Night and Day

by ANDIE J. CHRISTOPHER

  As he stalked around the perimeter of the room, he wasn’t sure what was in many of the piles. Before his mother had gone into rehab and his parents’ divorce, he’d been able to compartmentalize who he was as an adult and who he’d been as a child. Now that his family seemed to be airing old grievances and ripping off bandages from festering wounds, he found himself distracted and unable to create anything.

  This was a problem because he had a show in a month. And very few completed pieces ready for it. Just piles of shit and messy sketches. It was his very first big show at an important gallery, and the first time he would have a success to shove in his father’s face. Instead of relying on his father’s noblesse oblige, he’d be able to pay his own way. This show was the one chance he had to get completely out from under his father’s thumb, and he was fucking it up.

  As usual, his timing was impeccable, because his father had been hinting about money troubles since his mother had left him and gotten clean. Max knew that his gravy train—as pricey a gravy train as it was—was about to end.

  In fact, the first time he’d felt any inspiration at all was when Letty had walked through the door. Her lush curves and bright eyes had sparked more than lust in him, and he resented it greatly. Even agitated by the strange situation, there was something about her that had centered and focused him. As though just by being there, he couldn’t look away from her.

  For a few moments, he had really thought she’d come from the agency to model, but it hadn’t been the time of his appointment.

  An appointment he cancelled before sitting down and imagining Letty’s curves on paper.

  Chapter 3

  When she walked into his studio the next day, Max didn’t tell her to take off her clothes. This would have been a relief, but for the way he looked at her over the rim of his steaming coffee cup. Like she was a dangerous animal that he needed to keep an eye on.

  His reaction to her confused her, but it also made her curious. She’d never been one to romanticize the fucked-up origin stories of the artists she worked with. She was sensible, no nonsense. Got the job done without complaint. Because she was “nothing to look at,” her mother had always emphasized the need to make herself useful. So, she got more chores than her more attractive sister, Elena. Wouldn’t have happened if a guy had been interested in going out with her on a Friday night. Wouldn’t have been stuck scrubbing floors and organizing her mother’s closet, then.

  And, even though she didn’t really believe her mother’s barbs about her appearance anymore, the habit of staying busy and useful had stuck.

  “Do you have any more of that?” The caffeine would be a blessing, since sleep hadn’t come last night. She’d tossed and turned in partial excitement about her victory in getting him to agree to hire her. Lies. The excitement that hadn’t let her sleep was the kind between her legs. He’d wanted to see her naked. To draw her. And she didn’t know how she was supposed to forget that. It was impossible to get out of her head. As soon as she thought about him drawing her, thoughts of his hands against her skin sparked her libido back to life. Made it come alive in the first place.

  “Aren’t the assistants supposed to get the coffee?” He shocked her by winking. Yesterday, she’d thought the wry twist of his lips was as emotive as he got. But today, when he smiled and winked at her over coffee, the skin around his eyes actually crinkled. His face was so beautiful when he smiled that she nearly lost her breath.

  “I’m not that kind of assistant.”

  He blew over the top of his coffee, and she couldn’t help but imagine his open lips against her skin. Simon had never stayed until morning so she could taste coffee on his lips. She’d never really wanted him to, but wondered how that would feel with Max. What would it be like to be with someone who didn’t need a bottle of wine just to tolerate fucking her?

  “Back here.” When he motioned for her to follow and turned to walk into another room, she hesitated. How could she just go when his ass moved almost independent of his body? The man had buns. Back here, indeed.

  She’d never been such a perv before, and it wouldn’t do to be one with her new boss. The b-word sobered her immediately. She needed some coffee in her, and then she could get back to being the professional dynamo she needed to be for her own survival.

  “Coming?”

  Not yet, but God willing. She hadn’t even noticed him stopping short of a back room she hadn’t noticed the day before.

  “Yes.”

  * * * *

  Letty was even prettier today, somehow. Maybe her lips were fuller, and cheeks were rosier, and her comfortable-looking jeans and T-shirt seemed to sit over her body with more ease. It would help if he could coax her out of her clothes—just to draw her so his mind would stop short-circuiting. Anything more than a professional relationship was off the table, but seeing her made him think about nakedness. And sex. With Letty.

  He couldn’t have any of those things, but he could get her coffee and let her work. When they got back to the kitchenette in his studio, he realized his mistake. Out in the warehouse, he didn’t have to smell her. In a large room, he could maneuver around her without feeling the heat of her body on his skin.

  Two weeks. He could do it even if his dick fell off from continuous engorgement. He turned to fill a coffee cup for her. He’d stayed up until about two this morning making drawings and picking through materials for a new piece. He worked with found objects, and for hours into the night, nothing had seemed right—nothing had seemed good enough—to represent Letty.

  He couldn’t explain his obsession with this woman, even to himself. Maybe he should go see that family therapist that his mother and sister had been talking about? Perhaps, a trained professional could help him figure out why he hadn’t wanted to make decent art for weeks until a woman had walked into his studio and demanded he pay her.

