by Lynn Collins
Her stomach growled and she glanced at the office door. She just had to wait for her mother to stop holding court with her students so Taylor could get out of there. Looking out the large window, she watched the river winding past the campus. A few joggers were running the green belt. The shop had kept her too busy. She hadn’t been running in weeks; her body yearned for the release.
Working downtown, Taylor never came to this part of Boise unless she was visiting or dropping off work from the gallery. Next year, if the gallery made it to the black and she had enough saved for a down payment on a house, she would consider buying in the nearby neighborhood. She’d need to see if she could find something far enough away to avoid the frat parties, but close enough to walk to the campus for events. Or, maybe she’d buy a condo downtown overlooking the river. One good year with the gallery and she’d have her place.
Her thoughts were still lost in possible real estate choices when she felt her mom’s touch on her arm.
“Thanks for coming today. I don’t know what I would have done if you couldn’t get away.” Her mom walked behind the old oak desk and slipped off her high heels, replacing them with a pair of ballerina flats. “I promised them a live model. How many times can you draw a bowl of fruit?”
Taylor turned away from the window. “As good as you look, you could have modeled for the class.”
Her mother laughed the tinkling laugh Taylor loved. “First Jesse Sullivan flirts with me, and now you’re being sweet? What happened? Is the moon blue?”
“Face it, Mom, you’re still hot.” Taylor grabbed her Vera bag, slipping it over her shoulder. “I’ve got to get back to the gallery.”
Her mom’s phone beeped with a text. Here we go, Taylor thought. The dean probably needed her to chair some black-tie charity event. Her mom read the message, then quickly keyed in a response, her fingers flying on the touch screen. Finished, she slipped the phone into her purse, and put her arm around Taylor.
“Come, have lunch with us. Your dad is waiting at that little Mexican place you love.” Susan paused at the door to lock the office, jangling her keys. “You drive. He’ll take me home after we eat.”
Taylor inwardly groaned. She’d assumed modeling for her mom’s art class had been the favor of the day. If they were having lunch with her father, well, that meant the world was ending. He never took time out of his day for family matters. Please, don’t let it be the gallery, she thought, throwing the wish into the universe. As she followed her mom to the small lot where Taylor’s MGB Roadster was parked, she couldn’t squelch the bad feeling growing in her stomach.
No matter where she parked, her car always drew a crowd. Today, several guys hung around it, checking out the interior and rims. They challenged each other on the engine size. When she climbed into the driver’s side, she heard one of the young men tell the group, “I bet she has a sugar daddy.”
“Keep guessing,” she called back as she shoved the stick into reverse and backed out of the parking spot. She revved the motor and sped out onto the road, heading to the turn-off where the family-owned restaurant sat tucked onto a side street, bordering a residential area. Maria’s had been in business long before the current planning and zoning laws came into existence, which frowned on the mix-use concept.
Her mom turned from staring out the open window to look at her daughter. “How are the preparations coming for Monday’s show? Is John excited?”
Now Taylor knew something had to be wrong. No way would her mom miss an opportunity to correct her on even the slightest error in good manners. “The guy is over the moon. He’s been in the gallery this week more than I have. He keeps changing his mind about the placement of the paintings. Today, I had to give him a deadline and told Brit to kick him out at noon.”
“Tortured artists are a handful.” Her mom smiled; her gaze distant. “I remember my first show when your grandfather ran the gallery. He made all the placement decisions. I knew I was going to fall flat and not sell a single item.”
Taylor pulled the sports car into a slot in front of the restaurant. She looked at her mom as she turned off the key, hoping her face would give away a clue to the real purpose of this impromptu family meeting. “And yet, you sold out.”
All she got was her mom’s bright smile in response. “Which caused your grandfather to send me on a trip to Paris to study at the Musée du Louvre. Your grandfather didn’t want me to be successful too quickly.” She dropped her voice in an imitation of the man. “Fast success creates lazy work.”
