Kiss Me Crazy

by Ednah Walters

  She decided not to correct Rick’s assumption about Gena and said, “A little tiff, Rick. No biggie. What’s up with you?”

  “My nephew’s bar mitzvah is next week, my parents’ anniversary this weekend. Which one will you attend?”

  Kara wrinkled her nose. “That’s such a short notice.”

  “I know, I know. I hadn’t planned on attending the anniversary, not without Raul. My father…,” he muttered something in Persian, “but I’m going anyway, for my mother’s sake. Please say you can make it.”

  Poor Rick. His father, an important man in the local Iranian Jewish community, refused to accept that his only son was homosexual. “I think I can make the bar mitzvah.”

  “Thank you. I’ll tell Raul.” He kissed her cheek and got up. “I’ll drop off the invitation tomorrow. The theme is Harry Potter. Kids.” He shuddered and looked around, his eyes zeroing on the painting in the easel. “Oh, an original Hallè. Circa eighteen-sixty-eight?”

  I nodded. “It came last week when you were at an auction. I’m starting on it this afternoon.”

  “Nice piece. Is it privately owned or from a gallery?”

  “A gallery. Why? Interested in purchasing it?”

  “Can’t afford it, sweetie.” He turned to her and added, “I’m headed to Raul’s for lunch. Want me to pick you up something?”

  “Not today, thanks. I’m meeting Renee.” She hadn’t planned on it until she spoke. “I might pick up something on my way, though.”

  “Croissant or rye?” he teased.

  Kara stuck her tongue out at him. “Haven’t decided.”

  “Give us a call when you do. Later.” He headed up the stairs, whistling a tune under his breath. He paused by the door to add, “We owe you one, Kara.”

  She knew he meant about agreeing to attend the bar mitzvah. Every time he took Raul to a family gathering, the two needed moral support. Of all his friends, she clicked with his father the most. The old man considered himself an art connoisseur and loved lengthy discourse on antiquities.

  “That’s what friends are for, Rick.” Once the door closed behind him, Kara picked up her cell phone and dialed Renee’s number. “I’m joining you guys for lunch after all.”

  “That bad?”

  Baron was one subject she didn’t want to discuss. “I’m heading out the door, but might be a little late. Raul’s shop gets a little crowded at this time of the day.”

  There was mumbling on the line, as though Renee was talking to someone. Then she came back on the line with, “Chloe said she already ordered something from a nearby restaurant.”

  Kara grimaced. She wasn’t up to Chloe’s fast foods. “Tell her I already have my lunch covered.”

  Renee chuckled. “Tell her yourself. Don’t want her to lay it on me. You know how she gets. Chloe, that’s beautiful. Kara you won’t believe…ouch. What was that for?”

  There was more mumbling in the background, and then Chloe’s deeper voice became clearer. “For trying to steal my moment, that’s what. I could go postal on your butt.” Laughter trickled down the line.

  Kara stifled a giggle, too. “Go easy on my eardrums, Chloe. What’s going on?”

  “You won’t know until you get your skinny butt here. And you’d better not bring some turkey-on-rye mess and call it food. You need more meat on your bones as it is. I’ve got us some fried onions and burgers, and a fruit shake to wash it all down.”

  Kara imagined the hours she’d put at her gym working off the extra calories.

  “I’ll be there. Better watch whose ass you call skinny, woman.” She closed her cell phone, before Chloe could start her usual mantra of what men liked.

  Men don’t like skin and bones on a woman, Kara. They want meat they can grab and bite. Kara picked up her purse and started up the stairs. The way Chloe went on, one would think Kara’s size eight was thin. It wasn’t her fault she was small waist up. On the other hand, Chloe was a size fourteen. According to her, anyone smaller was scrawny.

  Kara stepped into the gallery’s main floor and glanced around. She immediately regretted the action. This tendency to try and catch a glimpse of Baron every time she walked into the gallery had to stop. In a month’s time I’ll be gone, and he’ll be part of my past. I’d better get used to it, fast.

