by Stacy Gail
“Because you wanted a rooftop garden, just like the ones topping the high-rises along the Gold Coast.” Stepping delicately over the beautiful rose bushes splashed across the roof’s flat top, Minnie held out a glass bottle of strawberry soda. Yum. Her favorite. “I thought this latest project would be fun for you.”
“Fun doesn’t usually have my neck and shoulders tied up in knots,” she drawled, nodding her thanks as she took the bottle from her friend.
“Aren’t you the one who once said that if you’re not suffering, it’s not art?”
“If I did, it must’ve been because I’d sucked in too many paint fumes.” With a sigh, Ivy joined her friend as she sat on the low wall outlining the building’s edge. From there they could see their street, once empty except for blowing trash, dilapidated WWII-era housing, and rusting chain link fencing. Now there were people out and about on the newly refinished sidewalks; a few neighbors mowed their miniscule lawns while across the street construction had begun on a dog park. A coffee shop, a daycare, and a print store had opened up next to that, and the large, empty plot next to their building had been bought up by Northwestern University’s agricultural department. According to Mr. Elwood, this time next year they would be living next to a prolific urban farm.
In another year, she doubted she’d even recognize the place.
“Wow, this looks amazing.” With her back to the street, Minnie nodded at the roof. “What are those square places you’ve marked out in chalk?”
“I’m thinking topiaries. Though if we could bring actual living plants up here, that would be even better.” Then she shrugged and took another sip. “I don’t know. I can’t seem to decide what I want to do.”
“That’s not like you. I’m usually the one who doesn’t know which way to go until I walk into a wall trying to go both ways.”
Ivy smirked. “That probably explains why you have two boyfriends who’d do anything for you, and a friend with bennies on the side.”
Minnie rolled her eyes. “In my defense, Hyun and I were promised to each other when we were in diapers, whereas Mal and I got hot for each other the old-fashioned way—at a nightclub, and we were both wasted and grinding on each other until we couldn’t find a way to stop.”
“And Shamar?” Ivy asked, grinning.
A fluttery sigh escaped Minnie, and she glanced over to where the man in question managed the coffee shop down the street. “Shamar’s penis is a gift from the gods, Ivy. That man is hung like a horse, and to pass that up would be a sin against all womanhood. You should try it, it’s truly a wonder of the world.”
Ivy laughed. “Thanks, I’ll pass.”
“I’m serious, hon. I think having a little distraction like that would help you feel better.”
That made her blink. “Feel better? What makes you think I need to feel better?”
“Everyone needs to feel better, and ever since that whole Tag thing happened, you’ve been on edge. Indecisive. Jumpy.” Minnie shrugged and sipped her soda. “It’s not just me who thinks that, you know. Mama thinks you need some kind of distraction of the manly variety, too.”
Strawberry soda nearly spurted out of her Ivy’s nose. “Mama Ji actually said that?”
“Well, no. But I heard her talking with Papa, and they think you need to be set up with Hyun’s brother, because they think you’re acting kind of depressed, too. By the way, fair warning—I remember Hyun’s brother well. When he was in kindergarten, no one would talk to him because he used to eat his boogers.”
“Yeesh.” Just what she needed, a blind date set up by her friend’s well-meaning but constantly meddling parents. “Okay, I really feel this needs to be said—I don’t live with your family anymore. I’m now across the hall, paying my own bills. How is it I’m still being treated like I’m under the Dao roof?”
“Once adopted, however unofficially, you’re always adopted. It’s the Korean way,” Minnie added carelessly, tossing her glorious hair over her shoulder. That action had her doing a double-take before she jolted to her feet, staring down at the street. “Ivy.”
“What?”
“It’s him.”
“Who, the booger-eater?” Horrified, she stood and turned as well, only to have her sun-warmed skin ice over. Climbing out of his SUV and looking all the way up the building to where they stood was the man she’d once thought of as her thief.
Tag.
I’m not letting you off the hook until I’m satisfied you’ve put this shit right.
