by Reese Ryan
“I honestly didn’t intend to upset Mr. Jace. But his perception of Jordan is so disparaging. I thought if only...” Sasha folded her hands, her eyes lowered. “I hoped I could give him a clearer picture of his son’s accomplishments.”
“Sounds like you’re quite impressed with my son, Miss Charles. Enough to go to bat for him at your own peril.”
Sasha’s cheeks flamed with heat. Her eyes didn’t quite meet the woman’s.
This is where I get shown the door, showered by bits of confetti that were once pieces of my contract. But it’s too late to back down now.
“Jordan is a remarkable artist, Mrs. Jace, and an extraordinary man. There’s much more to him than meets the eye.” She raised her gaze to Eva’s. “And that’s exactly what you hired me to demonstrate to the world.”
“I knew you were the right woman for this job. That you’d be able to see through the silly facade Jordan presents to the world.” Eva squeezed Sasha’s arm and gave her a grateful smile.
“I appreciate your confidence in me, Mrs. Jace. I won’t let you or Jordan down. He’s going to do incredible things in the future. I truly believe that.”
“Yes, dear, I believe you do.” The woman regarded her fondly. “Now, enough about my son for now, Miss Charles. Why don’t you come sit down and tell me a little more about you?”
* * *
Jordan was sick to death of talking about the tomfoolery going on at Prescott George. First, Vaughn had practically accused him of being the culprit behind the break-ins and vandalism at the PG headquarters. Now they were behaving as if he had an obligation to help nail the childish bastards who’d pulled off the ridiculous prank.
Isn’t that why they’d hired the blowhard, private detective currently giving them a rundown of what he’d uncovered? And what had the man learned for all of his overpriced investigations?
Jordan was temporarily distracted by thinking of countless adjectives to sum up exactly what this man had discovered thus far.
Sweet Fanny Adams. Damn all. Nix. Nada. Zilch.
He forced himself to focus on the conversation again. Jordan had promised Sasha that he would take his association with Prescott George more seriously. That he’d maximize his membership in the group, rather than treat it as a penance for his refusal to join his family’s company.
He was all for making the membership work for him. However, Sasha had insisted that the only way to do that was to work harder to build relationships within the club. He was trying, he honestly was. Only, Vaughn Ellicott, Christopher Marland and a few of the other blokes at the club were making it quite difficult right now.
Jordan would much rather be out there in the gallery, entertaining Sasha Charles and rubbing elbows with potential buyers. Instead, he was huddled in his office for a ten-minute meeting that had ballooned to forty minutes and counting.
He checked his watch for what felt like the fiftieth time. Mercifully, Vaughn finally seemed to get the hint.
“We’re not getting anywhere with this tonight, fellas.” Vaughn climbed to his feet. “And my bride is out there wandering the gallery all alone, as are your significant others. So let’s break it up and plan to chat about it again in a week or so.”
Goody.
More hand-wringing, useless theories and long-winded debates that delivered exactly zero answers.
Can’t wait.
But like the others, he mumbled his agreement. He’d have done just about anything, short of gnawing off his own leg, to escape the small space overloaded with testosterone, so he could spend some time with Sasha.
Jordan stepped out into the gallery, which buzzed with activity. Prescott George members, potential members and their guests had quickly filled the space. Chatter, laughter and music filled the air.
He scanned the main floor of the gallery. No sign of Sasha. His gaze met Lydia’s and she smiled.
“Lyddie, has Sasha arrived yet?”
“Yes.” Her smile stiffened. She sniffed and pushed her glasses further up on her nose. “She arrived about a half an hour ago.”
His heart soared. “Where is she?”
“She went upstairs to talk with Mrs. Ellicott a while ago.” Lydia indicated Vaughn’s new wife, who was talking to a few other wives and significant others of PG members. “But Mrs. Ellicott came down about fifteen minutes ago.”
“Is Sasha still upstairs?”
Lydia shrugged. “She must be. I haven’t seen her down here.”
“Thanks, Lydia.” Jordan patted her shoulder and headed off to find Sasha, but she grabbed his elbow.
“I have three potential buyers who’ve been waiting to see you.” Lydia leaned in closer, whispering just loud enough for Jordan to hear her. “That is the real point of this event, isn’t it?”
“Yes, I s’pose it is.” Jordan heaved a sigh and rubbed the back of his neck. “You always keep me on track. Thank you, Lyddie. Don’t know what I’d do without you.”
A reticent smile lit the woman’s blue eyes. “Just doing my job.”
“Jordan, you haven’t seen my daughter Jojo, have you?” Chris Marland, president of the Prescott George San Diego Chapter, appeared beside him. The man’s gaze swept the room.
“Not since we left the meeting.” He’d met the girl and her brother when they’d arrived with their father earlier in the evening. “But if I see her, I’ll let her know you’re looking for her.”
Jordan followed Lydia to the first of three members who were interested in either purchasing sculptures or having one commissioned.
When finally he’d met his obligation by talking to each of them, he bounded up the stairs in search of Sasha.
She was seated in a corner where his mother was speaking to her.
