Or the fact that I also have plans for a piercing in my pants...
Looks can be deceiving, vixen. Why are people so eager to judge a book by its cover?
“Why are you so interested in getting all the little facts about me, Mr. Hudson? I’m sure my father wouldn’t be impressed that his business colleague is trying to hook up with his daughter,” she states and stands up looking unimpressed. She turns and starts to walk away. I stand to follow.
“I wasn’t finished talking to you, Ivy, don’t walk away from me.” I grab her elbow and she pushes at my chest.
“Who the hell do you think you are? Just because you have money, you what, expect me to swoon over you? Well, I’m not that girl,” she announces angrily. “I despise your type, if you want the truth,” she adds with conviction.
The heat radiating from her is scorching. She is saying one thing, but her body is telling me another. I can’t help but pull her closer. I look into her emerald eyes and see the anger in them. Her chest is rising and falling fast. Is it from anger or lust?
“Let me show you just how bad I can be, Ivy. Maybe you have my type all wrong,” I whisper in her ear. I feel her shiver, chills racing up her spine. She takes a deep breath, and then looks deep into my eyes.
“Oh trust me, I know exactly who you are, and you won’t be showing me anything this century, rich boy.” And with that statement, she storms off out the door. I shake my head. Did that just happen?
Did a female actually say no to me, Chase Hudson? I can’t help but smirk knowing I should just give up and walk away, but what would be the fun in that?
Challenge accepted.
I’m infuriated and storm off, a little unsure of what got me so pissed. Mr. Hudson is a narcissistic, arrogant, conceited jerk. What a dominating asshole!
What pisses me off even more is that he is a hot, dominating asshole. There’s no doubt about it. I felt sparks the few times we touched. When he kissed my cheek, his breath on my face gave me goosebumps. Damn body deceiving me.
He’s under my skin.
He’s not my type.
He’s rude, obnoxious, and infuriating.
But…
He’s good looking and intelligent.
He’s sexy and intriguing.
Did I brush him off too soon? You always say to give people the benefit of the doubt. Never judge a book by its cover.
Hmmm, he would make a good cover model. How can he be so ridiculously good looking? Are there muscles under that tux? My mind is deceiving me now just like my body did before.
Seeing someone in formal attire isn’t showcasing their real personality, though. Look at me, a simple shawl and I am just another woman in a pretty dress, another sheep following the herd.
I hate pretending to be that person.
This is normal for Chase Hudson. He’s the goddamn director of Hudson Industries. Even though it’s Daddy’s company, I can tell he knows what he’s doing. The speech he gave was spoken with conviction.
Oh, he would know what he’s doing all right. He looks like the bossy type—in the office and in the bedroom. Just like before, my body deceives me and my core dampens at the thought of Chase ordering me around in the bedroom.
Speaking of sexual antics, he must have slept with half the woman in New York. I have seen numerous magazines with Nadia, the blond bombshell from the underwear label, SNAZZY, arm in arm with him. She looked smitten, and he wasn’t complaining about the attention.
Even if I was remotely interested, we are so different and incompatible. What would we even talk about? Well, we probably wouldn’t talk if his body looks at hot as I’m imagining.
He attends the opera—I rock out with the groupies at gigs.
He drives a BMW—I drive a 1984 Mustang. It’s a classic that I am in love with, but also an old heap that needs a lot of work. I could take the subway or a cab each day, but I love to drive my baby.
Mommy Dearest would be ecstatic is she knew Chase Hudson was talking to me.
Finally a normal, rich, good-looking, intelligent man who will set me up for life. Oh, I could just imagine the conversation now.
“Oh, Ivy dear, I am so proud of you. You are finally growing up to be the lady that I want as my daughter. You will be safe and secure with Chase and never have to work another day in your life.”
Fuck that.
To me, ‘normal’ is the most boring and obsolete word in the freaking dictionary. I mean, well yeah, I like a smart man. But not one who works in an office all day. I’m sure he would constantly talk about his business and fry my brain from boredom.
I don’t want to make my mother proud because I am proud of myself. I love the way I look, and the funky clothes that I wear. I’ve never run into another person with the same outfit on.
And as for being safe and secure?
Well, I sure as hell don’t need a man to look after me or set me up for life.
My job working at the art museum pays well enough, not to mention my side business of painting that I just started. I am also lucky as hell to work fairly close to home. The hours don’t suck, and I sure as hell don’t miss having a guy to boss me around.
I remember my ex, Leon, would say that we had dinner plans tonight, football this weekend, his family is having a lunch get-together, or he has a work function, and he would just expect me to tag along.
It’s all about what I want at the moment, and right now, I want the life that I am living.
Mr. Chase Hudson, director of Hudson Industries, is an unwanted complication.
One that I won’t be bringing into my carefree and man-free life.
Now if my brain would just stop thinking about the damn, gorgeous complication, my life would be perfect.
Me, myself, and I is all I need.
Derek drives me home a little after twelve. It was quite a favourable evening, with a successful benefit dinner and fundraiser. But this time, I had a very interesting canvas of my own to ogle.
