by Cari Quinn
Surprised, I could do no more than nod. Phil steered me over to the desk. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but tread carefully, dear.”
“I know, I’m sorry. I wasn’t really prepared for her to bring up my grandmother.” People had been doing it all evening, but it had been more condolences than a direct swipe at my situation.
“Cat just likes to stir up trouble.” Phil slid a piece of paper over to me. “I told you there would be a bidding war.” She smiled before she sailed off to another old friend across the gallery.
I flipped open the folded piece of stationery.
That couldn’t be right.
There were far too many zeroes.
It was just one piece.
My heart raced and I barely heard the patron who came up and asked me questions. I stuffed the slip of paper in my pocket as I answered on autopilot. I explained the blind system we had for auctions at the gallery.
Most of the artwork was bought at face value, but a few pieces ended up with some haggling. I didn’t even know what to put on my piece for a base figure. I usually left it up to Phil.
When the patron wandered off to one of Singer’s pieces, I floated my way into the Cove Room. A discreet red dot was on the front of the pedestal next to the name, “Fallen Angel.” I drew my thumb across the embossed lettering.
Someone had actually wanted my work badly enough to put it into an auction situation. It was unfathomable. I’d always done okay with my work, but nothing like the number I clutched in my hand.
The rest of the night was a blur. When we were finally down to a handful of guests, most waiting for Philomena, I was able to finally sit down with the ledger. Lady’s Cove Gallery had sold most of the pieces. A few minds had been changed by the end of the night, and maybe stickers had become no’s.
I tucked the personal checks from reputable patrons of the gallery, as well as a pile of certified checks, into our bank bag. It had been a good haul for Phil, and I had made a few commissions of my own. She may have started the gallery as a lark, but she was turning a very good profit these days.
I finally came to my name on the ledger and paused. If the patron didn’t want the artist to know who they were, we made anonymous sales part of the agreement. Phil hadn’t told me the name of my buyer earlier, but there wasn’t a mark on the sales receipt to keep it a secret.
Normally, I was the one who didn’t want to know. Once it was out of my hands, I just wanted the person to enjoy it, but I had to know. I opened the computer to see who’d made the first request.
Catherine Bishop had been one of two people who had inquired about it. The other name, I didn’t know. Then a third name had been added to the history of “Fallen Angel”.
My fingers shook over the tab key.
No.
The bids had been neck and neck for a good hour before the one name outbid by nearly ten thousand dollars.
It couldn’t be. I opened the bank bag and fanned out the checks. Sure enough, there was a personal check with a familiar block print, followed by a scrawling signature.
Blake Carson.
“I’m going to kill him.”
Eight
“Grace?”
I actually knew what blind fury felt like. This was the second time that it had taken me out like a wave during high tide. The familiar red haze over my vision—it was a real thing. I literally saw a bull’s-eye on Blake Carson’s chest in my mind.
I punched out of the gallery door and down the pathway to the parking lot.
“Grace!”
“I’m sorry, Phil. I have to go kill someone.”
She rushed down the lane after me. “Please don’t do anything stupid.”
I whirled around to face her. “He was the one who bought it? Seriously?”
Philomena smoothed her dark hair over her shoulder. “Blake was quite taken with it.”
“Oh, he was taken with it, all right.” I paced down two parking spots and then back. “He just wants to control everything. Well, he isn’t going to have this part of me. You’re not going to cash that check.”
“Now, Grace.”
“I don’t care if I have to work for the rest of this year and next to earn back that sale, you will not cash that check.”
“I’m not going to let you do that.”
“What?” I whipped my head around. My smooth chignon slipped, and a thick lock of my hair slid down. There’d been no saving my hair after this afternoon with Blake. I pushed it back with a huff. “You can’t.”
“I can. This is my gallery.”
My eyes flooded. “Phil.”
“Don’t give me that look. You are not going to sabotage a very lucrative art deal, not to mention the buzz that your name got tonight, because of who bought the sculpture.”
“But him?”
“Grace Cordelia Copeland, you were naked with that man less than five hours ago!”
I fisted my hands. “You don’t understand.”
“No, I don’t, but you’re in no shape to be making decisions. Do you realize you just got your first six-figure deal on a piece of art?”
“Because of Blake Carson,” I shouted.
“No, he may have been the final bid, but he wasn’t the only one who wanted that statue.”
“Then contact Thomas Barrington, or whatever his name is. Let him pay the last bid before Blake.”
“You know that’s not how these things work, Grace.”
I wanted to stomp my foot and scream. I wanted to smash my beloved angel over Blake’s damn head. What the hell was he thinking?
“If you won’t take back the offer, I’m going to go talk to him and make him rescind it.”
“Grace, what is wrong with you?”
“I can’t—” I sucked back a sob. So many people knew I’d lost the house, and about my grandmother’s will and the lack of funds. I couldn’t spell it out here.
I couldn’t see that pity on her face. Not now. Not tonight.
Everyone knew that Blake had purchased my grandmother’s house. Why couldn’t she connect the dots?
“He can’t have this too.”
