she could tell he was fighting back anger.
But she couldn’t think, didn’t know what to think. Everything was so much easier when he fit into the box she’d created for him.
But now he’d blown that box into shreds, and she didn’t know how to put it back together.
“Please, Blaine. Just go.”
He continued to hold her gaze before finally stepping back. “Fine. But I mean what I said before.”
“What?” she asked, her voice shaky. Her head was spinning; nothing made sense.
He went to the door and opened it. Then, with one last look, he said, “I won’t wait forever.” And then he shut the door quietly behind him.
She stared sightlessly, fighting the urge to run after him. Because she wanted to. She wanted to so badly it scared the daylights out of her. So instead, she went to the kitchen and pounded away at the spices. And as she worked, she couldn’t help but feel like it was her own heart she was grinding into tiny specks of powder.
Chapter Thirty
One week later and Joy still hadn’t heard from Ash. He’d delivered all the art on Sunday. He knew she didn’t work Sundays, so he must have purposely come on that day so he wouldn’t have to see her.
She got the hint.
Her heart had ached all week, and she felt as if her throat was constantly on the verge of closing up. But she’d done what she’d done, and now she had to live with the consequences. It was her recklessness that had gotten her into this mess, and she vowed to be more careful in the future. She was thirty now. No more bad choices, no more chaos. She’d learned her lesson: It was time to start thinking before she acted.
Andrew hung the last of Ash’s photographs on the wall, and Joy stood back to admire the newly transformed space. If she looked at all the images objectively, she had to admit the images he’d taken of her were very nice. The way he used light and shadow to emphasize the dip of her waist or the curve of her breast was breathtaking. And the best part was, he’d obscured her face in just such a way that it was nearly impossible to identify Joy as the model the images featured.
There were others, too. She’d arranged a mix of pieces featuring different models, the uniting element being the theme of bondage. His marble sculptures were perched on pedestals around the gallery, with the one large piece taking center stage in the space. Despite her sadness over losing Ash, she had to give herself some credit. She’d curated a damn good show.
In the bathroom, she changed into the outfit she’d bought just for tonight. A simple black sheath dress with a high collar and a hem that fell just below the knee. She wore black mules with just the tiniest kitten heel, and she’d pulled her hair into what she hoped resembled a French twist. Now she applied the makeup she’d purchased just for tonight. On Wednesday, she’d hit the MAC counter and had a makeover. A professional look—that’s what she’d asked the makeup artist to create for her, and he’d done a perfect job. Now she applied the bronze eye shadow, brown eyeliner, and peach blush just as he’d instructed her. Stepping back, she looked in the mirror, her reflection gazing back at her.
She looked good. Put together, sophisticated, professional. She looked ready to sell art. Ash’s art.
Her heart cracked, but she ignored it. Deep breath. In, out. She was a proficient art dealer, and this was the most important event of her professional career so far. She hardly ever allowed herself to think of her parents, but she couldn’t help but wish they were here tonight. After all, this was one of her greatest professional achievements, and it would be nice if they could have been here to share it with her. Would they be proud? She believed they would—she had to believe they would.
When she looked in the mirror, she saw her mother’s hazel eyes. Joy’s chest tightened. It was so hard. When she’d first heard about her parents, that they’d died in a plane crash in Spain, Joy had been devastated. She remembered dropping to her knees, because her legs couldn’t hold her up any longer. She remembered lying in bed, curled up on her side, sobbing uncontrollably as her heart was ripped in two.
The worst thing a person could ever experience was losing a child. That’s what her grandmother had told her. That’s what, at sixteen years of age, Joy had believed. Guilt ate at her because she was so sad. She missed her parents, but didn’t her grandmother have it so much worse? Her mother was Grandmother’s only child. And then she was gone. At least Joy still had her brothers. Even if her brothers were too preoccupied in their own lives to pay Joy any attention, they were family, and Joy held family above all else.
With a sigh, she turned and picked up her brand-new Chanel purse. It was a quarter the size of her other purse, but it was Joy’s birthday present to herself. It was time to give up her old oversized, overpacked, disorganized purse and move on. Women in their thirties, women who wanted to present themselves as polished, sophisticated organized adults, did not carry suitcases full of crap everywhere they went.
She glanced at her new Rolex: 5:45. She already knew Ruby was in the gallery overseeing the caterer, and Andrew was welcoming guests. Several of the pieces already had little red stickers on the frames, indicating that they’d been sold. The night was going to go fine. Smooth as silk.
If only her palms would dry up. If only her pulse would slow down.
Ash.
She was going to see him tonight. She was going to smile and act professionally and sell his work. She was going to do her job, because when it came down to it, this was what she loved. To be in the trenches. The art world was cutthroat, and even as her tummy fluttered with nerves, a buzz of excitement shot through her veins in a thrilling rush. She loved selling art. Real art. Original pieces of beauty. She loved knowing that, through her efforts, something new and amazing was going to hang on the wall of someone’s house, and they were going to experience joy whenever they looked at it.