“Mother, what are you doing here?” He approached them, leaning down to allow his mother to kiss his cheek. “I didn’t expect you here tonight.”
“Your father and I arrived some time ago.” His mother beamed at Sasha. “I’ve just been getting to know Miss Charles here a bit better. And she’s been updating me on her progress.” The corners of her mouth suddenly tugged downward and the light in her brown eyes dimmed. “Jordan, darling, why didn’t you tell me about the work you’ve been doing with the schools? Or that you’ve been mentoring young artists?”
Jordan glanced quickly at Sasha, who gave him a reassuring nod, then back at his mother again.
He shrugged, sliding onto the sofa beside his mother. “Would it have mattered? If I’m interested in anything other than joining the family business, you and Dad have always turned a deaf ear. Why would this be any different?”
His mother was silent for a moment. She squeezed his hand.
“I’m sorry for that, Jordan. Not encouraging your interests is one of my biggest regrets. In fact, it’s the primary reason I hired Miss Charles here.” His mother gestured toward Sasha. “To show you how proud I am of what you’ve accomplished. And that I believe you’re capable of achieving even more.”
Jordan was stunned, rendered speechless for once in his life. He swallowed back the rising emotions caught in his throat.
His mum was actually apologizing. And was proud of what he’d accomplished.
“Thank you, Mum.” He hugged her tight.
She cradled his cheek and smiled.
“Where’s Dad?” he asked.
His mother glanced around. “He’s wandering around here somewhere.”
Jordan scanned the upper floor of the gallery. His father was walking around one of his more daring pieces. A frown was plastered on the man’s face.
Typical. Jordan honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d done anything that had impressed his father or earned anything more than a scowl.
“Dad obviously doesn’t share your view.” Jordan nodded toward his father who’d walked over to another piece.
His mo
ther patted his knee. “He’s always had a very specific plan for you. For all of you. He hasn’t let go of that vision. And he’s yet to understand what I learned here today.”
Jordan studied his mother. “Which is?”
“That it doesn’t reflect poorly on us as parents that you’ve gone your own way. It means we’ve done our job. Given you the strength and courage to follow your own path. Even if that means going against our wishes.” She smiled broadly. “In that, you’ve been our biggest success yet.”
“Thanks, Mum.” His heart squeezed in his chest and he hugged her one more time. “That means a lot to me. It really does.”
“To me, too.” His mother stood and straightened her skirt. “Well, I’d better go join your father. I’ll see you two later.”
Jordan stood with his mother, taking a seat again when she walked away. He and Sasha remained silent for a moment. Finally, Jordan opened his mouth and turned to her.
She cut him off before he could speak.
“Before you say anything... I know it wasn’t my place to tell your parents about the work you’ve been doing. But your father was going on about how your art wasn’t real art, and I just couldn’t let that stand.”
Jordan raised a brow. “You had a row with my father over my work?”
Her cheeks flushed. “It wasn’t really an argument, but yes, I did kind of tell him off. I know it wasn’t the brightest move I’ve ever made, but I wasn’t about to let him get away with—”
Jordan slid beside her on the sofa and pressed a finger to her lips in one fluid move. “I’m going to kiss you, Sasha Charles,” he whispered, leaning in closer. “Any objections?”
Sasha stared at him, blinking rapidly. Her heart raced. She should reject his proposition and push him away. But she couldn’t. Rooted in place, she slowly shook her head, eager for a taste of his mouth.
“Good.” Jordan closed the remaining space between them, his lips nearly meeting hers.
“Jordan. There’s something you need to see. Right away.” It was Chris Marland. The man looked like he was completely out of breath, his chest heaving.
“We are going to finish this later.” Jordan cupped her chin and sighed before turning to the chapter president. “What is so all-fired important that you need to disturb me at this particular moment?”
Chris hesitated. “One of the sculptures you’ve been working on...it’s been vandalized.”
“What?” He shot to his feet and Sasha stood beside him. His heart pounded. “Which one?”
“I don’t know. There’s no name on it. But I’d guess I’d say it resembles a bird.”
Chris hadn’t finished his sentence before Jordan hit the stairs, the sound of his own pulse filling his ears. He raced toward his studio.
He’d gone into the studio earlier, with the intention of returning straightaway. But he’d been distracted by the impromptu meeting being called, so he forgot to go back and lock it.
Jordan hadn’t considered for one moment that someone might wander in there. Let alone someone who would sabotage his work.
He rushed through the crowd, briskly excusing himself. Finally, he reached the studio, where Vaughn Ellicott was already surveying the scene.
Jordan stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the damage to the sculpture. Someone had taken a pipe and repeatedly bashed the statue. Paint had been splashed onto the sculpture and formed little puddles all around it. A few of the containers that held bolts, screws and other smaller scraps of metal had been knocked to the floor.
His jaw tensed and his hands balled tightly into fists. Jordan’s body shook with the rage that spread through him. Like a toxin introduced intravenously.
Of all the pieces the saboteur could’ve attacked, he’d chosen that one. The piece that meant more to him than any damn thing he’d done in his entire career.
“Who could’ve done this?” Sasha’s voice was behind him.
“Whoever’s behind the break-ins at the Prescott George headquarters,” Vaughn answered.