This was it.
Her time was up.
“Shit.” She stared down at him, willing him to disappear, or barring that, hoping to come down with a case of invisibility herself. But the moment he peeled off his sunglasses to lock gazes with her, she knew with a sinking heart that she hadn’t been blessed with the miraculous power to vanish.
Too bad.
“What are you going to do?” Minnie asked, stepping closer, as if that would somehow shield Ivy from her fate.
“Do me a favor and go down to Mama Ji,” Ivy murmured, and her mouth tightened when Tag made a demanding gesture for her to come down to where he waited below. “Tell her I’ll be late for lunch.”
The moment Minnie disappeared through the roof-access door, Ivy leaned against the low wall and tried to crush him with a glare. “Are you lost? Because you look lost.”
“You know damn well I’m not lost,” he yelled up at her, his voice easily carrying to her ears. He looked insanely good, in black jeans and a matching compression shirt that fit his long, muscular torso like a second skin. “Get some clothes on and come down here.”
Er… clothes?
Belatedly Ivy looked down and realized she was having this unorthodox conversation while wearing a yellow bikini top, ragged cutoffs with the front pockets poking out, and her hair twisted up in twin messy buns. Not exactly the polished, professional image she wanted to project, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. “I’m working. This is what I wear when I’m working outside.”
“I find that hard to believe.” His gaze lingered on her before they traveled over the building. “You step one foot outside dressed like that, and you’d never be seen again.”
Ugh. “I know how to defend myself.”
“And I know that monsters don’t give a flying fuck about how tasty little morsels like you try to defend against them. If they want you, they’ll get you. I can’t believe I have to tell you that this is how the world works.”
She took a long sip of soda to keep from screeching at him that he didn’t have to mansplain any damn thing to her. “Back of the Yards is changing, pal. Take a look around.”
“It hasn’t changed that much. That’s why you need to go put some goddamn clothes on and get down here.”
“I told you. I’m working. Come back when I’m not.”
“What, you’ve got some cute little nail salon hidden up there?”
She almost threw her soda at him. “What I’m working on is none of your business, so go rain your condescending bullshit down on someone else.” With that, she spun on her heel and made a beeline for the mechanic’s creeper, so angry she was shaking.
Dick.
Grinding her teeth, she picked up her paintbrush and palette, trying to find the calm she’d had before he’d shown up. Normally she didn’t give a damn what people thought of her. If some stranger didn’t think she was a “real” artist because she worked in a nail salon, then fine. Whatever.
But damn, Tag’s casual contempt stung. She had no idea why; maybe it was because the world had deemed his work exceptional. Or maybe it was because she’d seen his most hidden work—Paradise—and thought it was pretty damn exceptional herself. Or maybe it was because that while the world had a habit of tearing into artists without mercy, she honestly believed fellow artists should be supportive of one another.
But that was her opinion.
Clearly it wasn’t his.
How disappointing.
Without warning, the roof-access door
burst open and suddenly Tag was there, black eyes dagger-sharp and mouth set in a grim line. In a heartbeat he zeroed in on her, and with a muscle jumping in his jaw, made a move toward her.
“Stop!” Distress and horror burst out of her in that one word, a hand holding a paintbrush flying out to somehow hold him back from ruining what she’d spent all morning working on. But it was too late. As if in slow motion, she watched as he strode right through the hydrangea bush she’d just finished.
A devastated squeak gushed out of her as she stared at his booted feet. It was all the breath she had left.
“Shit.” In an instant he jumped back toward the door, but the damage was done. “Aw, shit. My bad. Damn.”
Wordlessly she got to her feet, her eyes riveted to the footprint smack in the middle of the hydrangea image she’d created less than an hour ago. That part of the bush she’d painted was now nothing more than an ugly, grotesque smear.
Ruined.
Slowly she raised her eyes to him.