  The pep talk didn’t stop her heart from beating at a frantic pace. She really didn’t want to see him, talk to him, or even think about him. He might not be around the main floor, but that didn’t mean jack. He could be watching her right now as she stood beside the pillar, skulking like a fugitive.

  Baron had his entire gallery wired with a state-of-the-art security system. The monitors occupied a wall in his office and received video feeds from every room. He liked to keep an eye on his investments, and who could blame him? The gallery boasted a wide variety of expensive and innovative works of art, from paintings and sculptures to video presentations. The biweekly exhibitions by various emerging or established artists included historicals, thematic shows, or one person retrospectives.

  Kara squared her shoulders and started across the room. As usual, the gallery’s ambient temperature and spaciousness created by its wooden floors and vaulted ceiling soothed her senses. There was a stream of customers walking around, much more than usual, but that wasn’t surprising. Works by Danielle “Dan” Chancy, one of the local artists, often drew quite a crowd.

  Kara paused to admire a sculpture of a nude woman in repose and a bust of a Native American warrior, and smiled with regret. She was going to miss this place. During her lunch hour, she often walked through rooms and studied the displayed pieces.

  Time to get going or Chloe will have my hide. Kara hurried toward the entrance. Just before she exited the gallery, she looked over her shoulder at the office on the second floor.

  She shouldn’t have done that.

  Baron stood by the glass wall, his intense gaze locked on her. How long had he been watching her? Did it matter? A rush of something hot and primal slithered up her spine. She wanted to run out of the room, but couldn’t will her legs to move.

  He looked huge and unapproachable. It was hard to see the exotic perfection of his face—a blend of his Cuban mother and Irish-American father. Not that she needed to. She had every inch of his face etched in her brain: the startling blue eyes and black hair, the smooth sun-kissed skin and the aquiline nose, the sharp angle of his jaw and the prominent cheekbones, even the faint scar that ran from the bottom of his lower lip to his chin.

  How many times had she looked up and caught him staring down. She’d like to say staring at her, but that would be presumptuous. Often she’d smile or wave. Such a simple gesture, yet she couldn’t do it now.

  “Excuse me?”

  Kara whipped around and blinked at the elderly couple trying to enter the gallery. The poor man would have to run her down with his wheelchair to get inside. Heat crept up her face. Maybe that was what she needed, someone to knock her down and shove some sense into her thick skull.

  “I’m sorry.” She moved out of the way and grabbed the other door to ease their entrance.

  “Thank you, my dear,” the woman said with a motherly smile.

  “It was my fault really.” This time, Kara didn’t look back. She hurried to her car, so embarrassed she wanted to slap herself. She was an idiot. No matter how much she denied it, she was attracted to Baron. Very much so. What if?

  No, there were no what ifs for the two of them. She was moving on. In fact, she’d better start thinking about something else before her mind went into hyper-drive and came up with a crazy idea.

  Chloe’s was always busy but Kara lucked out when a woman backed out of a spot just as she entered the parking lot adjacent to the spa and salon. Eager to hear the latest, she went to the salon first and was greeted by a blast of techno music. Chloe spent most of her time there working and left an assistant to man the front desk at the spa. Amid “hi Kara” and “what’s happening” from the hairdressers, her gaze sought Renee and Chlo
e.

  “They’re in her office next door,” someone yelled.

  “Thanks, guys.” She walked to the back, past the salon office and a back door, and into a hallway with soothing taupe wallpaper. The change in the atmosphere was startling. While the salon had been noisy with techno music and the scent of hair chemicals in the air, the spa was calmer, scented with herbal essences and the soothing sound of classical music in the background. Trickling water from a fountain reached Kara’s ears. Through a textured glass wall, she saw silhouettes of clients relaxing in chaise loungers, iced water or tea in their hands. Muted conversations between clients and employees drifted from other rooms.

  Kara turned left at the common room with its plush chairs and black glass coffee table offering a fruit basket and a pitcher of water for guests. Hardly any sound came from behind Chloe’s closed door, which wasn’t surprising. Chloe always curbed her exuberant nature when at the spa.

