Spring Training

by KB Winters

  Only when he turned to hand over the cup, did he speak. “Where?”

  “Three Rivers Gallery. It’s a curating position,” I answered.

  He gave a nod and didn’t say anything else on the matter. I could tell his mind was churning with the implications of what it would mean to not have me returning to my position. Even though it had been an internship, and he’d known I no longer needed the credit, he’d obviously assumed I would stay.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, my voice quiet.

  “Don’t be, this is obviously a better opportunity.”

  I nodded. “Well, I doubt it pays anything even remotely close to what you offered, but it’s in the field I want to be in, and there would be chances to travel and make a real difference in the art community. At least, that’s what I hope.”

  He smiled but I could tell he was distracted.

  “Grant?”

  “Hmm?”

  I hesitated. I knew, deep down, that I was making the right choice, for me, and that I shouldn’t feel guilty, but I cared for Grant, more than I was ready to say out loud, and I didn’t want him hurt over my choices. I knew that things at Timeless were getting better with the addition of the new marketing team members, but everyone was still so new that the process was still fairly fragile. “I can still help, even if I’m not there every day. We can still talk about designs and things. If you want.”

  Grant smiled and almost looked relieved. “So, I’ll still see you, even if you’re not at the office?”

  I laughed and nodded. “That was my plan, yes. Remember what I said, last night…” I blushed, remembering the intimate moment when we’d first exchanged the words, “I’m yours.”

  “I do remember that,” Grant assured me. He was still smiling but his eyes were serious as he looked at me. His gaze dropped to my lips and I automatically leaned in, my body igniting with heat as he brought his lips to mine. He nibbled my lower lip and explored every crevice, line, and curve with his velvet soft tongue, leaving me breathless by the time he pulled away.

  “What time is your interview?” He brushed a strand of stray hair away from my face and tucked it behind one ear.

  I glanced at the large clock on the kitchen wall. “In a couple of hours. But I need to go home and change.”

  “Home, or back to that hotel?” Grant asked.

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. I’d wanted to put all that away, but I knew he was still hurt that I’d lied to him. “Home, home. I told my dad last night that I’d be back today.”

  “Good.” He looked truly relieved and it hit me all over again just how much he cared about me. “I’ll have a car downstairs waiting for you. My driver will take you wherever you need to go and then back to your car.”

  I nodded. “Thanks.” I’d ended up leaving my car at the restaurant, a little too intoxicated to be driving, and so Grant had given me a ride. Of course, that was for other reasons too…not just because of the booze in my system.

  We had breakfast together, sitting side by side in comfortable silence as we noshed on one of Grant’s so called “weekend breakfasts” that consisted of eggs Benedict, sweet potato hash, and fresh fruit. Every bite was delicious, and as the meal went on, it was becoming more and more tempting to let Grant take me back to his bed and ignore the rest of the world—interview included—for the rest of the day.

  Especially after that kiss.…

  But after I took my last bite, I stood from my seat at the breakfast bar and started to gather my purse, double checking that my keys were inside for when I got dropped off at my car. I gave Grant a parting kiss, surprised how even a simple peck could light me up, before I turned and headed towards the front door.

  Grant remained seated, watching me go, before he called after me, “Megan.”

  I stopped just before reaching the entryway and spun around. He gave a genuine smile and said, “Knock ‘em dead.”

  I returned his smile and gave a quick wave before leaving the condo.

  * * * *

  I let Grant’s driver take me to get my car, and then I drove myself to the hotel I’d been staying at and checked out before going home. Pulling into the driveway and seeing the familiar bungalow affected me more than I’d expected and I nearly got choked up just staring at the front door. I shook off my nostalgia and hurried inside to get ready for my interview. The house was vacant but I smiled, knowing I’d see my family for dinner that night and for the first time in a long time. I had the feeling it was going to be a good night.

  By some miracle, I arrived at the Three Rivers Gallery right on time, but was quickly informed by an assistant that the interview panel was still wrapping up with the previous candidate. I thanked her and then took a self guided tour around the gallery, trying not to let my panic show as I registered that it was to be a panel interview. I found interviews to be nerve wracking enough, but the idea of multiple strangers all assessing me at once, and hurling questions at me, made my heart twist and turn inside my chest as I waited.

  As I circled the outside edges of the gallery, I let the art soothe my frayed nerves, taking my time to study each piece. By the time I was ushered into the conference room at the back of the gallery, I felt much more confident after seeing how well the tastes of the existing curator matched up with my own. The interview panel introduced themselves and I relaxed further at their friendly greeting.

  Each of them took turns asking questions, and with each answer I gave, their smiles only seemed to grow, which in turn, bolstered my confidence, and towards the end I was fairly confident they were about to offer my the job on the spot.

