“What up?” Devin asked into the speaker.
“Busy on Sunday?” Jax questioned.
“Nope.”
“I’ve got something to keep you busy.”
“Deal.” And Devin hung up without even another question.
My brother’s eyes dropped to my stomach. He pinched his brows together and rubbed his chin. I looked down and saw a few dots of crimson speckled on my grey shirt.
“Shit,” I mumbled, shaking my head. “I thought I got it to stop.”
“Were you running with scissors again?” Jax laughed.
“Something like that.” I stood up, untucked my shirt, and grabbed a few tissues to dab the wound that wasn’t doing a very good job of closing.
“Does that have to do with your extracurricular activities on Sunday?”
“Partly,” I confessed, sitting back down.
“Some guy jumped a woman and—”
“You saved her,” Jax finished for me. “Our own knight in shining armor.”
“If only I could pull that off.” I laughed, and so did my brother.
“It certainly would make all of our lives easier.” Jax settled back in his chair, reassured by the fact that Sunday had nothing to do with anything other than Volkov revenge, and I certainly wasn’t going to correct him.
Chapter Seven
Mia
Ginger wasn’t exactly exuding warmth since Drake stopped by two days ago. In fact, she barely spoke a word to me over the two separate dinners she hosted in my honor, which only made me feel worse about things. I never intended for Ginger to get insulted, but I also never expected Drake to show up at her gallery looking for me.
I also didn’t account for the fact that I was completely enthralled with Drake Volkov.
Every.
Single.
Thing.
About.
Him.
And that was a new sensation for me.
It was clear Ginger thought I’d slept with him, but there wasn’t really an easy way to bring that topic of conversation up. I thought about several different approaches, “Hey, I didn’t sleep with your ex-brother-in-law” or “It’s the craziest thing . . .” didn’t cut it either, but I had to come up with something or my time in New York would be a slow and tedious death in the art scene. It didn’t help that the idea of sleeping with Drake didn’t sound half-bad.
I was only a block away from the gallery, and the wind was picking up. I noticed how often I looked over my shoulder now, but so far, it seemed all had gone back to normal. I was just another nameless body wandering the sidewalks on my way somewhere, important only to me.
As I turned the corner, I saw the line of people already gathering in front of the gallery. I stopped, unable to believe my eyes, as I took in a deep breath.
This was it. Tonight would either make or break my career. Ginger stepped outside and saw me standing and staring at the long line. She smiled and waved me over.
Ginger was an excellent actress as she ushered me through the doors and gave a quick wave at the gathering crowd. If tonight was a success, she stood to make a small fortune, and by all appearances, she was determined to make that a reality. A DJ stood in the corner, and champagne was ready and waiting once the doors opened.
“Nerves got you, or do you have it handled?” she asked, eyeing me out of the corner of her eye as she kept a smile plastered on her face.
“I’m really excited and can’t thank you enough for this opportunity. I’m really grateful, and whatever you think is going on—”
She shook her head and snapped at one of her interns to open the doors.
“Not tonight,” she said coolly as I watched people filter in. “Nice touch with the shoes.”
“Thanks. It seemed fitting.” I looked down at my Christian Louboutins and nodded before circling into the crowd of art critics, art buyers, and fellow artists. The music turned up, and champagne flowed freely as I took in my life.
Things were a lot different in New York City. I watched several aloof women stroll through my work with a suspicious eye as if my work was begging to be torn to shreds in the New York Times.
I noticed an older couple admiring a picture of my brother. It was only a silhouette of him, but the background of brilliant reds that stood behind it made the piece quite powerful. I saw the woman dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. I didn’t recognize them from any of the functions Ginger put on, but that didn’t stop her from grabbing my elbow and leading me over to the couple.
“It’s a stunning piece,” Ginger began. “Mia Dufort is an artist from Southern California. She focuses on oils mostly, but she practices in all mediums.”
“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Mia.” I couldn’t stand being talked about in the third person as if I didn’t exist, so I stuck my hand out to the man first. He held it tightly.
“This reminds us of our son,” the woman said, her eyes glassy. “He died serving his country.”
“It’s as if this painting has brought him back to life,” the man continued.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I said, noticing Ginger wasn’t really listening. “It’s a sacrifice few understand.”
The woman pressed her lips together and nodded. “Thank you.”
Someone touched my shoulder, and I turned around to see one of the interns reintroducing me to a man whom I’d already met at the dinner last night.
I glanced back at the couple that still stood admiring the piece. I wanted to rip it off the wall and hand it to them. I wasn’t here for the money. I had plenty.
The man from the night before began rattling off names of artists he loved. He wanted to include my name in the collection, for which I thanked him before being carried into another group of people who wanted to discuss my glass installation. I felt like a pinball being bounced from one person to the next, answering questions, discussing my process, and making up stories about what inspired me.
