Gambling on a Gentleman: A Sweet Romantic Comedy (ABCs of Love)

by Brenna Jacobs

  “The usual, please, Raj,” she said to the waiter without consulting Geoffrey. He wasn’t really in the mood for their usual but decided to let Clarissa have her way. Keeping her both happy and at arm’s length were his only goals for the night, and since they were in direct opposition to each other, he had a hard task ahead of him.

  Before their food arrived, a man with a camera interrupted them. “Mind if I get a picture of you two, Lord G?” Geoffrey recognized him as a photographer from one of the tabloids that liked to keep the public abreast of Geoffrey’s life, loves, and losses, with or without his approval. He opened his mouth to say not tonight, but Clarissa beat him to it with a different answer.

  “Of course.” She leaned into Geoffrey and put her left hand on his chest.

  The camera flashed, and Geoffrey shut his eyes against the bright light.

  “No ring on that finger yet?” the photographer asked Clarissa.

  “Not yet, but I’m expecting one soon.” She took Geoffrey’s jaw in her hand and kissed his cheek until the flash of the camera went off again.

  “Thank you, Lord G. Thank you, Miss Barclay.” The photographer left, ignoring the glare Geoffrey sent him. He hated being photographed almost as much as he hated how paparazzi tried to bait him by calling him Lord G.

  Clarissa patted his leg. “It’s better to let them take the pictures without a fight. Then they won’t hound us all night.” She wiped his cheek where she’d kissed him, then took out a compact and touched up her lipstick.

  “Or we could go somewhere they’re not expecting us.” This wasn’t the first time his dinner had been interrupted by a photographer. Or even the second or third. It happened nearly every time they went to their regular spots.

  “But we like this place. It’s too much of an inconvenience to find somewhere new to eat. They would find us there anyway.” Clarissa snapped her compact shut and stuck it back in her purse as their food arrived. “Now, are you going to be in the studio all day tomorrow again, or will I finally get you to myself?”

  Geoffrey waited to answer until after the waiter had finished setting all their dishes on the table and walked away. “I’ll need to spend some time in the studio, and I’ve got a number of things to do before the collection can be curated. In fact, I’m meeting tomorrow with the person I’ve hired to go over some details.”

  “I didn’t realize you’d hired someone already.” Clarissa dished rice and chicken tikka masala onto his plate and then her own. “That was fast. You’ve only been home two days.”

  “When you know, you know.” Saying the words aloud made him wonder if they had a deeper meaning. If he believed in love at first sight, they certainly did. Not that he was in love with Alice. He just couldn’t get her out of his head. That didn’t mean he was in love.

  Did it?

  “And what’s this person’s name?” Clarissa asked, not even pretending to be more than mildly interested.

  “Alice Donnelly.” Geoffrey took a bite of his food to feign his own disinterest in the name and the woman who hadn’t left his mind since the moment he’d laid eyes on her.

  “Is she Irish? Scottish?”

  “American.”

  “Really?” Now Clarissa’s interest was real. “Is she young?”

  “About our age, I’d guess. I didn’t ask.” He took a drink of his wine to keep from looking at her.

  “Well, I hope she’s one of these stodgy Americans I picture museum curators as. Someone who spends her life looking at paintings can’t be all that interesting.” Clarissa giggled, and Geoffrey smiled thinking of Alice in her big, chunky glasses that should have made her as unattractive as possible—if he had to guess, he’d say that’s why she wore them—but instead they made her eyes look even bigger and more beautiful.

  “Oh, dear, she is beautiful, isn’t she?” Clarissa picked up her wine glass and eyed Geoffrey over the rim as she took a drink.

  “She’s not ugly, if that’s what you were hoping for. But no one can compare to your beauty, darling.” He held his glass to her to toast, but she set hers down.

  “Is that why you hired her? Because you’re attracted to her?”

