Painting the Lines: A Hot Romantic Comedy (Ace of Hearts Book 1)

by Ashley R. King

  Drawing in a deep breath, she made her way to the elevators. Just before entering, her phone rang. Thankful for one last distraction before facing the inevitable, she stepped into an alcove in the lobby before answering it.

  “Hello?”

  “Amalie?” a voice asked.

  “This is she.”

  “Hi! This is Lily. You emailed me your book to format this morning.”

  “Hey, Lily. I’m really excited about working with you.”

  “Well…” Lily drawled, “that’s what I’m calling about. You see, I like to run through the novels I’m formatting to make sure I choose the right elements, and I got caught up in yours. It’s pretty freaking amazing.”

  Amalie’s lips stretched so wide her face hurt. “That’s awesome to hear. Thank you so much.”

  “That’s not why I’m calling, though. I’m calling because I have a friend who’s an agent with the Prynne Company. I really think this is something she’d be interested in and wanted to see if you’d be all right with me forwarding this to her?”

  Amalie’s hand flew to her mouth, tears pooling behind her eyes. Suddenly all the hard work and heartache seemed like it might actually have been worth it.

  “Oh wow. Yes, that’s totally fine. I, wow, I can’t thank you enough.” Her voice was a watery quiver.

  “It’s no problem at all. Her name is Brynn Monroe, and if she likes it, she’ll be the one to contact you. If not, I’ll move forward on formatting, but…well, not to get your hopes up or anything, but I really think she’s going to love it. We’ll talk soon.”

  “Absolutely. Again, thank you so much.” Amalie hung up and released a shaky breath. “Yes! Yes, yes, yes, yes! Hell yes!” She fist-pumped and danced and squealed as happy tears slid down her face, not caring who saw her. To think that a few weeks ago she’d considered giving up, deleting all her novels from her computer, and saying to hell with it. But Julian had stopped her, had encouraged her in both his words and his actions. He was going after the US Open full throttle, and it made her determined to take a step out on her own. She did this—not her last name.

  That phone call gave her the needed strength to push forward. She no longer cared about what her father had done to make Julian think she betrayed him. She didn’t want to live in anger, always trying to win battles. Now all she cared about was Julian and this dream they shared.

  With haste, she made it to the elevator, pressing in the penthouse code. When the elevator came to a stop, the doors opened to reveal her father, hands in his pockets, looking effortlessly cool as always.

  Amalie quickly wiped away her tears and stood ramrod straight, no expression on her face as she met her father’s questioning stare.

  “Happy tears or sad tears?” he asked casually, giving her room to step off the elevator and into the opulent foyer.

  “Weren’t you going somewhere?” she asked, her voice flat.

  “I heard the elevator and knew that only two other people had the code, and Simone’s still at her conference. I hoped it was you,” he said with a shrug, surprising her. “So happy tears or sad tears?”

  She sucked in a breath, readying herself for the inevitable argument or insults once she shared her news. But this was what she’d dreamed of for so long, what she’d worked so hard for over these last few months, so she had absolutely no intention of hiding it, least of all from her father.

  “Happy tears,” she answered, proud of how strong her voice sounded. Her father nodded but said nothing, so she continued. “The person I hired to format my book is sending it to her friend who’s an agent. She thinks she’ll like it.”

  Andrew Warner nodded and then offered her a genuine smile, not one of the fake ones she was used to from him. “I always knew you’d do it again, Amalie. You’ve got a God-given talent, and I knew it was only a matter of time.”

  Her expression went slack. “Say what?”

  Who was this man and what had he done with her father?

  He inclined his head toward the living room and said, “Let’s sit and talk.”

  Shaking her head, she followed him to the living room where he wasted no time sitting down on uncomfortable furniture that was more for design than functionality. She chose to remain standing, arms crossed in an act of protection. To his credit, her father didn’t say anything, just leaned forward, studying her.

  “Amalie, I haven’t done right by you all these years, and I know I hit a low point by driving you and Julian apart with a lie. I thought I was helping you, but I realized I was just trying to control you. Julian made me see that.”

