by Lena North
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Lena North
Copyright © 2017 by Lena North
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Cover design: Copyright © 2017 by FAB Publishing.
Illustrations & Cover: Copyright © 2017 by Lena North
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Discover other titles by Lena North:
Birds of a Feather series:
Wilder
Sweet Water
The Dreughan series:
Courage
Reason
Joy
47 Sweet Street
Sissa Raudulfsdatter:
Runes of Fate
My thanks
As always, to my family.
Prologue
They walked in late in the evening, a little drunk and a lot rowdy, three of them laughing and dragging the fourth along with them.
I carried an empty tray in one hand and tried to tuck my notepad into the back pocket of my black, too tight jeans with the other. The place was filled with smoke and laughter, but I was dead tired and the thick layer of cheap makeup I had put on many hours earlier felt sticky. I wasn’t sure where to sleep when I got off shift, and my usual place behind the University library wasn’t an option because early that morning, they’d started removing the dumpsters I usually huddled between. Someone said that they were clearing the site to start building a new art department, but I didn’t care. I’d been busy grabbing my few belongings, scanning the area to see if someone left anything useful that I could get my hands on.
“Come on Hawk,” I heard one of the men saying. “You lost the bet, we got to choose your loss, and this is our choice.”
I wondered what they were doing in a bar like Kinkers. I’d worked there for almost six months, and it was clean enough, but it was located on a back road in a part of Prosper well known to be unsafe. The owner liked to call it a roadhouse and they served lunch, which was the shift I worked most of the time. In the evenings, it was mostly a bar, and no one ever ordered any food, unless you counted peanuts and chips.
It was also a strip joint, and it was usually filled with men but that night was a Friday, so it was ladies’ night. This meant male strippers and an audience filled with women in various stages of inebriation.
“I’m not going to –” the man they’d called Hawk started, but another man cut him off.
“Oh, but you are,” he said gleefully, and called out when the angry man made a dash for the door, “Guys, do something. He’s escaping.”
I couldn’t hold back a loud giggle when I realized why they were there. They meant to put their friend on stage. One of the other men moved slightly, and I turned to look at him. Then I stopped breathing. He was tall and lean, with unruly black hair that was a little too long, and laughing brown eyes. He was so beautiful.
Our eyes met and held, and his brows went up a little.
“Hey, he’s running,” someone shouted, and our gazes unlocked.
The beautiful man turned toward the door, and flicked his fingers at our bouncers in a small gesture, indicating that they should stop his fleeing friend. To my surprise, they grinned and stepped in front of the man just as he reached the doors. I wondered if he’d be crazy enough to fight the brawny bouncers, and for a few seconds, it seemed like he would, but then his head tilted back, and he looked up at the ceiling. I saw his shoulders go up a little as if he was inhaling, and then he turned.
He was gorgeous too although in a completely different way. He looked dangerous and hard. When he walked back to his friends, his eyes flicked over me, and I pulled in air because of the intensity in them, but also because their color was such light amber, they were almost yellow.
“Get the thong,” one of his friends shouted, and the women around the stage that had followed the events started cheering.
“No,” the yellow-eyed man said calmly. “I’ll do this because I pay my debts, but I am not wearing a thong.”
“Don’t worry, Hawk,” the beautiful man laughed. “There are other options.”
Another cheer erupted, and then they moved toward the door leading backstage. Bobby Dawner, the owner of the bar, met them and greeted the beautiful man with a back-thumping bear hug. I heard him boom the man’s name, and it burned into my soul.
“Miller.”
That was the night everything changed. When I got off my shift and walked through the empty streets, looking for something, anything, that could provide cover, I was beaten up by a young man who wanted my meager tips from the evening. I woke up in the hospital and saw a woman sitting in a chair, calmly watching me.
“Do you need help, child?” she asked.
I looked back at her for a long time, and then I gave up. I’d learned the hard way never to trust anyone, but her eyes were kind, and I couldn’t make it on my own anymore, so I decided that I’d accept whatever bad things she might have in store for me. It wouldn’t be worse than the life I already had.
“Yes,” I whispered.
Her eyes softened, and a gentle smile curved her mouth, and when I saw it, I smiled back, tentatively.
“I’m Joelle,” she said.
I was fourteen years old, and that was the night my life resumed.
Ch
apter One
Mingle
“Mary, darling!”
A tall, elegant woman came toward me with her hands stretched out in front of her and a tight smile on her lips. An expensive black designer dress clung tightly to her skinny frame, and her high heel sandals were covered in black, glittering beads. Around her neck hung a necklace so enormous and shiny I was afraid it’d blind me. I turned my eyes away, only to be hit with the sparkle from her long dangly earrings.
