Little Lies

by Elena M. Reyes

  “He saw you as easy.”

  “Never confuse me with yourself, Elise.”

  “Tell me, Gabriella. What were you thinking when you offered yourself to him?” And there’s the woman I met today in the café: my friend’s true colors. Her face flushes and her chest heaves, the cup slamming down atop the counter with enough force that it breaks, and all that’s left behind is the handle in her hand. “Are you that desperate to lose your virginity? Isn’t it pathetic of you to throw yourself at the first man who indulges your quirks and is nice?”

  And yet, I’m not moved or intimidated. Instead, a part of me is angry.

  So angry.

  Insulted.

  Hurt.

  “What was I thinking?” It’s rhetorical, but when she opens her mouth, I level her with a look. This surprises her; the hostility in me is new, but that little girl who grew up alone and with forced thick skin each time life knocked her down isn’t having it. This feeling is one I’ve fought to always push back, but today I’m embracing it. It’s bubbling within my veins and my heart races, I’m feeling flushed, and a deep vibration settles through every limb. “You’re asking me what I was thinking?” My laugh is sardonic, so dry. “I was thinking my friend went out of her way to make a dream come true for me out of the goodness of her heart—because she loves me, and not because there was a personal agenda attached. I was thinking that it was a business meeting, not a pimp’s personal catwalk where I’m used to attract a big spender and then told to bend over and take it as you please.”

  Elise scoffs, tossing the mug’s handle onto the floor. Not the counter, but the floor as if she has a maid that majestically walks behind her to clean up each mess. How are we even friends? “You’re being melodramatic, Gabriella. Those weren’t my words.”

  “But it’s implied. No?” Placing my coffee down, I rub a tired hand down my face. I take a moment to choose my next words carefully because even though her actions today cut, I still care. You don’t stop overnight, even though this makes it hard to. “Why are you really here, Elise? What do you want, because you can fuck right off if insulting me into submission is your game? I’m not the desperate one here.”

  “Has anyone ever told you that you’re exhausting? So much work to be your friend.”

  “Funny, but I understand that sentiment like no other today.”

  “Gabriella, I need you to listen to me.” Elise points a manicured nail at me, her face looking as if she tasted something sour. The same one she had during brunch. “I need you to back off with Astor, and things will go smoothly for you. He’s mine. Don’t force my hand, Gabby. Please heed my warning and follow my lead on this deal. You’ve already made things hard enough for me as is.”

  “Made what hard? My paintings. My work. My deal, not yours.” It’s difficult, but I manage to keep my tone calm. Unaffected. “I’m thankful for your input and unsolicited help in the past, but you’ve more than overstepped once again. Your place in my life was that of a friend, not a manager. You don’t own me, and I’m neither a puppet nor a stepping stone to whatever top you wish to reach.”

  “I won’t repeat myself. Back off.”

  “And you need to leave. Now.”

  “As you wish.” Walking past her, I head toward the front door and open it wide. She doesn’t leave me standing there for long, the slap of her flip-flops loud on my floor. I’m not looking at her as she pauses beside me, I don’t react when she takes my hand and gives it a squeeze before stepping through. “I’m going to give you a few days to calm down and see things my way. I need him, Gabby. Please don’t ruin our friendship by forcing me to do things that can’t be undone. Trust me on this.”

  “I did once, and this is where it’s led me. Disappointed and hurt.”

  “Life isn’t easy,” she says, while my hand grabs the doorknob, grip tight. “You’ll survive just fine, sweetheart. Trust me, there’s plenty of other dicks in the sea.”

  “That’s the only thing I’ll agree with you on, Elise. There are plenty and life will carry on, but what won’t change is that Theodore didn’t give you the time of day then, and won’t tomorrow no matter what you do.” My words shock her and she takes a step back, just enough for me to slam the door, and that’s what I do. I’m not interested in her reply or seeing her at the moment. Her words have cut deep and behind the stoic facade, I’m wounded. Her words did their damage, and no amount of apologies at the moment or threats or whatever the hell else she has up her sleeve will make a difference.

  Screw her. Screw everything.

  The first tear falls and then another as her hand lands on the door, a slap, slap, slap that’s loud inside my home. I’m sobbing by the time Elise tries to open the door with her key, and my chest feels as though it’s caving when I slide the side bolt in place.

  Another thing to add to my already packed schedule.

  New lock. New paintings...

  “I can’t sign with the Astor Gallery now.” Another hurt-filled cry leaves me at the thought. I’ve put so much of myself into each finished piece, forgoing a life outside of my studio, and this is the repayment. Elise made the contact for me and if I accept, I’m using her. I’d be as pathetic as she claimed. Grabbing my cell phone from the countertop, I send out a quick message and turn it off. “This is going to hurt my career.”