This was what she lived for.
And even if Ash hated her, she was still going to do her job and do it the best she could. With one last glance in the mirror, she took a deep breath and emerged into the main gallery, ready to do her job.
“Montgomery, you’ve actually pulled this off.”
Joy glanced over at her boss and pretended to sip her champagne. “Thank you, Mr. Panos.”
All night she’d been flitting through the crowded gallery, talking to clients and placing red stickers on Ash’s pieces every time she sold one. By any standards, the show would be considered a success. Nearly every one of his works had been purchased, and several people had already approached her to request information on commissioning their own masterpieces.
Even Prickhead Panos seemed to be happy with her. Everything she’d wanted out of her career was coming to fruition, and yet she couldn’t get rid of the swelling feeling of sadness that floated in her heart like a balloon ready to pop.
Ash hadn’t even looked at her all night.
He’d arrived, and then he’d parked his long, lean form in a corner and waited for guests to approach him. He looked phenomenal, of course. He’d actually shaved tonight, and her heart simply melted at the sight of the sharp lines of his newly exposed clean-shaven
jaw. He seemed to have put some sort of product in his hair that made it glisten under the lights, giving him an unkempt, bad-boy look that had nearly every female in the room swooning.
Mine, Joy wanted to yell. He’s all mine!
But, of course, she bit her lip and kept her mouth shut. Because Ash wasn’t hers; she’d made damn sure of that.
Despite his more than usual grooming, he still wore jeans, a T-shirt, and his steel-toed boots. But tonight, he’d donned a black blazer that emphasized his broad shoulders, and Joy couldn’t help but feel a shot of desire as she remembered exactly what his strong body had felt like under her hands. Over her body. Between her legs.
Goddamn, she’d fucked up.
Just then he looked up and caught her eye. Her heart stopped. His gaze flickered to the marble sparrow she wore at her neck, and for just one second, she thought she saw his expression soften, but then, in a flash, he shut her out; those green eyes went cold as a glacier. She had to look away.
“Joy, you little minx. I never would have thought you had it in you.”
Her skin prickled. She knew that voice, knew that accent. Slowly she turned around.
“William?” she said with shock. “What are you doing here?”
He grinned the grin that had once had her on her back in ten seconds flat. “It’s my gallery, isn’t it?”
“Yes, of course. But I didn’t know you were coming.” She felt her skin go hot and her stomach turn. The last time she’d seen William Cartwright she’d been about to fall asleep next to him in a hotel bed.
“I’ve been e-mailing you.”
“I’ve responded,” she said, sipping her champagne.
“Not to the good parts.”
“Poor you.”
Her sassiness brought out one of those charming smiles of his. Even though she despised him, she had to admit he was handsome. His thick brown hair fell in a wide, charming lock over one of those mesmerizing blue eyes. He had a way of focusing on her as if she were the only person in the room, which was deadly, of course.
Fortunately she was totally immune to that phony charm now. It seemed so fake, so contrived. She couldn’t believe she’d once fallen for it, but that Joy seemed like a whole other person now.
He wore a perfectly fitted suit that reminded her of the Beatles, and his loafers were shiny but not too fancy. He had style.
Her stomach turned just being next to him. Compared to Ash he seemed so sleazy, so untrustworthy….
Kind of how Ash currently thought of her.
“Listen, darling. I need to discuss something with you. Strictly business, of course.” He gave her one of those smiles, and she barely refrained from rolling her eyes.
Joy held her elbow in her hand as she sipped champagne. “Talk.”
“Don’t be too snooty, love. I am your boss, after all.”
Not for long. “William, what can I do for you?”
He plucked her champagne flute out of her hand, drained it, and placed the empty glass on her desk. Then he took her hand and led her into the back storage room.
Once inside, he turned to her. “Looking at all those erotic photographs of you has me positively dying to get in your knickers.”
She took a step back. “William. There is no way that’s going to happen.”
“Are you sure?” He moved forward, and she backed away, until she was pressed against the wall. Then he came close, too close, and put a finger to her lips. “Stop being coy, love. We can play all those games later.”
“I’m not playing any game, William.”
He leaned in until his lips were at her ear. “You know you want it. Remember how I used to make you scream for me?”
Unfortunately she did. And it made her feel sick.
“William. I’m not kidding. Leave me alone.”
He paused, and she felt something in him shift. In an instant, he went from charming Englishman to a man who looked scarily intent on having his way with her. Suddenly the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, the way they’d done that day in the alley when she’d been robbed.
He put a hand on her shoulder and gripped her tight. Too tight.
“William, that hurts.”
“I mean it, Joy. I’m going to have you. Right now. Willingly or not.” He whispered the words coldly into her ear, and a chill went through her.
She reached between his legs and cupped his balls. “Is that so?” she whispered back.