Susan laughed, then slipped out of the car and headed into the restaurant. She appeared to be in a hurry, or didn’t want to be alone with Taylor any longer than the short drive. Taylor scurried after her mom into Maria’s.
The smell of grilled onions and peppers hit her as soon as she opened the yellow door, causing her mouth to water. She smiled at the hostess dressed in a white peasant blouse and a colored, tiered skirt. The satin shimmered as the girl walked them to the booth where Taylor’s dad was seated. The lunch crowd had thinned. They were the only customers except for a young couple seated near the door.
Her dad stood to let her mom slide into the upholstered booth. Married thirty years and he still treated her mother like a princess, delicate to the touch. His blue eyes sparkled as he watched his wife settle, then he turned his gaze on Taylor. He was still striking at his age, with salt and pepper hair and laugh lines etched near his eyes. After all these years, her parents were still deeply in love.
“Hi, Daddy.” She reached up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “What brings you out with family on a weekday? No one else to schmooze?”
He put his hands on her arms and pulled her into a hug. When he released her, he pointed to the other bench. “Have a seat. Your mother and I want to talk to you.”
Taylor widened her eyes and tried for a shocked expression. “I can’t believe it. I thought my parents just wanted to have lunch with me. If this is about me moving out, you know I’m starting to look at places. I just want to make sure I don’t buy in haste and then regret the purchase. It’s a big step.”
Her father waved away the notion with a large, gnarled hand. He’d worked as a mechanic when he met her mom, and he still loved tinkering with the old classics in the garage. Her mom hated his hobby, but he’d restored Taylor’s MGB for her high school graduation gift. “You can stay in the house as long as you need. We barely see you, anyway.”
“Then why the clandestine lunch meeting?” Taylor leaned back as the waitress delivered her shrimp fajitas and her mom’s three-cheese taco salad. Her dad had ordered for them. She would normally argue, but they both knew she would have ordered the same thing. She pulled out a warmed tortilla and started to layer the veggies, toppings, and shrimp on top.
“We just wanted to touch base with you.” His gaze darted back to her mom. “How are things at the gallery?”
Not the question she expected. “Besides being crazy busy getting ready for Monday’s opening? Fine, I guess. Brit’s been a lifesaver during the last month. I swear that girl could sell a toddler’s crayon drawing.” Taylor laughed. “You’ll never believe it, but she sold the last of the Markus prints to a collector last week.”
“Isn’t that the guy who was just arrested for trying to hold up a liquor store in his underwear last month?” Her dad groaned. “I thought we’d be stuck with his inventory for years.”
“Apparently, Brit convinced the guy that, since the artist would be unavailable for additional work for the next five-to-ten, his current pieces would be worth money down the line.” Taylor took a sip of water. “I swear, she’s Molly Sunshine, sometimes.”
“Brit’s a good employee.” Her mother focused on her salad, not looking up as she added, “Have you considered going to Europe this summer? You work so hard, maybe you need a break.”
Taylor shook her head. “No way can I get away for more than a weekend this year. We’ve got some amazing shows lined up in the next few months. With the longer days, and the ci
ty’s promotion trying to get people downtown on Wednesdays, we’ll be busier than ever.”
She watched her parents exchange a look and thought she saw her mother’s head shake in a silent message not to say anything. They were keeping something from her, she could tell.
“Are you seeing anyone?” Her mother’s question came out of nowhere.
Taylor smiled, catching on to their little secret. They were trying to set her up for a blind date, probably with one of her father’s many associates at the law firm. An up-and-coming success story who was just perfect for her, since they were both single.
“Really, guys, I’m too involved with the gallery right now to even consider casual dating. If you’re concerned that I’m still hung up on Brad, believe me, that’s not an issue. I just haven’t found Mr. Right.” Taylor’s thoughts went to the man from class. “Someday, I promise, you’ll have grandchildren. Just not tomorrow.”
“We just worry about you.” Her dad checked his watch. “I didn’t realize it was already this late.” He turned to her mother. “Ready, dear?”