  “Did you have any questions for us?” Lance, the man who had called about the job, asked once the interview wound down. He spread his hands wide over the table as if to indicate they were an open book of information.

  I nearly shook my head no, but there was one question gnawing and nagging at me. “You mentioned on the phone that you’d been made aware of my work. Can I ask, how did you find me?”

  Lance looked slightly perplexed by my question. It was obviously not the normal post interview question, and I hurried to add, “I only ask, because as a relatively unknown artist I don’t get a lot of exposure, especially to a place as respected and far reaching as your gallery.”

  Sure, it was a little on the ass-kissing side, but it seemed to work, as all three panelists exchanged a proud smile.

  “Of course,” Lance continued. “One of our patrons suggested you. He’s been one of our long time clients, and he brought some pictures of your work, along with his personal recommendation.”

  My mind instantly brought Grant’s face to mind. He’d always appreciated my talent and we had shared multiple conversations about art, but he’d never mentioned being a patron at a gallery. It didn’t fit. But who else would it be?

  Lance continued, seemingly unaware of the question mark on my face, “Logan has excellent taste, so we decided to reach out and see if you were indeed available, as he’d said…” Lance kept speaking but my mind seized up, blocking out his words as I struggled to process the new horrifying piece of information he’d given.

  Logan did this?

  When Lance finished speaking, I politely excused myself from the room, and ignored the strange looks the panelists gave as I flew from the back room and out of the gallery. I hit the pavement and kept going, only stopping to catch my breath once I’d gotten two blocks away. I braced an arm against a neighboring building and sucked in a full gulp of air. Logan had been the reason I’d even gotten the call.

  Of course. It all made so much sense as the pieces shifted to fit together. Logan and I had met at an art gallery, he’d seen my work, and in that first conversation he’d mentioned he spent nearly all his free time in and out of different galleries. It made complete sense that he would be a patron of a place like the Three Rivers Gallery. And…it also made sense that he would use his sway to try and get me a job, something he knew I needed and was the one thing he could attempt to give me to
make me forgive him. Just another bargaining chip, another bribe.

  I grimaced at the thought, and the implication.

  The position had sounded like a dream, but it was poisoned. There was no way I could take it knowing that Logan had been the reason, and that he would always have that to hold over me. Even if I never saw him again, I didn’t want anything that was even remotely associated with him.

  No. I’d pass on the job and wait for something else. I was surprisingly calm about my decision as I traced my steps back to the gallery. I went inside and spoke to Lance directly and—without disclosing the reasons—turned down the job and thanked him for the opportunity. He looked baffled, but accepted my words and wished me the best as I left the gallery again.

  I got in my car and headed downtown, not stopping until I pulled into the underground garage under the Timeless building. I made my way upstairs and Cara ushered me into Grant’s office as though he’d been expecting me.

  “Is everything okay?” He asked, his initial smile at seeing me faded slightly as I crossed the room and plopped into the chair across from his desk.

  “Not really.”

  “What happened? Did the interview not go well? Because, you know, sometimes if it feels like shit, it actually went well. Of course,” he shrugged, “sometimes if it feels like it was shitty, that’s because it was shitty.…”

  “Not helping,” I sulked.

  “Sorry.”

  I sighed and told him the nutshell version of what happened at the gallery.

  “Damn.”

  I nodded and ground my teeth, the frustration over the situation hitting me all over again. Grant, on the other hand, brightened. “Well, you’re in luck,” Grant said, a slow smile crossing his face.

  I arched a brow at him.

  “I have an offer for you,” he said.

  I groaned. “Grant—”

  He held up a hand to stop my protest. “Just wait, hear me out.”

  I sank into the chair opposite him and waited.

  “As you know, in addition to my work here at Timeless, I also invest in businesses. I’ve been toying with the idea for a while, but wasn’t sure what you’d say.”

  My interest perked as he laid out his offer.

  “Like it or not, Megan, you have a marketing brain, as well as a killer eye for design. I’ve seen what you can do, and as much as I’d like to keep you all to myself, I know that’s not what you want. So, my proposal is simple, you start a consulting business and do what you did for me, with all kinds of businesses. Instead of wading through the emails and customer comments, you would go to different types of businesses, hear their concerns, and come up with solutions and design new products for them. I actually took the liberty of shopping this type of service around, and if you want, I already have three mega-corporations interested. Each contract would be in the mid six-figures, and if you play your cards right, you could have multiple contracts a year. Not too shabby right out of college, right? I figure, even if you put in five years, you’d have more than enough to retire young and travel and paint and whatever you wanted, really.”

  My eyes went wide as his words permeated my brain, unlocking an entire new world of possibility.

  “Why didn’t you tell me any of that this morning?” I asked him, my eyes searching his for the answer.