Ivy is a rare diamond hidden in the desert, and I plan to do a lot of digging and a lot of ass kissing to get to know the beauty hidden behind her hard outer shell.
This woman may be the death of me or may be the other half of me.
I remove my tuxedo jacket then my white shirt as I stand in front of my wardrobe mirror. I can’t help but smirk at the exhibition of art tattooed on my hard, chiselled body. There are nineteen pieces to be exact.
My favourites are the open-winged eagle on my chest, and the words ‘Nothing Can Control Me’ across my back shoulders. The cobra on my bicep is another meaningful tattoo. It’s a constant reminder for me to strike when the iron is hot. I wait for no one, waiting gets you nowhere. I didn’t help build my empire by sitting on my ass and twiddling my thumbs. I have worked my fingers to the bone, and I will continue to do so until I am six feet under.
My other favourite is the word ‘Hardcore’ with an image of my guitar tattooed on my forearm.
I really hope I get to see the look on Ivy’s face when she finally sees just how similar we are, in more ways than one. Will she understand why I keep both sides of my life guarded and separated?
We all have secrets, and I know that secrets have a way of revealing themselves eventually.
In life, most people are reasonably happy with their living arrangements, but they are always hoping for bigger and better. I can honestly say that I totally love my funky little apartment. I’m in no hurry to move or even to upgrade.
My furniture is unconventional and eye-catching; my couch is purple leather and each cushion is a different color. It drives my mother insane. All the better to keep her away.
I absolutely love that they are all unique pieces. I shop mostly in antique stores or fix up pieces I find. I have restored quite a few of my bookshelves and cabinets myself—sandpaper and paint work magic every time.
It all matches and makes sense in my quirky little brain, and well, that is all that matters.
I guess looking from an interior design point of
view, my furniture and accessories don’t exactly match in color schemes, but in my eyes, it is perfect and matches my personality. Why should there be a wrong and a right way to do things? It’s all about personal choice and opinion. I am sure that is why Mother and I clash so badly—it’s her way or the highway.
“Oh, Ivy, why must your taste be so terrible? I am offering my very expensive interior designer to make a masterpiece here and yet you want to use cheap and tacky furniture? And not a single thing in this apartment matches,” she announced rudely when I had started decorating.
“This is exactly why it is my apartment and my choice, Mother,” I answered back to her feeling pissed with her yet again. Actually, I can’t remember a time in my life when I wasn’t pissed with her.
Another thing I’m very proud of is that I’ve painted or drawn the majority of artwork on my walls. Some of them are framed, while others are just on canvas, some watercolour, oil pastels, and my favourite by far is my freehand drawing of my late sister. I copied the details from a photograph, but a lot of her characteristics came from memory.
Her beautiful flowing hair, a warm chestnut color, emerald green eyes like mine, her flawless porcelain skin and dimples on her cheeks. She really was a rare beauty at such a young age.
Having two bedrooms in this place is a godsend. My art studio is perfect for the larger room and my wrought-iron bed and bedside tables fit perfectly into the smaller room. I’m not one to care about materialistic items, so my two door wardrobe and small shoe space is more than sufficient, much to my best friend, Lilly’s, horror.
My art studio is a place of solace. I can escape to another world through my canvas and oil paints. It’s a great way to express my moods, experiences, and pretty much anything going on in my life.
There is no point in a spare bedroom, since Lilly is happy to sleep on my queen bed or the couch. She does hang out here quite a bit. She still lives at home, and she gets stuck with her younger siblings if she is there. We have had them here multiple times. They are always full of so much energy, especially her brother Will.
What has meeting Chase Hudson done to my painting?
Well, for starters, I’m back to using colorful watercolours, bright and pretty pastels. All happy tones. My usually dark, deep, and slightly twisted preference has been overrun this week. Will my agent be thrilled or pissed? That’s a hard one.
Painting is my world and has been for the last ten years. I only started painting after I lost my sister. ‘Art washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life’ is the saying that I live by.
My soul feels alive, free, and full of happiness when I paint. It’s something I make time for every day, usually after work, but sometimes at three am—that is usually when the epic ideas come to me.
It started as therapy after I lost my sister in a drowning incident. I basically shut down and froze. I would just sit staring for hours on end, as if I was paralysed. I really don’t remember a lot about it; the psychologist said that it was a very normal reaction to shock. It was a major event for a young child of my age to deal with, leaving severe ramifications.
The fact that I was in the water with her when it happened will never leave my mind. One minute, she was there, and the next, she was gone. Thinking about it is absolute torture.
Painting brought me back to sanity, slowly day by day. At first, I would paint just lines, the up and down brushstroke was therapeutic in itself. Then I experimented with swirls, patterns, and an array of colors that became art. I would smile at what I had created. The endorphin rush made me feel wonderful again.
Art and painting saved me from the brink of insanity and brought me back to life. I had something to live for again and it helped me come to terms with the fact that my sister was gone.
~~~~
I started to volunteer at the Museum of Modern Art in my senior year, mostly for the experience and the exposure to the art on display there. Being surrounded by the work of masters inspired and taught me so much.