  Her heart fluttered. “Julian talked to you?”

  “Among other things, but yes, he told me that if I wasn’t careful I was going to lose you. I wonder if I haven’t already?” His voice cracked a little, causing Amalie to do a double-take.

  This was most definitely information overload, and she didn’t know what to focus on first. The fact that Julian had cared enough to talk to her father or that her father was about two seconds away from crying.

  While she stood there wrestling with her thoughts, he continued. “I see the contempt in your eyes when you look at me, and even though it kills me, even though it reminds me of your mother, I find that I can’t change who I am.”

  “And why is that? Why can’t you change?” she interrupted, digging in her heels.

  Her father shook his head. “I should have changed when your mother tried to get my attention, but I didn’t, and she found someone else. I’m set in my old bastard ways, liking control. But I need you to know that I’ve been hard on you only because I love you so much, and I just don’t want you to fail or be hurt in any way. I didn’t realize that in doing so, I was the one who hurt you the most.” He rubbed his forehead and avoided her eyes. “It took me years to build what I’ve built, and if I can make your life easier by involving you in the family business, then why shouldn’t I push that instead of encouraging you to chase a dream that has the propensity to crush you?” He sat back in the chair, suddenly looking very tired.

  “Wow,” she said, totally unsure of what was happening. “Well, I know it’s hard for you to sit on the sidelines, holding your breath and wondering if I’ll fail again, but if I fail, then at least I tried. Writing is like breathing for me, and to cut that out of my life would be like suffocating. I’m putting myself out there, which isn’t the safe thing to do, I know, but safe does not always equal happy, Dad. I’ve got to make my own path in the world.”

  Amalie’s father stood, his hands outstretched. “Can you forgive your dad for being such a selfish bastard?”

  Confusion and hope warred within her heart. She’d never seen her father like this, ever. He’d never apologized, never looked so human. Amalie’s breath felt like it was bottled up in her throat.

  “I’m almost terrified of what’s going on in that head of yours.” Her father cocked his head to the side.

  “This is just…it’s a lot to get used to is all. It’s not bad, I promise.”

  In one swift movement, her dad embraced her, then pulled back just enough so that his earnest stare met her own. “Amalie, I’m so sorry, and I’ll do everything I can to make up for what I’ve done, for the things I’ve said. But I love you, kid, and I’m proud of you.”

  At first Amalie was stiff in his embrace, this being their first true hug in years. Forgiveness settled into her heart, tears clouding her vision as she finally hugged her father back.

  “Thank you, Dad.” She sniffled as they finally pulled apart. She quickly brushed at the wet spots her tears left on his suit jacket. “Just as long as you never make me work for you and you let me do me.”

  A chuckle escaped her dad as he nodded. “I think I can learn to do that. I guess Julian had some good advice after all.”

  “Oh really? What else did he say that was so life-enriching?”

  Her father shrugged. “He made me see what I was missing out on and pretty much told me that I’d been the world’s biggest jerk.” A
pparently, Julian knew the truth behind what went down a few weeks ago, and her father actually felt remorse over it.

  A thousand thoughts flew through her mind, but she forced herself to work through one thing at a time.

  Her face scrunched in confusion. “Okay…you’re not off the hook yet, but if Julian knew the truth, then why didn’t he reach out to me?” She fought to tamp down the anger surging in her veins.

  Her father shook his head. “Believe it or not, this was the best he felt he could do. He felt what needed to be said should be done in person, and I’ve got to tell you, he feels like a right idiot for what he did. He showed remorse and not to mention bravado by showing up at my office unannounced.”

  Huh. Her father was never Julian’s biggest fan, so that was saying something. Maybe all was not lost. Maybe Julian had been thinking of her just as much as she’d been thinking of him.

  Amalie’s lips quirked, but then her face smoothed out as she thought about the real reason she’d shown up to the last place on earth that she wanted to be. “Dad, I actually came here to talk to you…”

  “About Julian, I assume?”