Many of the pieces here would never have their true meaning revealed. They were too personal, too complicated, so I gave some standard response that critics and art lovers would love.
Ginger brought me a glass of champagne as I continued to move through the crowd, and I noticed black dot after black dot pressed onto the tiny cards by each painting. Ginger’s show was a success.
“Excuse me, Ms. Dufort.” A different intern came over to me. “There’s a guy outside. Says he doesn’t want to come in, but he wanted to talk to you.”
My heart started hammering. I glanced behind me to see Ginger talking to a large group.
“What’s he look like?”
The blond maniac flashed through my head, and my body tensed. My photograph and name had been plastered all over the news about this show.
“Dark hair, blue eyes.” The twenty-year-old’s cheek flushed, and I knew immediately who was outside. “Did you want me to come with you?”
“No, thanks. Just keep Ginger occupied.”
I wandered outside, where several people were standing, smoking, and discussing the show. Many of them congratulated me as I wandered onto the sidewalk.
“Over here.” His voice sent me into an immediate tailspin. He was leaning against a Maybach S600. I wasn’t into cars, but my brother purchased one a few months ago for a ridiculous sum of money. The car was parked next to a No Parking sign, and I smiled.
“Regular rule breaker.” I laughed, nodding toward the sign.
“Wasn’t me. Viktor’s terrible at reading signs, and it usually gets me closer to the door, so I rarely complain.” He smiled and my pulse quickened. I glanced behind me and saw several people watching me.
“I didn’t want to upset Ginger, but I wanted to give you this and tell you congratulations.” He slid me an envelope, and our fingers touched, producing a spark that took my breath away. I dropped my eyes to the sidewalk with the realization that I’d never had a man take my breath away once, let alone twice.
“Should I open it here?” I asked, trying to shake off the
feelings he produced.
“I’d wait. It’s not a big deal. I just didn’t want to miss your big night.”
The boldness from several nights earlier was nipping at the surface, but for some reason, he was more subdued, more cautious.
“Thank you. This was really thoughtful.”
“Enjoy the rest of your night.”
I nodded, clutching the envelope as he moved forward, and for a split second, I thought he might kiss me.
“I’m looking forward to it,” I whispered.
“I am too, Mia.” He opened the back door and slipped inside without another word.
I didn’t go back inside immediately. Instead, I stayed on the sidewalk until the back of his car blurred into the rest of the brake lights, and I finally let myself take a deep breath. I felt centered when he was around. I wasn’t supposed to feel anything when he was around.
“There you are,” Ginger called from behind.
I spun around slowly and smiled at the intern, who looked relieved that I was alone.
“Just needed some fresh air,” I told Ginger as I strolled back inside, the strong smell of champagne overtaking my senses.
“I just got a call,” she whispered as I slipped the envelope into my purse. “We sold the last piece, the most expensive piece.”
“Someone called in to buy it?” I asked, confused. “How did they see it?”
Ginger shrugged. “I’m assuming he saw it in our online brochure. The point is that you’re officially sold out. A rising star has hit Manhattan.” The way she drew out Manhattan told me she was more pleased with how her bank account had grown versus having to put up with me.
“Thank you, Ginger. It’s really a dream come true,” I told her, and she gave me a quick nod but refused to let her gaze connect with mine for more than a second.
A man wandered over, and Ginger used him as the perfect excuse to exit the situation. I pulled my phone out of my purse and texted my brother the good news. It was hard to believe that after everything we’d been through, our lives were finally getting on track. We’d been able to put the past behind us and concentrate on our futures, and now, good things were happening.
I held my phone for a few more seconds, hoping he’d respond right back, but when he didn’t, I slipped my phone into my purse and turned around to see my lifelong dream coming to fruition.
The excitement zipping through me was exhilarating. I knew it wouldn’t all be cotton candy and unicorns once the critics began their assaults, but for now, I could enjoy seeing a room full of people actually discussing and enjoying my work.
But I was alone.
By design, I had absolutely no one to share it with, and for the first time in my life, I felt loneliness deep in my bones.
If I were back home, I might call one of my friends to rectify the situation, but I was in the middle of Manhattan with absolutely no one. I couldn’t pretend that anyone cared, if only for a night. I tossed that depressing thought aside, pulled the envelope out of my purse, and slid my finger along the flap.
When I read what was written inside, my hands began trembling and I knew my life was about to get very complicated.
Chapter Eight
Drake
I sank into the couch in my living room and tried to replay the night’s events. What had I been thinking, stopping by her show and handing her that note? What made me even write it? It probably freaked her out. I threw my head back and groaned. What was it about this woman? She made me do things that were completely opposite of my norm.
I brought my head back up and stared out over the city lights. It was a pretty view. I’d give this place that. Too bad I was the only one who’d ever been inside to see it. I shook my head in disgust. I needed to get hold of myself.