Her mother pushed aside her half-eaten lunch. “I have some calls to make for the club I’ve been putting off.” She stood and kissed Taylor on the cheek as her father threw some bills on the table. “We’ll see you later?”
“I’m planning on spending the weekend at the gallery, so don’t expect to see me much before Monday night.” Taylor watched her parents’ glance at each other again and groaned. They were matchmaking. Monday night there would be an extra man at the opening, who just so happened to stop in. “Look, I’m fine. Busy, but fine.”
Her father patted her hand. “We know you are. Just remember that we love you.”
Without another word, her parents hurried out of the restaurant, their heads together, whispering. Taylor watched them leave, knowing she was doomed to play nice with some guy on Monday. She didn’t have time for their games.
The waitress came by to clear off their plates. “Can I get you something else?”
Taylor glanced at her lunch. Might as well eat now; she’d probably be working late tonight. “Bring me a frozen margarita.”
After spending quality time with her folks, she needed a drink.
2
Taylor pulled up the top of her gold sequined dress once more as she looked in the mirror. She should have gone with her instincts and worn the blue halter. In this strapless outfit, she’d be constantly checking to make sure that the top wasn’t showing too much skin. She had to look like a professional. She looked at herself in the mirror, and the face of Main Street Gallery looked back at her. She’d studied for years at every art institution in the northwest, trying to learn as much as she needed to be as good of a manager as her grandfather had been. The place was her birthright, her heritage. No way would she let the Harrison name down. She sat on the edge of her bed, reaching out to scratch Miss Fitz’s stomach. The cocker was older than Taylor wanted to admit, but seemed to be in good health.
“Who’s a good dog?” She leaned in and gave Miss Fitz a kiss on the top of her buff-colored head. The dog wagged her tail and looked up expectantly.
“No walk tonight, buddy.” She pulled at the bodice one more time to make sure it was holding fast, and then grabbed her purse and keys. She had fifteen minutes to get across town so she could be in the gallery before the doors opened. She needed to double-check the details for the party. Time to show her parents that she was a confident and successful executive. Being late wouldn’t make the right impression.
She pressed a kiss to her grandfather’s picture on her dresser mirror and sprayed perfume on as the finishing touch.
An hour later the party was in full swing. Showcasing a new artist always worried her; she never knew if people would be interested enough in the promotion to take time out to attend an opening. Luckily, most of the art-buying players in Boise had returned to attending shows and opening their wallets a tad. The recession had hit the town pretty hard, but if the level of art purchases were any indication, they were starting to see an upturn. John was one of Taylor’s discoveries. She’d found him at a flea market, selling paintings for cheap to cover his rent. Taylor had given him her business card. Within a week, she’d contracted his collections. He had an amazing eye for a landscape artist, and many of the pieces they were showing tonight were of local spots Taylor knew people would recognize.
“You won’t believe this.” Brit handed her a glass of champagne. Taylor’s assistant wore a long black halter dress with a plunging neckline. It accented her figure, yet she still looked elegant. The girl could pull off a gunnysack.
“Don’t tell me something’s wrong. The caterers are out of food. The wine’s gone?” Taylor’s eyes widened. “The bathroom backed up.”
Brit slapped her on the arm. “You’re such a negative Nancy. Why does something have to be wrong?”
Taylor breathed in a sigh of relief. “Things just seem to happen that way. You had me going for a minute. So what’s up?”
Brit took a sip from her glass. “The toilets are overflowing.”
Taylor choked. “What?”
Brit patted her on the back as she coughed up champagne that had gone down the wrong tube, Taylor’s eyes watering. “Lighten up, I was kidding. But glad to know what gets you all freaked.”
“You’re not right, you know that?” Taylor dabbed at her eyes with a napkin, hoping her tears hadn’t wrecked her eye makeup.
“Don’t hate.” Brit raised her eyebrows. “Besides, I bring good news. We’ve already sold five of John’s paintings tonight.”
“Shut up.” Taylor wanted to squeal, or jump up and down, but her stilettos didn’t seem sturdy enough. “You’re teasing.”
