On The Dotted Line

by Kim Carmichael

  On The Dotted Line

  Kim Carmichael

  Copyright © 2014 Kim Carmichael

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13:978-0692360316

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission of the publisher of this book.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of this author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Published by Rebel Romance, an imprint of Irksome Rebel Press

  Graphics by JWORX Designs

  Dedication

  To everyone who was ever told they couldn’t and then went ahead and did it anyway.

  Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  “Don’t get married for love.” Randolph Van Ayers III pressed two fingers to his left temple. The throbbing in his head reverberated throughout his body. Though he wanted to go home and lie down, if he came home with anything his mother considered an ailment, he would end up quarantined in one wing of the house no matter how many times he told the woman headaches weren’t contagious. The Mitchell Art Gallery presented him with a definite upgrade to being a medical pariah.

  “Maybe you should look inside yourself for love.” The owner of the gallery, Slate Mitchell, stopped in front of a photograph of the back of a man’s head staring out into space. “However, I am still reeling that I didn’t get an invitation to your wedding, love or not.”

  “Don’t spew your rhetoric at me.” It took all his effort to shake his head at the oversized, overdone image. The print wouldn’t be worth anything in his lifetime. “I didn’t even want to attend, not that it matters since I didn’t get married today for love or otherwise. However, I do thank you for the party in my honor.”

  “Nothing like an impromptu birthday party to blunt being left on the courthouse steps with no bride.” Slate patted him on the back.

  “I appreciate how you’ve kept this low key as I asked.” His life had been reduced to a frat party in an art gallery. Earlier a keg was delivered.

  “It’s only small if the police don’t get called. I have some better ones over here.” Slate guided him through the wide-open space designed to be a showcase of the latest local artists. Anyone in the city with seven figures behind their name wanted to be the next person to discover the artist of the second, and the gallery was in the perfect spot in LA to make waves without the cost per square foot of more trendy or upscale areas.

  They stopped in front of another wall of photographs. “These would go with the sculpture of the birds you bought last month. Different artist, but similar feel. I can get you a discount for your special day.”

  He assessed the black and white photograph of a little bit of nature left in the Greater Los Angeles area. Mountains, clouds and birds in perfect juxtaposition of smog and the city. “A discount. Happy birthday to me.”

  “Well, it’s the least I can do for the man whose bank made it possible for me to become the new go-to gallery for poor little rich boys such as yourself.” Slate motioned toward the next photograph.

  “Remember until you pay off your mortgage, my bank owns you.” Randolph took a breath in an attempt to focus on the potential of the picture. “Maybe you should default on the loan, after midnight tonight it will no longer be my bank and I will no longer be rich.” While he considered Slate one of his better friends, he knew once the money ran out the friendship would follow.

  “Come on, that story you tell is just a pick up line. You can stop now.” Slate stopped and motioned toward the next piece of art, namely his girlfriend, Jade. “And here is a masterpiece.”

  “The story is totally true. Randolph told me the story when we were dating, it’s incredible, and true.” Dressed in a nude body suit with a hat made up of flowers Jade uncoiled her body, stretching her arms out and taking her time standing up. She came over, kissed them both on the cheek and hooked her arm in Slate’s. “I’m blooming.”

  “Baby, it’s a story designed to make girls have the expression on their face you have right now. You didn’t really date him, you only went as his plus one to that finance event when he was desperate.” Slate chuckled and kissed the top of her head. “You make a beautiful flower.”

  Randolph met the little piece of living art a few years ago at a financial conference when she donned her other persona as a property manager. Her parents owned some select buildings throughout Los Angeles and she took care of them when they retired. He invited her to accompany him to an event, but rather than a kiss goodnight he ended up with a friendship instead. However, the slight blush and smile on her face spoke volumes. Women loved his pathetic all too true story.

  If only it were a story.

  “Unless he got married by his thirty-third birthday and stayed married for a year, he would lose his inheritance.” Jade pressed her hands to her chest. “He signed a contract and everything.”

  Both he and Slate groaned.

  Jade let go of her boyfriend and flung her arms around him. “I’m so sorry. I would help you if I could.”

  “Can I borrow you for twelve months?” A plus one was better than nothing. He needed to face the fact he was never going to have a relationship for anything other than money. Hell, he probably got left at the courthouse for a man with a larger trust fund.

  “No, you may not. She is not on loan.” Slate pulled her away. “Plus, he doesn’t want to get married for love.”‘

  “Well, he may not want to get married for love, but getting married for money isn’t working for him either.” Jade returned to Slate and wrinkled her nose.