“That’s more like it, love. I knew you were playing games. I knew you couldn’t say no to me.”
“Yes. I can.” She tightened her grip and twisted his testicles until he gasped in pain. He slumped forward.
“Don’t you fucking come near me again,” she whispered back into his ear in her sweetest voice. Then she squeezed his testicles even harder and twisted some more, until he cried out. Funny, the sound was similar to the one he made when he came.
She continued to whisper into his ear, her words like sugar. “Don’t e-mail me. Don’t call me. Don’t touch me.”
“Joy, please…” He groaned.
And that’s when she looked over her shoulder and saw Ash standing there.
Her voice froze in her throat. She watched his gaze assessing the situation, and her blood went cold. Visualizing the scene through his eyes, she knew exactly what it must look like.
She was backed against the wall with a man leaning into her body. She was whispering into his ear, and his balls were in her hand.
But she was immobile. She couldn’t speak or think or breathe. She was helpless as Ash gave her one unreadable look, turned on his heel, and walked away.
“Fuck!” she exclaimed, finally finding her voice as she pushed William off her.
He keeled over, clutching his crotch. “You bloody bitch,” he bit out.
“Fuck you, William. I quit.” And then she walked out the door, leaving him clutching his balls.
Chapter Thirty-one
By the time Joy returned to the reception, Ash had disappeared. She scanned the crowd, but she knew it was useless. Her mind somehow sensed the lack of his presence.
Erica came to her side. “Joy, what’s wrong?”
She quickly told the story to her friend. “And now I don’t know what to do. He already thinks I’m a thief. Now he thinks I was getting it on with my boss.”
She noticed the corners of Erica’s lips were twitching, like she was trying to hold back a laugh.
“What’s so funny?” Joy demanded.
“You fucking crushed Cartwright’s balls. Literally.” She jerked Joy into a tight hug. “I love you so much right now.”
“Yeah, well, he’s going to come out here any minute, and he’s going to be pissed.”
Erica released her. “Yeah, maybe it’s best if you get out of here.”
“Let’s go.” Joy snatched her bag and coat, and, like schoolgirls ditching class, they dashed out the door.
“Wait!” Joy said, halting Erica on the sidewalk. “I can’t just leave Andrew in there to deal with everything.”
“Screw it. Let Cartwright run his own gallery for once. You don’t work there anymore.”
Joy let that sink in. Then, “Yeah. Fuck it. There’s nothing as freeing as walking out on the most important day of your career.” She had to laugh, and heard the hysterical edge to the sound.
Erica grabbed her shoulder and tugged. “Let’s go.”
They scurried to the nearest pub, where they settled into a booth in the back. They ordered, and the waitress brought a beer for Erica and a vodka tonic for Joy.
After they’d had a few sips, Joy looked at her friend. “I don’t know what to do about Ash.”
“Have you tried talking since the sculpture incident?”
“Only about gallery stuff, and even that was a challenge. He obviously doesn’t want anything to do with me.” Joy absently stirred her cocktail with the mini red straw. “And I didn’t even tell you the best part.” She went on to explain about her inheritance and how she’
d specifically been made to wait because she was the only girl in the family.
Erica sat back, her eyes wide. “Wow. That’s fucked up.”
“Pretty much.” Joy poured some of her drink down her throat.
“Still,” Erica said. “Ash went looking for you for a reason.”
“Yeah, and look what he saw me doing.”
“So are you just going to let him go?”
“What else can I do?”
“Fight for him.”
Joy glanced up. “Like you’re fighting for Blaine?”
Erica shifted. “That’s different.”
“How?”
“It just is,” Erica said.
“You pushed him away. Why don’t you pull him back?”
“It’s not that easy. I just can’t wrap my head around the fact that I could fall for…”
“A preppy?”
“That’s the thing. I’m not sure he is. And if it even matters.”
Joy reached across the table and took her friend’s hand. “Sometimes we just have to admit we’re wrong and go for what we want, right?”
Erica nodded absently, staring into her drink.
“Fuck this,” Joy said, suddenly leaning forward and downing the rest of her drink. She slammed the empty glass onto the table, where it landed with a satisfying thunk, like a judge’s gavel.
“I’ll make you a deal,” Joy said.
“What?” Erica asked, obviously wary.
“I’ll go after Ash if you’ll go after Blaine.”
Erica jerked back. “What?”
“I’m serious. We’re both sitting here, drowning our sorrows in alcohol. I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to be done with this whole sad business. So let’s make a deal. I’ll go to Ash and you’ll go to Blaine.”
Erica just stared at her, and in her eyes, Joy could see the debate going on in her head. Finally Erica leaned forward so she was resting her elbows on the table, mirroring Joy’s position. “What am I supposed to say to him?”
“That you’re sorry for being an idiot, and you want to try to make things work. Just like I’m going to say to Ash.”