  Even though his grandmother wouldn’t be getting any great-grandchildren out of the deal, he would have to send her flowers for giving him his inspiration back. It sounded so hokey, but it was true.

  Turning back to her, he noticed the dark shadows under her eyes. The eyes he’d drawn on paper. Maybe he’d make a sculpture of just her eye, the flecks of gold and bronze and green would be like a sunburst. Jesus Christ. His hand shook as he offered her the cup.

  “Are you okay?”

  He shook his head, but said, “I’m fine. Just a late night last night.”

  “You have a deadline.” She took a sip and smiled up at him, unaware that his hands had shaken out of the desire to turn her around and bend her over the counter so he could stop thinking about her witchy, beautiful eyes. “I’m sure the gallery owner is going to want to see your progress at least two weeks before the show. I’ve worked with them before.”

  “Before?” He should be cutting off the small talk and walking out of the tiny kitchen, but he couldn’t tamp down his curiosity and leave. He had to know more about her.

  But she winced at his question before straightening up her spine and leveling him with a gaze that erased all the vulnerability she’d seemed to carry around with her before like a cloak. “I used to work for Art Basel.”

  “And you’re hustling for PA jobs now?” There had to be a story behind it.

  “My previous boss decided that there was too much overhead, and I was laid off.” It had the stink of a practiced line, and he knew there had to be more behind it. Still, it was clear from the way she’d said it that she would say no more on the matter.

  There was a story there, but he had two weeks to get her to tell him. It made no sense that he wanted to open her up and learn all her secrets, but his burst of creativity the night before compelled him to know more. He may not be able to get her to bare her body to him, but maybe if he knew more about what went on in her head, he could figure out what it was about her that had woken him up.

  And maybe he would stop his dick filling u
p every time she looked at him. That might make meeting his deadline just a little bit easier. When she bit her plush lip, he realized that nothing would be easier, especially walking or sitting without pain.

  “I’m glad you’re here now.” It was a totally uncharacteristic thing for him to say, but it was true.

  She appeared to be just as surprised as he was that he’d said it. And she turned away and walked out the door as she said, “I’ll get to work then, and earn my keep.”

  * * * *

  Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. The whole point of this fresh start was to leave everything that happened with Simon and her old job behind. But, talking to Max, everything had come back. Being around artists and helping them optimize their creativity fueled something in her that made her complete.

  She had absolutely zero creative talent, but she could set the scene and make it easier for other people to do their best work. And that had value. Still, she shouldn’t have mentioned her work history. As she donned work gloves to pick through a pile of scrap metal, the curious look on Max’s face reminded her that the past was past and better left in the rearview mirror. All of those contacts she’d gained—all of those people she’d assumed were her friends—were lost to her now. No one she’d met through Simon and her job working for him answered her calls anymore. She doubted that they would give her a good reference if Max decided to start digging around. The fact that his grandmother hadn’t known enough to ask was sheer luck. She shuddered at the thought.

  Max was relatively new to the art scene in Miami, so they’d never met. He was over thirty, and she wondered what he’d done or where he’d been before. Her thoughts and imagination drifted as she picked up a noodle of aluminum and thought about where to put it so that Max wouldn’t trip over it and smash his gorgeous face.

  If they’d met at a party, would he even have talked to her? Surrounded by models and pretty, thin women who wanted an artist to notch their bedposts, would he look at her with the kind of hunger and curiosity that he’d focused on her almost as soon as she’d walked through the door? Probably not, but her mind made up a scenario where he did.

  Too many times growing up around people who only wanted to hang out with her to get to her beautiful sister or her rich parents, she’d been fooled into believing that someone was interested in her only to be disappointed. Like when her prom date had failed to show up when he’d found out that they weren’t going in the same limo as Elena and her date. He’d actually thought that he could seduce her sister away from her date. And Letty’s feelings didn’t count. They’d never counted.

  That’s why—even though she’d done so much work on her self-esteem—she’d been so vulnerable to someone like Simon, and why she had to keep her guard up around Max. Even though Simon didn’t think she was good enough for him, he’d been extremely jealous when any man had paid even passing attention to her. She might be chopped liver, but she’d been his cheap cut of meat. Now, she just thought that he’d wanted her to feel small so things could continue on to his advantage.

  Which had gotten her here, picking through garbage in a temp job that would lead her back to begging for work in two weeks. Fantasies about what might have been had she and Max met under different circumstances wouldn’t lead to any different outcome, doing the best job possible just might.

  Chapter 4

  Letty walked up to her parents’ glass mansion with an empty stomach. Huge mistake given that her mother had decided to “help” her lose weight in every way she could possibly think of when Letty was around six. The pediatrician had told Señora Gonzalez that her younger daughter was in the eightieth percentile for weight in her age. Never mind that she’d been in the ninetieth percentile for height—the only way to succeed in that test was to be below fifty percent.