  Geoffrey set down his glass. “I hired her because she was the most qualified candidate,” he said sternly, as much to remind himself as to tell Clarissa. “You’re not the only one who’s had people interested. There were plenty of beautiful women in LA, but I stayed faithful to you.” He placed his hand over the one she had in her lap. “If there ever comes a time when I’d rather be with someone besides you, I will tell you. I won’t cheat on you.”

  “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

  “Yes.”

  She pulled her hand from his and reached across the table for a piece of naan, tearing it in two. “It doesn’t. I’d rather you keep from putting yourself in situations where you might fall for someone else instead of assuring me you’ll let me know before running off with another woman.”

  “Does that mean you won’t be going clubbing with your girlfriends anymore? It seems only fair that neither of us go anyplace we might chance falling in love with someone else.” Geoffrey knew Clarissa had had plenty of flirtations, if not more, during their years-long relationship. The fact he didn’t care more than he did was probably the clearest indication he would never love her as deeply as he would like to love the woman he married.

  But maybe that kind of love didn’t really exist. He hadn’t seen it in his own family. Maybe his mother was right and true love was a fairy tale.

  Clarissa straightened in her seat, rolling her shoulders back. “Once I have a ring on my finger, I’ll quit clubbing. Until then, I’m going to have fun.” A smile crept across her face, and she ran her fingers through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead. “But I promise not to have too much fun.”

  She tipped her face toward his and closed her eyes. He knew she wanted to be kissed, and he wanted to want to kiss her. He’d always enjoyed it in the past, even if he wasn’t completely in love with her. But now every time he closed his eyes, he saw Alice, and all he wanted to do was kiss her and no one else, not even Clarissa.

  But he gave Clarissa what she wanted, kissing her long and hard.

  Because kissing Alice was out of the question.

  Putting aside the fact that he was her boss and getting involved with her could possibly cause all kinds of scandal and financial trouble if things didn’t go well, he was also practically engaged to Clarissa. What little Alice had told him about her background was enough for him to know his mother would never approve of her. She might love her as an employee of the family, but not as an in-law. His mother was very particular about people not marrying below their station. Which meant, Geoffrey needed to marry someone with money or a title, but preferably both.

  The irony was, his mother had married a man with money and a title, and their marriage had been terrible. Geoffrey would have the title once his father passed, but he’d also have all the debt his father had accrued through his gambling and drug use. His family had some of the same problems that Alice’s family had, so how were the Grey-Chatsworths any better than the Donnellys? The only difference between them was a meaningless title and which side of the ocean they lived on.

  Unfortunately, that was enough, even if it was the only reason for him not to fall in love with her.

  Chapter Twelve

  Alice woke the next day to a text from her boss. Well, ex-boss, or soon-to-be, anyway. She’d given notice but was contractually obligated to work for another two weeks.

  Have you found anything? Need something besides G.

  She glared at her phone for Geoffrey’s sake. Her boss had liked G’s work before the bad reviews of his show, and he was stupid for letting other opinions change his own. That was the reason she hated working at the Fairfax Gallery. A curator had to have confidence in their own taste and choices. The problem with G’s show hadn’t been the art; it had been the curator’s hesitation in really showing it. They’d surroun
ded his pieces with boring paintings and photographs that made G’s work look just as uninteresting.

  Haven’t seen anything better than G. Still think you should take a chance on it. The odds of her contrarian boss actually taking her advice were about the same as her ever moving back to Bakersfield, but she had to try. She’d love to see Geoffrey regain some of his confidence that had obviously taken a hit after his reviews. He’d said more than once that he’d given up art.

  Fine. If you’ll stay and curate it.

  Alice nearly dropped the phone as she read the words. It was the first compliment her boss had ever given her. Sure, it was a backhanded compliment, but basically asking her to stay was his way of saying he liked her work.

  Obviously, she’d have to say no. She would be working side-by-side with the actual Geoffrey in a few weeks, and now that she knew he was G, she hoped she could find a way to change his mind about including his work in the museum.

  Can’t do it but thank you for asking.