Phil’s brow furrowed. Did she honestly not get it? Angry puffs of breath were the only thing between us. Finally, her hands fell to her sides. I walked backward, swiping at the angry tears that had fallen, then ran to my car.
I peeled out onto the access road and headed for Boston. It didn’t matter that it was the middle of the night. He wouldn’t be home. He’d be in his glass palace.
With each barrier to getting to him, I got angrier. Cars, pedestrians, people laughing and spilling out of restaurants to tie up roads crammed with taxis—all of it was maddening. It was a holiday weekend. The tourism to Boston was triple that of the small town of Marblehead.
My fingers ached from gripping the wheel. My voice was hoarse from screaming inside my little car. I didn’t want to see happy faces celebrating the impending Christmas season.
More reminders of how alone I was.
The first bright moment in my life and Blake had tainted it. Was nothing mine? Did he have to own it all?
Parking was an absolute joke. Finally, I slid into a spot at a nearby drugstore and sprinted across the street. Carson Covenant Inc. vaulted into the sky. The glass vestibule gleamed with Christmas colors along the seams of the panels.
Christmas here too.
Not for the joy of it. No, it was because it was expected. Blake always did what was expected when it came to business.
Except when he fucked you brainless in that glass box.
My fingers curled into fists again as I swung the door open. When I got inside the vestibule, the lobby door was locked. I slapped the door. No. No, I couldn’t come all the way down here and not get inside.
I juggled my phone out of my purse. Of course the signal was gone, but the time on the face of my phone read 11:27.
Not locked down yet.
I slapped on the door.
“Can I help you, Ms. Copeland?
”
Relief flooded my overheated system. “Violet. Let me in.”
“You are no longer an employee of—”
“Dammit, Vi! I need to see him.” I twirled around in the vestibule. Surely there had to be a…
Oh fuck.
A camera had to be in the vestibule.
Flashes of our hours in here created a light show behind my eyelids. No amount of festive lights could push that memory out of my mind.
Vi’s chilly reception to me the last few times we’d interacted now made a lot more sense.
I didn’t have time to be embarrassed. Not now. Later, when I was ripping into Blake, but right now, I needed to get past his warden.
“You can see me.”
The speaker crackled for a moment before she finally spoke. “Yes.”
The simple words damned me and sliced away some of my bravado. “I need to see him, Violet. Please.”
I didn’t know where to look, how to convey just how much I needed her to understand that this wasn’t me being a crazy woman and ex-employee. It was so much more than that.
I ripped the clip out of my hair that kept what was left of my chignon up. “It’s personal. Not about being fired.”
“I’d say that’s very personal.”
“I don’t care about the job, goddammit.” Well, that was a lie. As soon as I said it, I knew it. For the first time, I knew it completely. As much as I loved my art, needed my glass and metals, I’d loved working there.
I loved being part of something.
Again, tied to Blake.
Why did it have to be him?
I let my head drop back. How much was I supposed to take before I broke into a thousand pieces?
The door buzzed.
My head snapped forward. “Thank you!” I swung open the door and slowly walked into the lobby.
Violet stood behind the desk. For once, she didn’t have on her crisp black jacket. She was wearing a blood-red shirt tucked into black slacks. A belt with a slim flashlight and discreet taser hung at her hip. Her hair was down. It was actually a lot longer than I thought.
She was always so buttoned up and reserved.
So much like Blake in certain respects.
“Don’t make me regret this, Blondie.”
“I won’t hurt him.” I tightened my fists so much that an audible pop echoed in the huge room. “Much.”
Vi’s lip twitched. “I’m fairly sure he can take you if he really wanted to.” She held up her hands. “Okay, death stare at twenty paces.” She tucked her thumb into her belt. “Look, my only job is to protect his business. He’s on his own with personal matters. But…”
I curled my fingers around the strap of my purse.
“Just don’t make me clean up blood, all right?”
“No deal.”
Vi laughed. “I want to dislike you. Like a lot. What you two pulled still gives me migraines. Honestly, to the point that I’ve actually had to buy Advil Migraine by the case.”
I wasn’t sure what to say to that one. There was so much anger spinning around my head, and now this was yet another person trying to talk me down. All of them to protect him. Seriously?
“But I like you. Jack likes you, and misses you desperately. Could you two please get your shit together?”
My clenched jaw must have been enough of an answer.
She sighed and tapped something on the desk. “The elevator is coded for the executive floor. I’m not announcing your arrival. Don’t make me tase you.”
I wanted to scream at her that I wasn’t here to get my job back, or to make nicey-nice regarding whatever fucked up thing was going on between me and Blake, but then I wouldn’t get upstairs.
And I really needed to get upstairs.
I stalked to the elevator and turned to meet Vi’s half smirk across the lobby.
I slapped the button to close the door and shot up to the executive level. What the hell was wrong with people? Did they think there was wine and red roses waiting for me upstairs? Not with this man.
Vi would be lucky if there were no broken bones.
There was no marveling at all the glorious glass today. I stared at the shiny doors and watched the numbers light up for each floor. When I got to the top, I shot out of the elevator and across the gray carpeting.