  “Yeah, about Julian, and about those ugly-ass hotel patches you’ve got that poor guy wearing.” She giggled.

  And then her father did something she couldn’t ever remember witnessing—he laughed. Like really and truly laughed. “Those patches are hideous, aren’t they?”

  She couldn’t help but nod emphatically. “So, will you do me a solid and get rid of them? Let him play for himself, not for Warner Hotels?”

  Her father stilled and then turned to face her fully. “I’m going to have to be nice to this boy, aren’t I?”

  Amalie laughed with a nod.

  “If it’s that important to you, then of course.”

  “It’s very important to me.” The unspoken was still heard loud and clear. Julian is very important to me.

  “Consider it done, then,” her father said without hesitation. “Say, what do you think about hitting up that old burger joint you used to like when you were younger?”

  “I’m down for that.” She was always down for food, and now that she was on her own, it’d be pretty awesome if her dad was paying, too.

  As they strolled into the balmy night, Amalie felt her heart slowly stitching itself up, one suture at a time, one kind word from her father at a time—all thanks to Julian. He was the only missing piece, and of course, she wondered what he could’ve possibly said to get through to Andrew Warner.

  She’d find out soon enough. because come tomorrow she’d be in his box, rooting for him the same way he’d secretly rooted for her.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Julian

  “Where are the patches?” Julian asked as he flipped the shirt over in his hands and then turned it inside out. They had to be there somewhere because Andrew Warner had been pretty hell-bent on Julian being his little advertising bitch.

  “Don’t tell me you miss them,” Andrew cracked as they all stood huddled around a bench in the locker room.

  Julian and Paul shared a wide-eyed look, but it was Julian who ultimately spoke. “Did Andrew Warner just make a joke? Holy shit, I think he did.”

  Paul guffawed, but Andrew simply shrugged. “Just do me a favor, kid. Make sure you deserve her, because if you don’t, well, let’s just say I do have an impressive weaponry collection.” And with that, Andrew strode out of the locker room.

  Julian turned to Paul. “What the hell did he mean by that? Did Amalie have something to do with this?” He lifted the patchless shirt in question, heart racing. Was she here? Did she know how much he needed her? How much he missed her?

  Paul’s eyes crinkled. “You know she did.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “You know why, you idiot. You’ve just been too dense to see what’s been there all along. It’s why you talked to Andrew and told him to stop treating his daughter like trash. You love each other.”

  Damn. Paul was right, like always. Amalie deserved better from Julian. He vowed that she would get it, and soon. He had a lot of groveling and apologizing to do, but he’d do it…on his knees if he had to. He’d do whatever the woman wanted because the truth was right there in front of his face, a truth he’d known for a while but had been too damn scared to admit it: he loved her.

  “Hey,” Paul’s gruff voice broke through Julian’s little zone-out.

  “Yeah?”

  “You know I’m all about an Amalie and Julian reunion, especially when you’ve been the biggest dickhead known to man—”

  “Hey!”

  Paul steamrolled right over him and said, “But I need you to focus on this match, on the semifinal, for right now. After you win this, after you win the US Open, you go get the girl, but right now you’ve got Schaaf out there waiting to beat you on court.”

  Schaaf. Amalie had made Julian completely forget about his ex-fiancée’s husband, the guy she’d latched onto because she thought he’d eventually be a tennis star. Typical toxic Nadine.

  He shuddered at the thought. There was absolutely no love lost there. He’d thought he’d been in love, but given the intensity of his feelings for Amalie, what he’d felt for Nadine had been a sick impersonation of love, an infatuation maybe, lust definitely. Amalie was the sun, the moon, the stars, everything bright, whereas Nadine was everything that strangled the light and suffocated hope. He’d go out there and beat Schaaf, not because he was looking for revenge but because he wanted to prove himself to the girl he loved.

  He straightened his shoulders, lengthening his body as he gripped his racket and stood facing Paul. Determination laced his voice as he said, “I’m ready. Let’s paint the lines.”