  Then find something else. Your trip there is on Fairfax’s dime and you’ve got two weeks left with us.

  Alice pursed her lips, considering how to answer the text. She had to play nice in order to leave with her reputation intact, and even then, she worried her boss wouldn’t hold back complaining about her once she was gone. If his own reputation of being difficult weren’t well-known, she would have been more worried than she was, but she did still have to finish out the terms of her contract.

  She decided to answer with a thumbs up after which she set her phone on the table and lay back down. After the day she’d spent with Geoffrey yesterday, what she really wanted to do was curl back under the covers and think about every word that had passed between them. Every touch. Every look. Every smile he’d given her. She felt like she was living in a dream. A dream she knew she’d have to wake up from, but she wanted to stay in it for as long as possible. Reality would intrude soon enough, so why not enjoy her fantasy world while she could?

  The answer lay in the text she’d just read. She had to research possible artists to exhibit at the Fairfax, and that was going to take some doing. So she threw back the bedcovers and forced herself toward the shower. At least she had another day with Geoffrey to look forward to. A last day where they could pretend he wasn’t going to be her boss and that flirting with each other the way they had been was totally okay.

  After showering and getting dressed, Alice saw she’d missed a call from her mom. Alice wanted to talk to her and tell her the good news about the job—had wanted to call her as soon as she’d found out. But it was going to be a hard conversation. Her mom would be happy for her, but they both knew it meant Alice wouldn’t be around to help out with Billy who was developmentally delayed and had serious health issues.

  Taking a deep breath, Alice got comfortable on the sofa, then put on a smile and pressed FaceTime. “Hi, Mom. How are you?”

  “I’m great! How did the interview go?”

  “Good. Move the phone so I can see more than just your forehead.”

  After some angling that included a shot of the stained ceiling and the worn linoleum, her mom finally got her face in the frame. “That better?”

  “Little more to the left.” More fumbling followed. “Your left . . . perfect! Don’t move!”

  “Sorry about that. Now tell me about the interview.” Her mother’s smile couldn’t hide the bags under her eyes or the worry-filled, sleep-deprived nights that had put them there. Alice felt a twinge of guilt for taking the job, even though her mother would have never forgiven her if she hadn’t.

  “I got it, Mom.”

  “You did!” The phone fell into her mother’s lap and all Alice could see were her clapping hands. “That’s wonderful!” Her face came into focus again, and the look of pride and joy on it almost wiped away Alice’s feelings of guilt.

  “Are you sure? I won’t take it if you need me to stay.” A lump formed in Alice’s throat.

  Her mom rolled her eyes. “What are you going to do? Come back to Bakersfield and work at the AM/PM with me? I can take care of Billy. You follow your dreams. How soon do you start?”

  “Three weeks. Two and a half by the time I get home.”

  Her mother’s smile faltered, and a long pause followed. “That’s pretty quick.”

  Alice nodded then shut her eyes and swallowed until she thought she could talk again. “My boss is really cute,” she said finally in her brightest voice. “Not that I can date him or anything, but I think he’s going to be really great to work with.”

  “Well, give me the lowdown, girl!”

  They talked for the next thirty minutes about Geoffrey, the Grey collection, the discoveries she’d made about the paintings, everything except that Geoffrey was G. That wasn’t Alice’s story to tell until she’d heard it from him.

  “I’m so proud of you, sweetie. I always dreamed of being an artist and having my paintings hang in a famous museum.” The wistfulness in her voice reminded Alice of everything her mom had given up.

  “You were good enough, Mom.” Every opportunity Alice had been given to develop her own talents came from her mom’s sacrifice of her own wants to make sure Alice had gone to good schools and taken all the art classes she’d ever wanted. Mrs. Donnelly had ensured Alice wouldn’t miss living her dreams the way she had. She had much more natural artistic ability than Alice would ever have, but she’d never had time to focus on her art. She’d worked her entire life, either cleaning house and taking care of younger brothers and sisters while her parents worked, or, when she was old enough, at any job she could find. She’d had Billy when she was sixteen. There wasn’t much time for anything but working and child-rearing after that.