  “It doesn’t matter. It’s over unless a bride drops into my lap in the next five minutes.” Since he created the situation, he would live with the repercussions. In the end, his father’s entire scheme had been built around his failure. At least for once he would prove the man right.

  “Can we study the art?” Slate walked backward, corralling them to the next piece.

  “I need to finish getting ready for the party and Willow’s here. She said she wanted to talk to me so I invited her.” She waved her arm. “Come here and say happy birthday to Randolph.”

  An ethereal cloud of yellow and white swirls materialized out of the corner of his eye.

  He tightened his jaw and finally did Slate the favor of staring at the next work. Maybe Willow Day would vanish if he didn’t look directly at her. Everyone knew ignoring the problem made it go away.

  “It’s Randolph’s birthday?” she asked.

  Her voice brushed over him, as soft and supple as her name. If only the rest of her matched. A new tenant in one of Jade’s buildings down the street from the gallery, he crossed paths with her a few times in the last couple of months, but the encounters were always the same. No, pretending
a problem didn’t exist never made it go away. He squeezed his hand into a fist.

  “We’re having a party for him.” Jade dragged her over.

  With the woman standing directly in his line of sight, he needed to look. The way she gazed at him always made him think she was intrigued or interested. Again, her appearance didn’t match her attitude. Long, straight blonde hair literally floated around her as if she managed to get someone with a fan to follow her around. Unlike most women in Los Angeles, she wore little makeup, only enough to enhance her light blue eyes, petite features and glowing skin. He suspected she had a nice little body under all the flowing layers of clothes. She didn’t stuff herself into her wardrobe leaving little to the imagination. Someone would have to really search and discover. No, nothing on her was man made or artificial, everything natural. A rare find.

  “Well, Happy Birthday.” She graced him with a smile.

  The same smile sucked him in the first time he met her. Though it lit up her face, he sensed something beneath her upturned lips, something he wanted to get to know until he actually spoke more than two sentences to her. “Thank you.”

  “Scorpio.” She tilted her head. “I should have guessed.”

  Case in point. He swallowed. “I hardly think a bizarre alignment of planets and stars millions of light years away from me on the day of my birth have anything to do with my personality. Wouldn’t that mean anyone born on my birthday should be exactly like me?”

  “Let’s hope not.” While her voice came out soft and sweet, her words were hard and cutting. She gave Jade one of her multi-layered smiles. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “It’s fine. I’ll meet you back in Slate’s office.” Jade pointed.

  Without any more well wishes, Willow walked through the gallery.

  Jade glared at him. “I’ll be back for your party.” She spun on the ball of her bare foot and left.

  “What’s your poison?” Slate motioned toward the photo.

  “I want something different, something with some bite.” Everything presented to him seemed trite, done before. He longed for something unexpected.

  “I think you have enough bite for everyone.” Slate shook his head. “Especially Willow.”

  He exhaled. “She called me a Scorpio.”

  “How dare she call you your own astrological sign?” Slate tucked his notepad back into his pocket. “She’s such a meanie.”

  “It was the way she said it.” He stopped in front of the next photo. The artist quite literally took a picture of nothing. A big black square hung on the wall, creating a hole in the middle of the show. With a bit of metallic paint it might have potential, as long as the artist had the vision.

  “Aw, did Randy get his feelings hurt?” Slate raised his voice as if he were talking to a baby. “She’s having a hard time.”

  “What’s wrong with her?” He stared into the nothing. Maybe the artist was trying to depict potential rather than emptiness.

  “Everyone goes through ups and downs, some downs are just lower than others.”

  Damn it. He glanced at his friend. The few times he met her, their encounters were always the same. She would materialize, he would try to speak, something strange would come out of her mouth, leaving him no choice but to comment and she would walk away. “She’s back in your office, meeting with Jade.” In his distraction with his own situation, he neglected to pick up on the significance of the Jade meeting, especially if Jade was interrupting one of her art performances.

  “Yeah, Jade, her landlord. Go grovel, it will do you some good.”

  Money woes, one of the world’s great equalizers. “I’ll take this one. It speaks to me.” He strode through the gallery, stopping short outside Slate’s office at the sound of her voice.

  “I don’t have any money left, and you can’t keep extending my rent payment,” Willow whispered. “It’s not right, everything is off balance.”

  He put his back to the wall to listen.

  “Don’t worry about the rent, it’s fine.” Jade’s tone was one of compassion and authority. “Right now we are working on the barter system. Just keep me in products and tea and we are fine.”

  “I can’t do that. I just need to sell a little more at the shop.” Her voice was broken but not destroyed. “I did a little research.”

  At the rustling of papers he inched toward the doorjamb trying to spy what she would produce.