“Clarice,” I murmured and kissed the air in the vicinity of her left cheek, and made the same next to the other. I hesitated a little to see if she was going to go for a third kiss, but she seemed to step back, so I did too. She ended up kissing the air right in front of me, looking ridiculous. Her pouting red lips quickly straightened out and pressed together into a thin line before she collected herself. I heard someone coughing behind me and felt like laughing too, although I kept my polite smile firmly on my lips.
“Darling,” she admonished me with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Surely we are the best of friends, hm?”
We weren’t, not by a long shot, and if it weren’t for the fact that I was at the museum covering for my bestie Wilder, she wouldn’t have talked to me at all. Wilder’s grandfather had been famous in art circles for his collections, but also his generosity. Most of what he’d spent a lifetime to obtain were priceless, and he’d put a lot of it in a foundation, specifying that they were to circulate in the main museums in our country. Wilder had added a few things to that foundation and asked me to manage it. I had no clue how to do something like that, and no desire to be stuck in an office, so I’d accepted a position as ‘senior advisor’ instead. She tried to pay me, but since I didn’t actually do anything, I declined that too.
That night was the opening of an exhibition featuring Willy’s huge collection of glass sculptures in the National Museum of Arts in Prosper City. Wilder had whined and moaned for weeks about it, and I let her, mostly because it gave me ample opportunit
ies to tease her about her lack of interest in putting on a cute dress and high heels. Eventually, I gave in and promised I’d go instead, something I’d done plenty of times before so no one would be in the least surprised.
“You are the best, Mary. You know I can’t go to these things,” Wilder said, “I have nothing to wear, and I always insult someone. All the artsy types drool over Mac, the food is crap and walking around for a whole evening carrying a glass of lukewarm wine isn’t my idea of fun at all.”
I wondered why she thought I had something to wear, and I preferred beer to wine just like she did. I had my own reasons for going, though, so I didn’t argue. Attending the event would give me the chance to meet people in my field, and I’d make connections I’d need in just a few weeks when I was through University and would be looking for a job in one of the major art museums, or galleries.
The first few times I’d attended functions like that I’d had Wilder’s grandfather to show me around, and I’d learned from him how to deal with snooty people who thought they were worth more than others.
“They fart too, remember that,” Willy had murmured as we walked through the crowd. “Some are nice, but most are shitheads. Find the ones that you like and the few who can give you what you need. Ignore the rest.”
I had followed that advice ever since, and it worked surprisingly well.
Kit enjoyed this kind of events and would come with me to the opening, which was a relief because he was good at small talk and when I had nothing to say, he would help me out.
What to wear was an issue because I had a small scholarship and a part-time job as a waitress, but that was supposed to cover Uni fees, living expenses, and art supplies. I ended up buying a cheap dress made of soft, turquoise, fake silk that looked remarkably real. Then I pulled out my brushes and set about changing it into something that would resemble a designer piece. I used various shades of blue and green to paint a flowery pattern across the bodice and partially down the long skirt, adding silver details as a final touch.
The dress turned out better than I thought it would, and when I heard the knock on my door, signaling that Kit was there to pick me up, I smiled at my appearance in the mirror. I’d put my long hair in a soft bun at the nape of my neck, and matched the dress with my old, silver high-heel sandals and clunky silver earrings. Kit’s eyes widened when he saw me, which I took as a good sign, and as we walked into the museum, he told me calmly how much he liked my dress. I laughed and told him what I’d paid for it, which made him stop abruptly to stare at me, and then he grinned.
“If this is what you look like on a budget, then I’m looking forward to seeing you in the real stuff.”
I blinked and wondered why on earth he’d ever see me in whatever the real stuff was. The dress I wore wasn’t exactly unreal, and it wasn’t like I’d be a frequent attendee to these kinds of functions once I started working. I had been about to tell him so when the tenacious Clarice, director of the modern art section of the museum, descended upon us.
“Of course we’re good friends, Clarice,” I lied to the older woman in front of me. “Have you met Kit before?” I asked, knowing that he’d smooth her faux pas over in no time.
“Kit Keeghan,” Kit murmured and held a hand out.
He looked good in his expensive, dark suit, and something almost predatory flashed in her eyes. She was well past fifty which meant Kit was less than half her age, so I thought it was kind of iffy, but also hilarious.
“Kit,” she murmured, and added, “I’m Clarice Morgan, but you can call me Clary.”
Clary? Really?
“Ms. Morgan,” Kit said, and went on to ask a few questions about the exhibition.
Then he effortlessly flattered her with compliments about how amazing it looked, and made a silly joke. When she was giggling loudly, I did too although that was mostly because of her hilarious efforts to sound like a young girl. I felt him twitch ever so slightly as he turned to me, and said calmly, “We were supposed to talk to Mr…”
He trailed off and raised his brows, knowing the name of Wilder’s lawyer well but smoothly including me in the conversation again. I smiled gratefully at him.
“Mr. Suthermoore,” I filled in. “You’re right, we were supposed to find him when we got here.”