  As Julian walked onto the court, his attention was glued to his box. He caught sight of her red hair standing out in a sea of black and white, or at least that’s what it looked like to him because everyone else just faded to the background when Amalie was around. She was an explosion of color in his dull, dark world. She was watching him, too, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he looked like a man starved, because that’s what he felt like. She was stunning as always in a white blazer, with a black lace top half-tucked into jeans with rips along the legs.

  Amalie gave him a small grin and wave before Paul pulled her attention away, probably on purpose. As much as Julian tried to dismiss the stupid flip-flopping thing his heart did, he couldn’t, not when it came to her.

  Pride surged through him, the unmistakable need to show off, to do well for himself, for his father, but also for Amalie.

  Slowly his gaze swung over to his mom who looked teary-eyed and happy. This was the freaking semifinals of the US Open. He was doing the damn thing.

  Once he got his stuff set up, Julian made his way to the net. When Schaaf joined him there for the coin flip, Julian shook his hand and noticed the guy wouldn’t even make eye contact. Julian felt his lips curl. He was already under Schaaf’s skin, and they hadn’t even started the match yet.

  After winning the toss, Julian didn’t hesitate to announce that he’d serve first, and then he started the match like a man on fire. He served multiple aces in the first set and couldn’t help but notice that Schaaf looked totally lost on the court.

  The sound of cheers and thunderous applause from the stands helped Julian move through that first set. He was thankful Paul made him study Schaaf’s matches, and he’d noticed that, against unknowns, the crowd usually pulled for Schaaf.

  Definitely not the case here. Julian felt relaxed out there on the court, the most relaxed he’d been in a while, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, a weight he was sure had to do with the stunning redhead in his box.

  During the changeover, as Julian was headed to his seat, Schaaf muttered, “I saw you brought me another woman.” He motioned toward Amalie with his chin. “Heard her daddy got you into this tournament.”

  Red. That’s all Julian saw as anger ignited his veins.

  His relaxed, easygoing confi
dence went to hell. It took everything he had not to beat the shit out of Schaaf right then and there.

  Of course, after that little mind game, Schaaf started out strong in the second set, breaking Julian’s serve. In a flash of utter fury, Julian smashed his racket against the net post.

  Never, not once, had he ever lost his composure on court. It was something his dad was big on, and it was something Julian wasn’t exactly proud of. Schaaf—the prick—had him exactly where he wanted him. That pissed Julian off even more, which then made him feel like he was slowly unraveling, especially when the umpire gave him his first-ever warning for racket abuse.

  The unraveling continued for the next fifteen minutes and resulted in Julian easily losing the set 6–1. When the third set rolled around he regained his composure, eventually leading to a tie break.

  Tension engulfed the stadium, the crowd humming with it because they knew what Julian knew: the outcome of this set was crucial to the match. He couldn’t let Schaaf get into his head again. He didn’t come this far to lose to an egotistical asshole.

  At seven–all in the tie break, with Schaaf serving, Julian felt more tuned in and delivered a strong return that left Schaaf scrambling. Julian took advantage of that and made his way to the net to put away a high volley. The crowd roared, and that energy gave him the power behind his next serve, which was a 130-mile-per-hour ace down the middle. He had Schaaf on the ropes, doubting himself. Just as Paul said, the mental game was even more important than the physical.

  Surprisingly, the fourth set offered no real drama as Julian marched to a 6–3 closing set victory. In the end, he collapsed to the ground in complete and total awe.

  Holy shit. He’d done it.

  He gripped his dad’s necklace as he shared the moment with the man who’d taught him what it was to love tennis.

  The crowd chanted his name as he stood. His lips curled into a smile, but there was only one other thing that would make this perfect. His gaze swung to his box, and there was his mom clapping like a wild woman alongside Paul, but it was Amalie he wanted to see. And there she was in all her beauty. She radiated joy, and just like that, every missing puzzle piece to Julian’s heart clicked into place.