  Kara knocked briefly then pushed the door open. Chloe, in her trademark pantsuit and spiky red hair, relaxed in a chaise lounge, a glass of something sparkly in her hand. Champagne? Her sister, Shannon, opposite her in looks and temperament, sat on the edge of the cherry desk, while Renee on the armchair, had her shoeless feet dangling on the edge of an arm. They all looked up when Kara walked in.

  “About time,” Chloe said and swung her feet to the floor. She picked up an empty champagne glass from the floor and waved it at Kara. “Take it. Pour her some, Shay.”

  Kara frowned, her gaze bouncing between the three grinning women and the bottle, which turned out to be sparkling cider. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m getting married.” Chloe lifted her left hand and wiggled fingers with long, curving acrylic nails. “My Danny proposed.” She screamed in excitement.

  Kara’s eyes widened when her eyes zeroed on the ring. It was huge. She took Chloe’s hand and studied the marquis diamond set in a platinum ring with tiny round side stones. “It’s beautiful.”

  “That’s my man. I’m so lucky to have him.” Her voice was wobbly.

  “Oh honey. He’s lucky to have you.” Kara sat by her side and gave her a big hug. She was happy for Chloe and a little envious. When would she get her ring? Of course, she had to find herself a man first, like her younger sister Briana and Chloe. Baron’s face flitted in her head but she pushed it away. She couldn’t have what she wanted, but that shouldn’t stop her from living vicariously through her friend.

  The three of them went way back. Chloe roomed with her and Renee for two years before she dropped out of college to take care of her siblings after her parents died. Despite not having a college degree, she opened a hair salon at the age of twenty-two and a spa three years later. Now she owned several around L.A. If it weren’t for her, Shannon would never have finished medical school or become a dermatologist. The two now had a perfect working arrangement—recommending the other to their clients.

  Kara leaned back. “Give us the details? How did he propose?”

  ***

  Baron watched when Kara left the gallery, when she came back, and later when she left for the day. He’d asked himself what monitoring her movements would accomplish and came up blank. His inability to formulate an answer, to concentrate on his work, or to stop thinking about her made him furious. He was reduced to prowling in his office after everyone had gone home, racking his brain for a solution.

  The situation with Kara was merely a distraction, one she sprung on him when he least expected it. She wanted to quit? Fine. He needed to stop obsessing about it and move on. Better yet, find something to occupy himself until he regained control. One sure way of accomplishing that was as old as time itself.

  Baron stepped back behind his desk and pulled open the top drawer. He retrieved his cell phone, pressed the ‘contacts’ button and scrolled at the names. Sex had a way of dulling the senses, and he hadn’t gotten laid in what…three months? No, six.

  It was humiliating to have to do this at such short notice, but he knew women who wouldn’t mind. In fact, most of the women he bedded knew the score from the word go—he wasn’t looking to settle down. He still had a lot to accomplish before taking that route. The women never minded once he explained his position, and he made it up to them in bed.

  Baron finished with the list of names without selecting one. Scowling, he started reading them aloud as he scrolled back to the beginning. He couldn’t remember what some of the women looked like. Instead an image of Kara sauntering out the gallery door stayed etched in his brain, the sound of her husky voice playing in his ears. Disgusted with himself, he pushed the cell phone into its holder.

  He needed a drink.

  Baron grabbed his jacket and keys then headed for the elevator. It was getting dark, the setting sun casting giant shadows of the surrounding skyscrapers. He took off in his SUV toward West Hollywood, his destination a trendy restaurant frequented by the young professionals of Los Angeles and Hollywood celebrities.

  The Haven Lounge and Restaurant was busy as usual, but he left his car with a valet and headed for the entrance. The hostess saw him before he walked through the eastern doors of the sprawling bunker-like building.

  “Evening, Baron,” she said with a gracious smile.

  “Liz.” He hugged her and kissed her cheek. “You’re looking good.”

  She patted her perfectly style hair. “Thank you.”

  “Is he busy?”

  “No more than usual. You want me to page him for you?”

  “Please. I’ll be at the bar.” He walked to the wine lounge and headed straight for the bar. Within seconds, one of the bartenders had a shot of scotch in front of him. “Thanks, P.K.”