Offering me a job as an apprentice at eighteen was a dream come true, and this is where I have been ever since. I know the place like the back of my hand—it’s my second home, my real family. It’s warm and accepting, and not a single thing like my real family.
I am still waiting for the day Mother admits to me I was adopted.
It’s Monday morning, and my hours are nine to five, so I’m up at seven. I shower and dress in my version of chic. Working in the largest museum in New York, I’m expected to dress classy. But I’m not wearing a boring suit or dress with an ugly lame jacket, it is just not me. So my black, knee-length skirt and red button up blouse with rainbow polka dots does the job—not casual and not over the top.
If you can’t be yourself and be expressive in the presence of the artists, then what is the point of it all?
I love to paint, draw, and design, and just maybe it will start paying the bills, but this job gets me through in the meantime.
I am thrilled to be running a tour this morning. I love hosting the guided tours, and I’ve learned a few jokes to throw in along the way; it seems to relax the visitors and my nerves sometimes.
“Good morning everyone, I’m Ivy and I will be your tour guide for the next forty minutes. Welcome to The Museum of Modern Art. Trust me when I say you will be immersed in extraordinary exhibitions and extensive collections of both modern and contemporary artwork.”
“Personally, what I love most about working here is the versatile and collection of art, from established and experimental pieces to present and past works. We offer a large range of artists from Van Gogh to Matisse and even Warhol,” I say with enthusiasm into the microphone. I mean every word I speak, but unless you are an artist, you really don’t understand the enormous array of talent housed here.
I happily complete the tour and grab a quick coffee in time to check some emails. I meet up with Suzie and Cameron in the cafeteria. They are inspiring artists as well and love working here as much as I do. They are also two of the nicest people I’ve ever met.
“Isn’t it exciting that the museum is hosting a Christmas ball this year? If only I had someone I could bring,” Suzie says laughing. “Maybe I could hire a boyfriend?” she adds keeping us amused.
“Oh yeah, I had totally forgotten about that. It’s still a few months away; you have plenty of time to find someone, Suz,” I reply smiling, knowing all too well just how fussy Suzie is with men. She ended it with her last boyfriend because he snored, and after two months, she couldn’t handle it anymore. The guy was hot too, nice body, intelligent, and she dumps him because he snores.
“At least you ladies can freely express yourself. I doubt my choice of partner would go down well with the bosses if I brought my friend with benefits, Eugene, along. We could wear our mardi gras outfit,” Cameron jokes, and the three of us chuckle at the vision he created. Both Suzie and Cameron make working here fun and easy going.
“So Ivy, when is your meeting with the big gun agent? Do they seem interested in more of your work?” Suzie questions me.
“Actually, I’m meeting Manu at my apartment next week. My studio is the best place to show what I have been experimenting with. I have a few new pieces, very different but still am pleased with,” I reply to her. I am eager to see what Manu thinks. He’s purchased five of my paintings already and now he is talking about wanting me to sign a contract for more.
“That’s awesome, Ivy! You have talent, girlfriend, and you deserve success,” Cameron tells me and kisses my cheek.
“Oh and before I forget, Lilly is making me go to the beach on Friday after my first tour, and you two are welcome to come,” I tell them both knowing how well they get along with Lilly, too.
“I’ll let you know if I can make it. I have some catching up to do for class, so I might have a date with the library,” Cameron replies frowning and looking less than impressed.
“Sounds good to me. I might find the perfect guy I need for the ball,” Suzie responds smirking and winks
at me.
“Girl power, Suz. We will all go together. Who needs men?” I reply trying to make her feel better.
“Girl fucking power bitches,” Cameron says taking us by surprise with his language. Which makes us burst out in laughter.
If I have to sit through another fucking boring meeting this week, I may combust. My brain is fried with irrelevant accounts figures, minor details for investments, staff changes, and my all-time loathsome, marketing analysis.
I am extremely well educated, a Harvard graduate. A degree was a prerequisite, being a Hudson and all, but my thirst for knowledge is something that surprised my father. I wanted to learn about the world. More importantly, I wanted to learn about the people of the world, hunger and famine, the good with the bad and not just business.
My love for reading has taught me more about the world than any Harvard degree could; it’s helped me to relate to people from every social and economic standing. I can converse intelligently with the businessman and the preacher, the history buff and the sports nut.
‘Try not to become a man of success, but rather try to become a man of value.’ Einstein knew that success is reached if you’re valuable to others. I am definitely a man of value and I believe that by having values, I can make the lives of others better by being a part of their journey.
But today, sitting here, I’m rethinking my workplace values, and they don’t include hanging around an office for eighty hours a week. Why should I have to be here from dawn till dusk and listen to all the minor details? That is what the employees below me are for. I’ve made an executive decision that I don’t need to be present. I am sure my assistant will be able to catch me up on any missed details.
Tomorrow is Friday, and I’ve decided I need a fucking sick day. It’ll be the first time in three years, but fuck it, if I’m the boss, why the hell can’t I be sick? I tie up my loose ends and tell Claire, my personal assistant, that I trust her judgement on the small decisions, to cancel my one meeting for the day, and I look forward to turning off my phone.
Tainted Deception Page 3