Instantly he held up both hands, palms out. “If our roles were reversed, I’d wanna fucking kill me for this. I get that. You told me you were working up here, and like an asshole I didn’t listen. Because of that, I fucked this up and I feel like total shit about it. If you want to hit me, I won’t stop you. I deserve it, and I know it.”
Ivy sighed and tried to rub the stress away from her brow. How the hell was she supposed to be furious with him when he clearly understood how she felt? “I was right. You really are a dick.”
He waved that comment aside. “Seriously, if you want to hit me—”
“I don’t want to hit you.” If anything, his obvious remorse soothed the fire that had been roaring inside of her ever since he showed up, and she found herself trying to smile at him in the hope of easing his guilt. “Look, I’m… It’s okay. It’s just one part of that hydrangea bush, so I can probably save the rest of it. If you want to talk, we can stand anywhere but where you were heading.”
“I was heading for you.”
“Then I guess I’d better get out of the hydrangea bushes.”
“You’re making a rooftop garden.” He kept to the unpainted area of the roof while she took the time to put her paints away. “Clever.”
“Thanks.”
“You put the Guggenheim over the building’s exterior too?”
“Yep.” She frowned at a tube of acrylic cobalt blue before tossing it into her bag. She’d have to pick up some more before she finished this part of the garden…
“You’re good, Ivy.”
Her name on his lips for the first time brought her attention back to him, and for no reason at all her whole body flashed over with a nuclear blush when she discovered he was staring at her. “I know.”
Her response made him grin. “Modest too.”
“How else am I supposed to respond, when I have the feeling you really wanted to say you’re good… for a manicurist?”
“I was trying to cut you when I said that, because I say bullshit when I get pissed off. Ever since you ripped your shirt off and called me a talentless hack, I’ve been more pissed off than I’ve been in a long time. Best advice I can give you is to not listen to whatever crap I’m spouting when I’m pissed.”
If that was the case, maybe he hadn’t meant she was a good artist. “Does this mean I shouldn’t be listening to you now?”
“I’m not pissed off now. Stepping on your flowers killed my rampage in its tracks, because I feel like shit about it. Last thing I’d ever want to do is destroy your work.”
That softened the stone-cold defenses around her even more, and she found herself smiling at him, this time for real. She was about to tell him that maybe he wasn’t so bad after all when there was a commotion at the door. Her attention snapped in that direction even as Mr. Elwood surged through.
“Ivy, are you o—”
In one fluid motion Tag turned, caught her hastily running landlord and…
Picked him up.
“Slow the fuck down, man, you’re going to ruin Ivy’s garden.” Spinning with her landlord’s forward momentum, Tag set the man down none too gently on a patch of unpainted roof, then held his arms out, bodyguard-style, to keep Mr. Elwood from going anywhere near her. “You can talk to her from where you are. Speak.”
Holy crap.
Not only had Tag picked up her landlord like he was nothing more than a wayward puppy, he was now talking to him like one. Carefully she tiptoed around her project, maneuvered her way to Tag’s side and touched his outstretched arm. “It’s okay. This is my landlord, Stanley Elwood.”
“Ivy, who is this man?” Looking as flustered as any man would be after being freaking picked up, Mr. Elwood smoothed a well-manicured hand over his balding hair tinted silver with purple tips. “I came running when Minnie yelled down at her mother that some thief was coming up to see you.”
“Jesus,” Tag muttered.
In all honesty she couldn’t blame him. “It’s just a misunderstanding, Mr. Elwood. This man is a fellow artist, not a thief, and if I knew what his actual name was I would introduce you. This is my landlord, Stanley Elwood,” she explained to Tag, who still hadn’t dropped his protective arms. “He lets me do projects like this one whenever the mood hits.”
“Lets you?” That made him shoot a scowl over his shoulder to where she stood. “Wait a minute. Are you saying he’s not paying you what you’re worth to create this building’s rooftop garden?”
She blinked. “Um, well, I get a big break on my rent.” That was kind of like being paid, wasn’t it?
“What about the custom paint job on the building’s exterior? It’s brilliant. How much did he pay you for that?”