  He leaned across the desk and took my hands in his and pressed a soft kiss to the back of each set of knuckles before looking back into my eyes. “Because, I realized it wasn’t about me, or Timeless, it was about you, and what you wanted. I want you to be happy, Megan. More than anything else, I want you to be happy. So, I thought if that gallery job would make you happier than working here or with me, then I needed to let you do it.”

  I sucked in my bottom lip to still the tears that formed in my eyes as I looked at the man I loved.

  He smiled and leaned back in his seat again, propping his elbows behind his head. “So, what do you say? Partners?”

  I burst out laughing at his casual posture before nodding my head and letting the new tears, ones of joy, release from my eyes as I smiled and replied, “Yes!”

  ~ THE END ~

  Thank you so much for reading my books! I hope you enjoyed Grant and Megan in the Timeless Passion Series! Want more free books? Turn the page!

  Northern Lights

  A Novel

  By

  KB Winters and Evie Monroe

  Copyright © 2016 BookBoyfriends Publishing LLC

  Published By: BookBoyfriends Publishing LLC

  Copyright and Disclaimer

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination and have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2016 BookBoyfriends Publishing LLC

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of the trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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  Chapter One

  “Taylor.”

  I sighed as the sound of my mother calling my name echoed through the halls. No matter how loud I had my music, her voice always penetrated like a knife gliding through butter.

  “Taylor!”

  On second thought, make that like a knife stabbing directly into my brain. I put my head in my hands being mindful of the makeup I’d carefully applied to my face. With a sigh I looked up, catching my own doe-like sapphire blue gaze in the vanity mirror in front of me. Anyone looking at me would probably assume I had everything together for myself. My blonde hair was styled into gentle waves with not a hair out of place. The highlights that were routinely put in my hair every six weeks caught the light and my milky white skin was blemish free, thanks to years of avoiding too much sun exposure and having regular maintenance. All in all, I knew my visage screamed money and privilege, and anyone assuming that wouldn’t be wrong.

  “There you are.”

  I blinked slowly before turning to look at my mother. She stood in the doorway of my room with her hands on her hips. Anyone who looked at her and then at me would know instantly we were related. My friends often joked about me being my mother’s clone, and I’d always laughed along with them—even though I was dying inside.

  Where my blue eyes were dull, hers were now blazing with annoyance and anxiety. The annoyance I was sure was for me. It was often the most present emotion in my mother’s eyes when she’d look at me and had been for as long as I could remember. My relationship with my mother was one I’d struggled with for a long time.

  Like any other girl, I’d always desperately sought out her approval, though I usually failed. Still, I had trouble brushing off the feelings of guilt I had—I’d never quite measured up to her expectations. The anxiety was a new emotion, although I was sure she could see it reflected in my own eyes, thanks to the uncertainty of our future.

  At fifty-two, Beatrice Vanderfelt was a new widow thanks to the sudden and recent death of my father. Had it been caused by some natural cause, I’m sure her anxiety wouldn’t have been as pronounced as it was. Unfortunately, my late father’s death was a suicide brought on by an impending bankruptcy. I didn’t know exact details, but suffice to say my mother and I were now situated firmly in the middle class—a shock for me to be sure, but an even bigger dip for my mother. While I had always—in a way—longed to see how the other half lived, my mother was the opposite. She’d grown up in a
poor family with a school teacher mother and blue-collar worker father. My mother probably figured she’d won the lottery when her good looks and charm attracted my father back in high school. His family had started a business that elevated their financial position and secured my mother as never needing to work another day in her life.

  Until now.

  “Why are you still dawdling in here? The photographer is here to take your photos.”

  “Why can’t I just use the photos I already have?” I stood up from the stool in front of my vanity and brushed my hands down my fitted baby-blue dress. The color, I knew, brought out the blue of my eyes and the cut was very flattering to my curves. It was a dress I’d normally wear if my girlfriends and I planned on going out and being seen, though since news broke of my father’s suicide, I hadn’t been in much of a mood to be seen—by anyone.

  The news of our future bankruptcy had blessedly not broken yet, but I figured it would be inevitable. The company my grandfather built was all but in ruins and now we could only sit back and wait to hear of the true damage. Reportedly there were talks on the table of being bought and dissolved into another company, but even so, I doubted either my mother or I would see any of the money involved.

  “I am really not in the mood for this,” I sighed.

  My mother’s blue eyes took on a more grayish hue and I braced myself to be chastised. “Taylor Vanderfelt, after everything I have done for you and everything I have gone through, I believe I deserve a bit more respect than I am getting. First your father goes off and kills himself, and now you have the nerve to—get downstairs for this photo shoot. I do not want to have to come back up here again.”

  I clenched my fists at my side at the mention of my father. It was still a touchy subject between us and other than a late night crying session with my closest friends, I hadn’t spoken a word about him to anyone. “Fine.”