She lived in California. I was firmly rooted in New York. She was an artist. I was . . . a man of many talents. She was refined. I was rough around the edges. She was completely unattainable and demanded something I couldn’t give. That much I knew. Panic coursed through me as everything settled around me. It wouldn’t work between us.
But the way her lip curled up higher on one side, the way her legs went on forever, and that smile. My God, that smile. I caught my reflection in the window and had to laugh. I was grinning like the Cheshire cat, and I was hard just thinking about her.
My phone vibrated on the coffee table. I reached over, expecting to see something from Devin or Jax, and I nearly fell off the couch when I saw the text.
You busy?
It was from Mia.
Of course, it was from Mia.
I rested the phone on my knee and sat back.
The best thing to do was to pretend I didn’t see the message until morning. It was the safe thing to do. Responsible on every level.
My leg started bouncing nervously. I glanced out the window and lifted my phone off my knee. There were a few places we could go that were still open. I could take her for cheesecake.
That was it. Respond but suggest a place in public. I sucked in a breath and nodded as if there was someone else in the room. I can pick her up and take her for cheesecake.
I shook my head, realizing how pathetic that sounded.
Really? A hot chick texts at one in the morning, and I want to take her for cheesecake?
I slid my phone on and filed her number in my address book before responding.
Not particularly busy at this hour. How’d the show go?
I saw that she was responding immediately.
Sold out. Ginger was thrilled, which was a happy change. I’m still in shock.
I tapped my fingers on my knee. So maybe texting was enough for her. She didn’t mean am I busy like do I want to go out? I wondered if she’d read the card.
Ginger still giving you a hard time?
I saw her typing a response.
The sales certainly helped, but I don’t think we’ll be best friends anytime soon.
I laughed and typed back.
Friends are overrated.
She quickly responded.
Present company excluded, I hope?
More than she knew.
Absolutely.
There was so much more I wanted to say, but I held back, and Mia’s final message came over.
Have a good night.
I stared at Mia’s last message. I had to give her more credit. She didn’t mention the one thing I wanted to know. Had she read the letter? She was toying with me, and I loved every single second of it.
This was the side I saw that first night I met her, before . . .
Fiery and mysterious, with no real reason to worry about what people thought about her.
I took in a deep breath and walked over to the window. Leaning against the glass, I saw the mostly empty streets and wondered what Mia was doing. Had she changed into her cute pajamas? Was she eating takeout because she was starving from not eating before her show?
I shook my head and pounded the glass in frustration. This wasn’t how I spent my Saturday nights. I couldn’t hide who I was. I walked over to the couch and picked up my phone and texted Mia.
You at your place?
The bubbles on the screen appeared as she began typing. I saw her stop and start, and my heart rate increased with each empty second. Finally, a text popped over.
I laughed at the simplicity and the many stops and starts.
Yes
I slipped my phone in my back pocket and made my way to my front door.
By the time I reached her apartment, I held two slices of cheesecake and a bottle of champagne. I took in a deep breath and tucked the bottle under my arm and knocked on her door.
This was either the best idea I had or the worst. I stood in the hallway and glanced around. There were five other apartments on her floor, an exit to the stairs, and a small table with an ornate bowl next to the elevator.
There was also a woman not answering her door. I shifted my weight, debating what to do, and I glanced at the floor. Leaving the cheesecake and cham
pagne outside her door would be dumb. I should just take it back with me.
I held in an internal sigh and shook my head as I gave it a few more seconds.
Why was I letting this woman get under my skin?
Shuffling sounds behind the door gave me hope. I straightened up and waited for the door to open, but another couple of painful seconds went by. At long last, the chain clanked, the latch clicked, and I saw her swing open the door.
Any other woman . . .
Any other night . . .
My breath caught at the sight of her—wet hair, pajamas, no makeup—and eyes that held that familiar fire from the night I first met her. I shook myself out of the daze and handed her the bottle of champagne.
“I thought you might be hungry.” I glanced down the hall and brought my gaze back. “And hungry. I brought the best cheesecake in all of New York.”
Mia smiled and watched me carefully for a few silent moments, and that was when I realized I’d said hungry twice. I really was a mess around this woman, but she didn’t call me out.
“I’ve got soup on the stove.” She motioned for me to come inside.
I felt like I’d hit the lottery.
“You sure?” I asked.
“I can’t have you eating the cheesecake out in the hall by yourself. I’m cold, but not that cold.”
“You couldn’t be cold on your worst day.” I followed her into her apartment.
She walked into the kitchen, grabbed two crystal flutes, and flashed a look in my direction.
“Would you like me to open it?” I asked.
“Yes, please.” She smiled as I unwrapped the foil and shoved my thumb against the cork. It released with a quick pop, and I swear I saw a blush creep along her cheeks.
“You usually eat this late?” I asked, glancing at the stove.
Mia: A Standalone Romantic Suspense: A Luke Fletcher and V Mafia Crossover Novel (Luke Fletcher Series Book 4) Page 5