  The first diet her mother had put her on had coincided with the family’s move to Starr Island. Her mother hadn’t grown up with money, but she was acutely aware of how rich people should look, dress, eat, and behave. Elena had always been able to flourish under the new regime, whereas Letty had always missed the smaller house they’d moved from. She’d missed the rowdy neighborhood kids, the big family meals, and the absence of sticks from her parents’ asses. Well, her father didn’t have a stick up his ass, but he didn’t exactly pay attention to things like feelings or the care and feeding of his daughters.

  Instead of trying to understand how much Letty missed her home, her mother had withheld food. Letty’s most striking memory of her childhood was the feeling of hunger—her stomach lurched now with the memory. And hiding what she was eating and feeling guilty for everything.

  And, given that she didn’t have the same willowy body type as her sister, the more weight she gained, the worse her mother treated her. It had taken so many years for her to realize that she wasn’t wrong for being an average-sized woman. Every time she battled back her mother’s voice in her head, she felt stronger. She’d faltered when Simon had made it seem like he was dumping her because of her dress size, but she knew he was dumping her because of him—at least most of the time.

  Still, every time she went to visit her parents, she hoped that things would be different. The hope that they would magically go back to the people they were when they’d lived in less opulence persisted, even though her rational mind knew that it would never happen. She hoped that her mother would appreciate her for being kind or smart or resourceful, but it always came down to the fact that she was not thin. Longing filled her with each step she took toward what she knew would be an uncomfortable evening.

  As she peered inside the house, she had no sense that she belonged here. So different from the old house. She even missed the orange Formica countertops from their old kitchen and the brown shag carpeting from their tiny living room. As she pulled open the heavy glass door to her parents’ current house, she felt more of a chill than the move from the humid air and the air conditioning warranted. Everything in the house was white, as though it was specifically designed to make people wary of getting too comfortable.

  But then, her father had made some lucky real estate investments that had rolled over into other kinds of investments, and their life had changed completely. In short, money ruined everything.

  Elena had offered her younger sister cover whenever possible, but she wasn’t always around anymore. And when Elena was away, making money from her gorgeous features and rockin’ body and dating billionaires—like today—Letty’s mother liked to use her model sister as a cudgel to attempt to undermine Letty’s self-esteem.

  Letty wondered if she would ever find the feeling of home again. Unbidden, an image of Max floated through her mind. It was weird because they’d just met, and he’d been insufferably rude at first. Yet, heat floated over her skin at the memory of the way his gaze had raked over her with a kind of heat that she’d never experienced.

  Her heels made clacking noises against the white, marble floor. They always dressed for dinner, regardless of how meager the servings would be for the Gonzalez women. As she approached the kitchen, she heard her mother yelling at their current housekeeper about something not being right. She pressed her hand to her empty belly, trying to force down the need to be sick as she passed the powder room on the way to the dining room. The sound of her mother’s voice made it imperative that she avoid the kitchen right now.

  The dining room table wasn’t set, so they must be eating out by the pool. She found her father there, dressed as though he’d walked off the set of Miami Vice in the late eighties and had never changed his costume. Her mother’s efforts at image-control for the family had not been nearly as successful with her father as they had been with her sister.

  Her father simply didn’t care. As an adult, she’d often been embarrassed by her parents. For all their trying to fit in with people who came from more or more established money, they were gauche in a way that she hadn’t realized until she was around other rich people.

  H
e didn’t look up from his tablet or otherwise acknowledge her. Letty dropped into the seat she assumed was hers and flipped through her phone for a few minutes. Before coming tonight, she’d done research on the Delgado family to prepare for the questions her parents were sure to have about her current employer.

  Her mother had never stopped trying to get her to lose weight; she still viewed her younger daughter as a commodity. When Letty had worked for Art Basel, her mother had lorded it over the people in her social circle. On more than one occasion, she’d expected Letty to use her position to exact revenge against someone who her mother felt had slighted her or her father—by withholding an invitation or omitting their name from a program. Letty hadn’t complied, which was just another way that she disappointed her family.

  Sweeping out of the house with a glass of what Letty assumed was Pinot Grigio, her mother floated toward the table. Her mother always floated toward Letty’s father. She soothed and massaged his ego in a way that made Letty and Elena exchange knowing looks and roll their eyes. With their father, their mother never expressed her disappointment with a scathing glance or a disappointed click of the tongue. Their mother’s mercurial personality had become a joke that they shared to blunt how painful it had been.

  “I heard you found a job.” Of course, her mother would have heard. Her daily lunch at the club was more effective than a high-level security briefing.

  “Yes. I did.” She knew better than to elaborate on her answers before her mother had made her feelings about the new position clear. Even though excitement at working with an artist as talented as Max bubbled up every time she thought about the project, she knew better than to show any weakness in front of her mother.

  “Max Delgado is handsome.”

  Oh no. This was going to turn into her mother matchmaking again—for Elena. If she thought Max was handsome, he wasn’t going to be for Letty. According to her mother, Letty was too fat to date someone handsome—probably even too fat to be with someone ugly and rich. Not that her mother would ever use those words, but she’d made it clear through her actions. And not that Letty was really fat; she was only fat in her parents’ circles in Miami.