“On my honor, I swear.” Brit grinned. “John’s over the moon. He’s been telling everyone how wonderful you are because you believed in him. I think he sang ‘Wind Beneath My Wings’ a few times.”
“I’m so happy for him. I should go congratulate him.” Taylor searched the crowd, her gaze landing on her parents. They were talking to that hunk who had been in her mom’s drawing class. Wow, did the boy clean up good. She dropped her gaze down the length of his body, her breath catching a bit. If she weren’t on the clock tonight, he’d be in big trouble. It wouldn’t hurt her to be social for a few minutes. In fact, it would be rude not to say hello. She strolled toward the trio.
“Where are you going? John is on the other side of the gallery,” Brit called after her.
“Just checking in with the folks. Tell John I’ll be right there.” Taylor weaved her way through the crowd, grabbed a fresh glass from a waiter, and slid in next to her father. The three stopped talking and looked at her.
“Hey, pumpkin.” Her father beamed down at her. “You look great when you put on a dress. Need to do that more often.”
“Stop messing with her. Jesse Sullivan, you remember my daughter, Taylor?” Her mom lightly pushed Jesse closer.
The hunk, now known as Jesse, leaned forward and tapped his forehead in some sort of salute. “Good evening, Miss DeMarco.”
“Taylor, please.” Taylor tugged at the arm of her father’s jacket. “You’ll never believe this, but John’s already sold five pieces.”
“See, Jesse, I told you that you won’t regret this decision. John is just one of the many talented new artists my daughter has signed with the gallery.” Her father gave her a little squeeze.
Taylor tilted her head. “Oh, did you buy one of the paintings?” The man hadn’t looked like anything more than a student when she saw him in class. Of course, that didn’t mean he hadn’t come from money.
Jesse smiled. “You could say that.”
Her dad slapped him on the back. “Honey, you’re looking at the new owner of Main Street Gallery. Jesse just bought me out.”
Jesse watched the surprise fill Taylor’s face, then another emotion—anger? He must be misreading her. He’d just committed way too much of his personal winnings in an art gallery. Barb would kill him when she f
ound out. He’d throw in a promise to ride for at least a few more seasons, just to make sure he didn’t lose everything. He should have waited. He should have said he’d think about it. However, when Professor DeMarco’s husband had mentioned that they were putting the gallery on the market, the words just fell out of his mouth.
It was typical Jesse Sullivan style. Talk first, ask questions later. Man, the family was going to laugh their asses off when he told them. The good news was that Mr. DeMarco had promised Taylor would stay on and manage the place, for the right salary. Jesse’s stomach rolled. He owned a business. He was the man. How could he be the man? He didn’t know anything about corporations, or businesses, or, his conscience added, art.
“I’m looking forward to working with you,” he said. Whatever he’d expected, it hadn’t been this silent treatment. “I’m meeting with your father and my people tomorrow at the gallery. Do you want to join us?”
Her eyes widened and Jesse wondered if he’d said something wrong. Finally, she took a deep breath.
“I’ve got to go congratulate our artist.” She glanced at her dad and mom who watched her very carefully. “Someone has to work around here.”
She spun around and Jesse watched her full skirt twirl. His fingers ached to pick up a pencil and start drawing the folds of that dress. Man, this girl got to him in ways he’d never imagined. Now he had to work with her on a daily basis. He was good and totally screwed.
Mr. Demarco stared at the retreating form of his daughter. Finally, Susan broke the uncomfortable silence. “Rich, why don’t you take Jesse around the gallery and show him what he’s gotten himself into. Maybe we need to let him think on his decision for a while.”
Yes, Jesse’s mind screamed, an escape hatch. He watched Taylor across the room, her hand on the artist’s arm as she threw her head back to laugh. He felt a stab of jealousy as she smiled at something the man said. Back out, now. Leave, and never return. Don’t throw good money after bad. Run. He thought all these things, and more. When he opened his mouth to speak, he said something that surprised him.