“Ivy likes to paint,” Mr. Elwood huffed defensively before she could answer. “And I didn’t order her to paint the exterior. I merely suggested the Guggenheim, that’s all. Before I knew it, it was done.”
“Bullshit.” The word shot out of Tag like a bullet as he swung his scowling attention back to her landlord. “You didn’t say Guggenheim to Ivy one day and woke up the next goddamn morning to find it magically done. That job took months, especially if she did it all by herself, and I’ll be she did, didn’t she? A custom paint job like that takes hundreds of labor hours and costs thousands of dollars. How much did you pay her for it? You got receipts, yeah? For the exterior and the interior that she’s done for this property?”
“Receipts?” Baffled and looking vaguely alarmed, Mr. Elwood shot Ivy a beseeching glance. “Uh, well, it was a while ago…”
“A landlord putting pressure on a talented tenant for services, but doesn’t pay for those services, will land that landlord’s ass in jail, so that’s a practice that’s going to stop right the fuck now.”
Ivy pulled on his arm. “Listen—”
“Another thing. You’re going to reimburse her for every drop of paint she’s used to improve your property. And if you don’t like that,” he added as Mr. Elwood clutched some nonexistent pearls, “I can always call the cops and let them figure out how much you owe her.”
Mr. Elwood looked like he’d sat on a hot poker. “I’ll be sure to get her whatever reimbursement she needs. Whatever she needs!” he repeated before beating a hasty retreat back through door.
“Not only does Mr. Elwood cut me a deal on the monthly rent and doesn’t squawk about however I decide to paint my apartment walls,” Ivy said when they were alone, “but he does pay me enough to cover the cost for all my paint supplies.”
He turned around to face her. “You might be fine with someone wringing your gifts out of you for next to nothing, but I find it pretty fucking offensive that that guy’s not paying you top dollar. Considering how fierce you are when it comes to protecting your work, I’m shocked you don’t feel the same way.”
“If Stanley Elwood was rolling in dough like Scrooge McDuck, I’d be screaming from this rooftop about getting what I’m owed. But he’s like me—just someone who likes to look at beautiful things while living on a bu
dget.”
His lips pulled back, and for a moment he looked like he wanted to bite something. “Are you telling me I’m wrong for defending your greatness? Do you like to argue just for the sake of arguing?”
“No.” A flutter in her chest made her breath catch, and again she suffered a surge of heat whipping along her skin to the point where she had to consciously stop herself from pressing a hand to her cheek. But if he called her great one more time, she feared she’d discover spontaneous combustion was actually a thing. “You’re not wrong when it comes to artists habitually getting the shaft, and I’m touched that you went out of your way to stand up for me on that score.”
“I spoke the truth, that’s all. I didn’t go out of my way.”
“That’s how it looked from where I was standing. You even looked…I don’t know.” She smiled up into those onyx eyes and realized just how deep they were. “Kind of heroic.”
“Fuck me.” He rolled his eyes, making her chuckle. That was something she thought she’d never do in his presence, and that was when she realized that whatever remaining hostility she’d been nursing along had faded into nothing. “The last thing I am is fucking heroic.”
“Ah. Must’ve been a trick of the light, then.”
“Must’ve been.”
“People who create something out of nothing—people like us—almost always get shafted by the jerks of the world, but Mr. Elwood’s not that. I thought you were one of those jerks, though, which explains why I fought so hard for my tag,” she explained with a small shrug. “I mean, who else was going to do it? No one fights the jerks of the world for me, but me. I’m all I’ve got, but that’s okay. I’m more than enough.”
He studied her a long moment before nodding once, as if deciding something. “You haven’t even asked why I’m here.”
Like a light going out, her amusement vanished and the dread roared in to take its place. “Let me guess. Something about me putting shit right.”
“You got it. You called me out in front of every damn camera in Chicago. You hurt my reputation, which means you owe me big time. We’re agreed on that, yeah?”