With a polite smile to the still giggling woman, I pulled him away, and we went looking for the elderly gentleman who was on the board of Wilder’s trust together with me. I had always liked Mr. Suthermoore, and as he walked around the exhibition with us, I enjoyed discussing the various pieces on display. Kit seemed to be getting more and more restless, although I’d expected that because he wasn’t particularly interested in art.
“Kit, sweetie,” I murmured. “I know glass sculptures aren’t your thing, so if you want to walk around and talk to…” I trailed off because I couldn’t think of anyone he would find interesting to talk to and suspected he’d spend the evening hiding from the predatory Clary, but he lit up immediately.
“If you don’t mind, I might talk to some people,” he said.
“Not at all, just go ah –”
I hadn’t even finished the sentence when he patted my shoulder and walked off. I blinked but turned resolutely to the gentleman next to me.
“It looks like it’s just you and me unless you also want to –”
“I would love to look at the sculptures with you, my dear,” he interrupted me quietly. “Did you know that Willy and I found most of these together?”
I had not known that, and as we took another turn around the room, he told me hilarious stories about the individual pieces. Willy seemed to have been quite crazy when he was younger, though since I knew Wilder, this didn’t exactly come as a surprise. We stopped every now and then, and Mr. Suthermoore introduced me to some quite influential people. Some of them I liked, some would be useful when I went job hunting, but most of them just got an aloof, polite smile from me.
Kit joined us as we were looking at a particularly beautiful dark blue statue with long streaks of red twining around the base. Mr. Suthermoore had told me about a recent break-in at the warehouse where it had been stored, and how it had been found tilted over, although there were no scratches on it that we could see.
“You should mingle,” Kit murmured in my ear, and I was about to tell him that we’d been doing that for the past hour when a loud voice called out to us.
“Kitty! And Mary, my miniature bundle of gorgeousness!”
Bo Draper, Kit’s father’s partner, flounced across the floor followed by what looked like a full entourage. My mouth immediately widened in a smile when I saw him, and there was no hesitation in the three kisses he got from me. Then he leaned down to whisper in my ear, “How bored are you?”
“Not much,” I assured him, and added with a wink at Mr. Suthermoore, “I had help to endure, Boz.”
Bo threw his beautifully made up face back and boomed out laughter, which his entourage immediately echoed. People around us turned to stare at them, but Bo didn’t seem to mind, and neither did I. It felt like the lights were suddenly brighter, and all colors were just a little bit clearer. It wasn’t the first time Bo had that effect on me, and I wondered how he did it.
“Come, one short round and then I’ll whisk you away to dinner,” he grinned and held his elbow out toward me. “You are most welcome to join us,” he said to Mr. Suthermoore. “Having a distinguished gentleman at my side always adds a certain je ne sais quoi, doesn’t it?”
The way he mispronounced the French words as a drawled out, “Jenny says cooie,” made the lawyer laugh, although I felt quite sure this was the desired reaction because Bo smiled with great satisfaction. Mr. Suthermoore declined his offer, though, saying that he was feeling his age and would go home. Then he kissed my cheek, thanked me for the company, and left. I put my hand in the crook of Bo’s arm, and the bright pink silk in his blouse was most certainly not fake.
“Carson isn’t here?” I asked, knowing
that Kit’s father rather would push dull pins into his eyeballs than attend such a function.
“You know that the answer to that is a big, fat ixnay,” Bo smirked. “Left him and his brother on the back porch with a six-pack of beer and I swear to you, they were both wearing flannels,” he added, sounding like they were committing a crime worthy of the death penalty. “It’s the God’s honest truth, sweetums. Miller even had rips in his jeans, on both his knees, and they’re fine knees, I’ll give him that, but he’s above thirty and can afford to replace his clothes when they tear.”
I started laughing at his dismayed face and tried not to think about the picture of two men calmly drinking beer, looking out over the lower part of the mountains and talking about their day. My dress suddenly felt just a little too tight, and I wished I could have been on that back porch right then, flannels, ripped jeans and all.
We had dinner with Bo and his friends, and they were hilarious, so I enjoyed myself immensely. They were as loud and boisterous as Bo, and I knew they were all gay, so it was just for show, but they flirted outrageously with me, and I flirted right back because they were so sweet. Everyone absolutely adored my dress, and when I told them I’d painted the flowers myself, they squealed so loudly I thought we’d get thrown out of the elegant restaurant. Maybe even arrested.
The thought of Bo and me in a cell and Carson having to bail us out made me giggle. Telling the others resulted in a flurry of jokes about handsome police officers that made me laugh so hard my belly hurt.
“You didn’t have to tell them that you’re wearing a home-made dress,” Kit suddenly muttered quietly.
His step-extra-father heard him and cut in.
“And why shouldn’t she, Kitty my boy?” Bo asked, in a voice that suddenly was syrupy sweet.