  “I’ll come stay for a few days before I leave.” It would mean leaving before her two-week notice, but she’d take a chance her boss would forgive her. She had to see her mom and Billy before leaving for who knew how long.

  “You’d better. I’ll want to hug you goodbye.”

  They talked for a few more minutes before Alice had to do the research she’d promised her boss before she was due to meet Geoffrey. Unfortunately, she spent more time holding back tears than actually researching. Leaving California was going to be even harder than she’d anticipated.

  When she met Geoffrey a few hours later at the Tate Modern, she forced herself to smile. When he broke into a smile of his own, she didn’t have to fake hers anymore. Leaving her family would be hard, but she could do it. And her mom would be okay without her.

  The art museum hadn’t been the first on her list of those she wanted to see, but Geoffrey had insisted she go in order to meet the curator. Part of Alice’s job was going to museums and seeing how different collections were curated and making connections so that artwork could be loaned or borrowed. If Geoffrey’s Monet turned out to be authentic, the Tate might be interested in loaning a piece to the Grey museum in exchange for borrowing the Monet.

  More importantly visiting an art museum with him counted as work-related and, therefore, not only fulfilled her current work contract, but also made her and Geoffrey’s get-together definitely not a date. The lines were very clearly drawn, and no matter how much she enjoyed the day, it was a work day. Even if he wasn’t paying her for it yet.

  He did buy her lunch. And got tickets for Taming of the Shrew because the Old Globe was right next door to the Tate Modern and his family happened to be patrons and had seats for the season. “The tickets will go to waste if we don’t use them.”

  “I’ll think about it,” she told him, even though she wanted to say yes.

  Thirty minutes later she changed her mind as they looked at heart-wrenching black, paper-cut silhouettes by Kara Walker that depicted the worst horrors of slavery. The reason she had decided to make the study of art rather than making art her whole life was because she’d never been able to create anything that would evoke the kind of raw emotion artists like Walker did. It would have required tapping into pain she’d rather let lie.

>   Just looking at art that made her feel a spectrum of emotions left her exhausted. Maybe that’s why she’d always focused on medieval art. Its purpose was to evoke religious devotion, not emotional fervor. The sedate and controlled features of the subjects always soothed her.

  “I think we should use those tickets,” she said as they moved to the next room, then, with a sigh, added, “I could use something to clear my head.”

  “I think we both could.” Geoffrey moved close to her, brushing her arm with his in a way that soothed the troubling questions Walker’s art brought to Alice’s mind. “But it’s hard not to feel guilty about wanting to view art that’s meant to make us laugh after viewing something as disturbingly moving as those images.”

  She turned to him, wondering how he knew exactly what she was feeling, how he knew the perfect words to describe what they’d seen—disturbingly moving. But Geoffrey was already intently studying another piece, and the look on his face told her exactly how he knew what she was feeling.

  He felt it too.

  Too often families who had owned art for generations knew very little about it. They had it because it was something no one else could have, not because they loved art or understood its importance beyond being a mere trophy. She’d definitely gotten that feeling from Lady Chatsworth.

  But Geoffrey was a different story. He felt what art meant in his soul. Hearing him talk about art made her even more sure he was G. He’d figured out how to transfer all his pain and emotions into his sculpture, which is why, even though they were made from found objects, his work communicated a feeling.

  “Seen anything you think we should beg for?” Geoffrey asked without taking his eyes off the painting he was studying with his hands behind his back.

  “I’ve seen some very good art, but nothing that will work as well as the pieces from G.” She knew she was taking a chance pushing that issue again, but he’d asked, and she’d told him the truth.

  Rather than the rebuke she expected, Geoffrey gazed down at her with deep furrows between his eyes. “What is it that you love so much about G? You hate contemporary art, but you love his stuff. It doesn’t make sense.”