“You really think they would begin targeting the individual members of the club?” Chris asked.
“Not necessarily the individual members. This was about disrupting our event,” Vaughn said definitively.
“Well, they’ve certainly achieved that.” Chris stepped closer, assessing the mess. “And this doesn’t bode well for any future events we have planned, like the Chapter of the Year event scheduled for next month.”
Vaughn sighed heavily. “We’re not looking much like a chapter to be emulated, are we? Especially if these acts are being perpetrated by one of our very own members.”
Chris shook his head and sighed. “I’d better call the police.”
“No.” Jordan turned around, his eyes blazing. He bit back the anger rising in his chest.
If not for the inane meeting Chris called, this wouldn’t have happened. But there was nothing he could do about that now. So instead he’d focus on the big picture.
“I refuse to give them what they want.” Jordan pointed at the vandalized sculpture. “I will not let them disrupt this event and make us all look like incompetent fools.”
“We have to bring the police in.” Chris’s tone was quiet. Sympathetic.
“And we will.” Jordan studied the mangled, paint-splattered sculpture. “After the event is over. I won’t let these cowardly bastards win.”
“Then we’d better get out of here and leave everything as we found it.” Chris walked carefully toward the door and Vaughn followed him.
“You two coming?” Vaughn asked.
“We’ll be along shortly,” Sasha said, her voice soft.
“One more thing...” Jordan turned to Vaughn and Chris. “Who discovered this?”
“Your assistant Lydia said that she found the mess when she came in here to look for something,” Chris said.
“Why didn’t she tell me herself?”
Chris shrugged. “She seemed pretty shaken by the whole ordeal when she told me. Maybe she was nervous about how you’d react.” He turned and left.
Jordan and Sasha stood in the large space he’d brought her to the night they’d met. Neither of them spoke for several seconds.
“Look, I appreciate you being here.” Jordan stared at the wreckage, trying to wrap his mind around how he’d go about salvaging the piece. “But I’d quite like to be alone.”
Sasha didn’t speak or move. Finally, she stepped closer and slipped her hand in his. “It’s okay to need other people sometimes, you know. You don’t always have to be the lone-wolf rebel.”
Jordan’s gaze snapped to hers. He’d wanted to yell and scream. To kick things over and bash the wall with a pipe. The kinds of things proper English gentlemen never did. The kinds of things they certainly never did before an audience.
He wanted to insist she leave and let him work out his anger in his own way. But the warmth and comfort there in her brown eyes stopped him cold. It soothed his wounded soul and lifted some of the anxiety that pressed down on him and made the taking of each breath laborious.
“Perhaps you’re right.” Jordan squeezed her hand back.
“We’d better join the others.” She released his hand. “The party is in full swing.”
“Shit.”
“What is it?”
“As the host, I’m supposed to say a few words.” He checked his watch. “I’m scheduled to do that shortly.”
“Do you think you can manage?” Sasha’s voice was filled with concerned. “No one would blame you if you were too upset to talk right now. I’m sure one of the others would be glad to speak on your behalf.”
“No, this is something I must do.” His voice was more insistent. “I won’t allow this coward to ruin my night. This event is part of the plan to help promote the gallery and my work. That’s still the case.”
They returne
d to the gallery, as if nothing had happened. But as Jordan surveyed the crowd, he couldn’t help wondering if the culprit was among them. Perhaps even a fellow member of Prescott George.
Chapter 8
Sasha hadn’t been able to take her eyes off Jordan. She admired how he’d put on his best face and turned that brilliant smile up to its highest wattage.
Anyone who didn’t know him well would never have suspected his heart was broken and that the smile he wore masked the pain underneath.
It felt odd to put herself in that category—as a person who knew Jordan well. Despite her insistence that they keep things professional, they’d grown closer in the weeks since she’d met him.
During their time together on the yacht, she’d learned to read his expressions and body language. She recognized when he was being honest and open—which was most of the time. But she’d also learned to recognize when he was masking some other feeling. Hurt, disappointment, anger...lust.
Sasha stood on the fringe of a small group of PG members and their significant others embroiled in a lively discussion. She’d tried to engage in the conversation, but her thoughts kept drifting back to Jordan.
She was concerned about him.
Sasha laughed along with everyone else in response to the story Vaughn and Miranda were telling of how they met. But all she could think about was how hard Jordan had taken the vandalism of the sculpture.
She could understand the anger. But there was something deeper there. Something he wasn’t saying.
Sasha glanced over at Jordan. He was at the bar getting another drink. She wanted to go and comfort him. Hold him in her arms and tell him everything would be fine. Kiss him.
Warmth filled her body.
You were actually going to let him kiss you. Right here in the gallery. In public.
They’d been in an out-of-the-way corner of the gallery, on the upper floor. But it wasn’t unthinkable that someone could’ve happened upon them. Someone like Eva or Jonathan Jace.
She’d already nearly blown it by telling Mr. Jace about himself when he’d insulted Jordan’s work. Kissing Jordan would have made her another of “those women” that his father had complained about earlier. One of the countless women Jordan had dated or been rumored to have dated.