  Baron drained the drink and nodded at the bartender for another. As a rule he hated to depend on chemicals to dull his senses, but hard liquor was the only companion he could find to ease his crappy mood tonight.

  Through the mirror behind the wine glasses, he studied patrons as they walked through the entrance of the restaurant. Liz kept tucking the lock of her hair behind her ear, a ruse that hid the fact that she used a hidden microphone on her wrist to communicate with the other hostesses. Some of the diners were directed to the leather chairs in the wine lounge, their choice of beverage provided in a timely fashion. Others were led to private cabanas on the patio or the main dining room. The quick seating of its clientele, exceptional food, private dining rooms for parties or cabanas for romantic dinners, and of course, the multiple entrances and exits for celebrities and dignitaries to slip in and out unnoticed were some of the reasons the Haven became the latest hot spot in West Hollywood.

  Baron was nursing his third drink when a tall man slid onto the barstool next to his.

  “Hey, little brother,” Baron said without turning.

  “I was born fifteen seconds after you, Baron. What’s going on? Liz said you looked stressed. From the looks of you, I’d say that was an understatement.”

  Baron snickered, his gaze on the reflection of his twin brother Chase. Except for Chase’s penchant to dress in black and wear his hair long, the two of them were physically indistinguishable. Family and close friends could easily tell them apart though, his brother wore a perpetual smirk.

  Baron drained his drink without responding to Chase, and motioned the bartender for another.

  “Whoa,” Chase said from beside him. “Since when do you speed-guzzle that poison? What gives? Or should I start guessing while you say ‘getting warmer’?”

  Baron watched the bartender fill another glass. “I wouldn’t call that finely aged brew poison. And you’re too old to be playing games.” He glanced at his brother. “So? Can I get a table tonight or are you full?”

  Chase signaled to the bartender not to serve Baron the shot. “Why not come with me to my office. I’ll personally serve you all your favorites.”

  Baron gave him a mocking grin. “If that’s your way of pulling me away from the bar, you’re slipping. I’ll have that, my friend.” He gestured for his drink.

>   Clearly undecided about what to do, the bartender glanced from one brother to the other, but something in Baron’s eyes made him hand over the shot.

  “Thank you.” He drained it in one fluid motion and avoided Chase’s worried gaze. “Okay, let’s go, Chef Fitzgerald. Oh, I forgot. You don’t cook any more. What’s your chef’s special for today? I’m starving.” He was feeling buzzed and starting to regret the last two shots. He could hold his liquor most of the time, but never on an empty stomach.

  “Whatever you want, you’ll get it here,” Chase promised. He led Baron past the lounge, nodding at patrons and patting a few backs, then turned and entered a wide hallway. He pushed the second door to their left and waited for Baron to precede him.

  Baron flopped on a sofa and let his feet rest on the arm. He couldn’t avoid Chase’s penetrating gaze, not when his brother sat on the edge of his desk a few feet away and studied him with a frown.

  “Okay, Baron. Out with it. Did something happen at the gallery? A missing painting? Broken vase? A delay in next month’s grand opening in San Francisco?”

  Baron shot his brother an annoyed look. “What makes you think something is wrong at work?”

  “Because that’s all you seem to care about these days. You rarely see anyone unless it’s absolutely necessary. So shoot.”

  Baron ground his teeth. This was a mistake. He should have ordered takeout, picked it up on his way home without listening to his self-righteous twin.

  “Listen. If I wanted a lecture, I would’ve stopped by Ma’s and gotten it from her and Lex.”

  “Maybe you should have. You look like shit. When was the last time you got laid? From the look in your eyes, I’d say last millennium. Take the edge off with a woman, not with hard liquor.”

  Baron pushed himself up, his feet landing on the carpeted floor with a thud. “A few shots hardly qualify as a habit, smart-ass. Just get me some chow, or I’ll get something from down the street.”

  Chase clenched a fist, his eyes narrowing. Baron cocked an eyebrow. It looked like his brother wanted to knock some sense into his head. In the mood he was in, he’d probably welcome it. Unfortunately, their cousin Liz would speed-dial their mother. He’d rather put up with a hangover and Chase’s tongue-lashing than disappoint his mother, again.