  “What’s this?” Jade raised one of the documents.

  “There are companies who will give loans to people in need.” She let out a nervous chuckle. “Funny the people who need the loans the most are the ones who can’t get them.”

  “Willow, these are loans designed so that no one ever pays them off.” Jade shook her head.

  A shudder ran though him at the thought of the interest rates alone. Those loans were no joke and lured in desperate people who needed money fast and under the most dire circumstances.

  At his realization, he glanced at the time and resumed his eavesdropping.

  “Hey, I didn’t mean for you to spy. What are you some kind of creep?” Slate came from the other direction and pushed him into the office. “Look at what I found lurking about.”

  He stumbled into the room and his head spun. Once he regained his footing, he gave Jade a half-hearted wave and glanced at Willow. If possible, her light complexion was even paler, almost translucent. He recognized her pallor. It was the same look he saw whenever someone honestly needed funds. Somehow he needed to tell her he had her stay of execution, and it would only require one year of her life.

  Jade narrowed her eyes at them.

  “I wanted to grab something to show our peeping Randolph.” Slate went to his desk and picked up his tablet computer.

  Both Jade and Willow focused on Randolph.

  “I don’t believe Willow should take out one of those high interest loans.” With all the attention on him, he did the only reasonable thing and brought sanity to an insane situation. The vice around his head seemed to tighten and he rubbed the back of his neck. “She needs to create as much inventory as possible for her shop because that is the only sure way she will have money coming in.”

  “I need the loan to buy the materials to make my inventory.” Willow lifted her chin.

  “Not if Jade is letting you take a break on the rent.” He returned his hand to his temple swearing he felt the pulse of pain through his fingertips.

  She hugged her papers to her chest. “My supplies are very expensive.”

  “Willow’s morning tea actually works. I feel great.” Slate looked up to the ceiling. “What’s it called?”

  “Activi-tea.” Jade went to Slate and hooked her arm in his. “We also loved the one you call Boo-tea.”

  The vision was a bit too nauseating and he returned to the matter at hand. “There are many grades of materials, just change some of it up to save money. It’s done all the time. I think the issue lies in not knowing your true profitability and not having a focus on your product offering.”

  “Some say when you are out of quality you are out of business.” Willow’s eyes widened.

  “There are others that say the same about money,” he countered.

  Silence encompassed the room.

  “Slate,” Jade whispered.

  “Hey, I really did want to show you something, and wanted to talk to you about the artistic co-op. Look at this.” Slate basically shoved the tablet in his face. “Remember that artist who creates those murals in the middle of the night in little hidden spots? They call him the Mural Man.”

  He nodded and restrained any reaction to the article and the picture. Instead, he kept his focus on Willow.

  “Whoever it is struck again last night and painted over some graffiti.” Slate stood next to him and enlarged the picture. “Wonder what this art would be worth. It’s different. I definitely need to get someone like him involved in the project.”

  “I may have another way to help you.” Without acknowledging Slate, he l
ifted his chin toward her. “A different kind of proposal.”

  “Honestly, Mr. Van Ayers, I’m not interested in anything you have to offer.” She reached into her bag, pulled out a little jar and held it out to him. “I do believe you need this though. Rub it on your temples for your headache, and later you can tell me if I skimped on my ingredients.”

  He took the jar. How did she know he had a headache? “Maybe we should talk in private.”

  “Or not at all.” She spun back around to face the desk.

  “Come on Birthday Boy, let’s go get your party started.” Slate corralled him out of the office.

  “I’ll be right there.” He watched Slate stroll down the hall and resumed his position with his back pressed against the wall, once more glancing at Willow and at his watch. They needed each other and he had only a little more time before his life had insufficient funds.

  * * * *

  “Let me run some numbers and some options.” Jade straightened the pile of papers on her desk. “Why don’t I see if I can find you a less expensive apartment in one of my other buildings? If not, I can ask around.”

  Since Willow’s move to Los Angeles and opening up a small shop for holistic healing, Jade and her boyfriend, Slate, had been nothing but kind to her. Somehow the universe took care of her by allowing her to meet Jade at a metaphysical faire during one of her friend’s performances. Afterward, they got to talking, and she helped her get into the building only a few doors down from Slate’s gallery.

  Jade and Slate understood her vision and always referred customers, but it wasn’t enough. Though everyone loved her teas and wellness elixirs, she couldn’t sell enough to catch up. Whenever she started to make any money, she needed to buy more materials and could never quite get things to even out. As a last resort, she even took something from the one person who had given her the most without telling her. “Jade.” She chewed her lip trying to figure out exactly how to say what she wanted.