I didn’t pause. He could see me coming anyway.
I swung open his office door, but it was empty.
What the hell?
I dumped my purse into a chair, then swung around and surveyed the entire floor. There wasn’t a single corner that Blake couldn’t see from his desk.
“Grace?”
I turned. He stood inside the slim doorway at the back corner of his office. I remembered him coming out of that same space the first day I’d met him. His jacket and tie were off, and his sleeves rolled back.
His hair was rumpled and falling forward like he’d pushed his hands through it a million times. There was a tentative smile on his stupidly boyish face.
“How could you?”
His eyebrows shot up.
I pushed aside the chairs in front of his desk and crossed to him, pushing him back to the glass wall. The bay opened up behind him and it seemed like there as nothing but blackness around us.
I curled my fingers into his shirt. “You bought my statue!”
He blinked. “Oh.”
I let his shirt go. “Oh? You drive me insane for days, for weeks! Then you fire me. Then you come in with some crazy Thanksgiving dinner for me.” I stabbed his chest with my finger to punctuate each sentence. I whirled around and paced away from him.
Those weren’t the things I wanted to spew at him, but there were so many secrets wrapped into my anger that I couldn’t find a way to channel my damn words.
“You came all the way into Boston to scream at me about dinner?” he asked.
“No, you moron! Because you bought my statue.” I turned back to him, his entire office between us now. It was probably a good thing, since I felt ragey enough to throw a chair at him. Or find a way to throw him out the damn window.
“It’s an amazing piece of glass. I wanted it.” His face and tone was so matter of fact that the red haze around my vision returned.
“It’s mine!” I roared.
He stepped away from the wall and straightened his shirt. “Actually, it was for sale, and now it’s mine.”
I sputtered out a breath and something resembling a growl until finally I found my words. “And you don’t see the problem here?”
“No.”
“You fired me not even a week ago.”
“One has nothing to do with the other.” He advanced toward me. “And I came with a peace offering today. But it turns out I didn’t even need it. You wanted to see me just as much as I wanted to see you.”
“No.”
“Come now, Ms. Copeland—”
“Oh, no.” I sliced the air with my hand. “No, you are not going to start that crap. I’m not your employee anymore.”
One dark brow rose. “Because you lied to me.” He calmly moved the chairs back into their correct spots in front of his desk. “I haven’t quite figured out why, or what your endgame is, but that’s not what we’re discussing.”
“It should be,” I sputtered.
Our gazes locked. “Do you really want to go there?”
I gnashed my teeth together, but said nothing.
He skirted around the chair I’d spent so many hours in, his steps measured and slow. “This isn’t about your art piece.”
“It is.”
“No, it’s not.”
I lifted my chin. “I’m not a whore.”
He went stone still. “What?”
“After what we did today.”
“We had sex. It wasn’t the first time, and it damn well won’t be the last.”
Exasperation clogged my throat. “You can’t come to the gallery and with that flimsy excuse—”
“We had a Thanksgiving celebration at work today a
nd it felt wrong that you weren’t here. I…” His cool demeanor faltered.
The muscle in his jaw jumped.
I couldn’t tell if he was actually getting angry, or simply didn’t like what I was saying. I didn’t really freaking care. “Let’s review. You literally fired me five minutes after you were inside me.” My breath hitched. The rooftop, that entire night had been amazing. Seeing him in a different light—where he cared about a stranger’s child enough to want to help. He made me feel too much.
“That was less than a week ago. Then you come to the gallery and we…” Guilt and anger wrapped around every emotion I had for this man.
“We wanted each other,” he finished for me. “You can’t deny that.”
“Of course I can’t. I have the shredded pantyhose and dignity to prove it.” I shut my eyes as the pleasure and shame burned inside me. Every step I took reminded me of this afternoon. I loved how rough he was with me sometimes. I loved that he made me feel so damn alive, but I still couldn’t get past the rest.
“This was the one thing you hadn’t touched. The one thing that was still mine and you still had to own part of it.”
Confusion furrowed his brow. “Grace, I…”
“I don’t understand you. You push me away, then pull me so close that I can’t even see around us. All I do is feel. And it’s too much, Blake. You can’t make me a part of something, then keep taking it away from me.”
“You think this is easy for me? I know that almost every word out of your mouth to me is a lie and I still can’t stay away from you.” He crossed the room and gripped the upper part of my arms.
I tried to back up, but he held me tight.
He shook me. “I want you so much that it makes me insane. I’ve always wanted you.”
I shook my head. That was the second time he’d said that. Always was such an immeasurable word. It didn’t make sense when describing the few weeks we’d known each other.
He seemed to figure out he’d said too much. He lifted me on to my toes. “And you’re not a whore. Me buying that angel has nothing to do with us.”
“It has everything to do with us. I poured myself into that piece.”
“Are you the fallen angel?” He let me down and cupped my face, his fingers tangling in my hair. “Gold hair and those huge blue eyes that look at me with such longing and hate at the same time.”