  9

  Theodore

  I’m going to have to politely decline your offer. I apologize for wasting your time. ~Gabriella

  Her polite refusal incenses me, but more so because the words come across as lifeless. Almost bitter, and I have an idea of the why, and the culprit. Because Gabriella thought Tero left and drove toward my location, but the truth is, he didn’t.

  Under my instructions, he stayed. He watched her house, and I was right in doing so.

  Miss Scott just doesn’t understand the meaning of the word not interested. Not by the subtle rebuff, and much less by my outright hostility during brunch.

  But then again, women like her live in a false reality where everything is catered, and the word no isn’t in their vocabulary. I’ve known her kind in the past. Have seen many versions over the years, but the most consistent is the one stepping on those closest to them while climbing social ladders.

  “What do I do, boss?” Tero asks, tone curt. He’s very old-fashioned in that sense, believes that a man chases and the woman has the right to refuse or accept, while I’m in the somewhat alluring middle. I’ll never force Gabriella, but I will romance her—seduce and then cherish. “Because from the small argument outside, Miss Scott was here to warn her off and threaten the deal.”

  “Is that so? Interesting.”

  “That she believes she has sway?”

  “That she showed her hand so early.” There’s more to her reaction. To her pursuit of me—the unwanted flirting—when I know of her behavioral problems in the past. I’m not the first gallery owner or rich man she’s flirted with; however, I am the first to show no interest or fuck her. “When will the report be ready? I need to be sure before I make my next move.”

  “Tomorrow morning.”

  “Then head home. We’re done for today.” Sitting back in my chair, I look out the floor-to-ceiling windows of my office and catch the final rays of sunlight. With each moment that passes, the bright colors turn dark and while the world starts its nighttime routine, I let the chips fall where they may right now. “There’s nothing we can do until we talk to her face to face, and I’d like to have some proof of my suspicions before then. Gabriella’s too sweet and would never think bad of her friend, no matter how hurt she is, but she needs someone to watch out for her.”

  “And that’s you?”

  “Yes.”

  “As you wish. Good night, boss.” The line disconnects and I toss my cell aside, thinking through my options, the first being how to accidentally bump into her and start the conversation in an organic manner where she’s not on the defensive.

  Moreover, I can only think of one option where this
might be plausible...

  The bakery she went to with Tero is his favorite, and I was told her sweet tooth is a weakness—something I’m banking on her imbibing in. Emotions can be a dominating thing and after the rough day she’s had, my best bet is to think she’d go through the desserts and want more.

  This is my in:

  Bump into her at the bakery.

  Or buy her an obscene amount and deliver them later that evening.

  I’m not going to hound her, but the power of persuasion is a beautiful thing when used at the right time. And that’s not now. Maybe tomorrow or the next day and if not a week later, but one thing is for certain—I’m not giving up on her. She’s too talented and beautiful, and I admire her stubborn streak that believes by taking my offer she’s indebted to her friend.

  I’ll let her sleep on it.

  “Tomorrow is another day.”

  I’ve been sitting inside the bakery shop for the last two hours, nursing my drink. The place is packed, the tables full, and yet I have the perfect view of the front door.

  I also have incredible luck when at fifty past nine, Gabriella steps through the door with an AirPod in each ear and a slightly grumpy expression on her face. Not a morning person, I see.

  She’s wearing a Ramones crop top that leaves just enough skin on display to tempt and a pair of cargo pants that have seen better days low on her hips. They’re paint-stained and have a hole at the knee, but with the way she walks to the counter and orders—the way heads turn her way and the cashier smiles—you’d swear she was on a catwalk.

  So beautiful. So unaware.

  “Should I stay or leave?” Tero, outside of being my assistant, is one of my oldest friends. Much too observant too. “No problem on my end.”

  “Stay. She’ll be more comfortable that way.”

  “Of course, although I’d say seeing you right now would be very welcomed.” His head tilts in her direction and I look, eyes narrowing at what I find. There’s a man beside her now, trying to shift closer, and the pinched look on her face screams discomfort. He’s blind to this, though, too busy letting his eyes roam her face and a little lower—

  I don’t answer Tero. Don’t acknowledge his low chuckle, and before the idiot can send another flirtatious smile in her direction, I’m next to her.

  “Hello, stranger.”

  “Theodore,” it’s a shaky whisper tinged with gratitude and relief before our eyes meet. Her smile is genuine and soft, and the asshole on her other side notices. He also coughs, but her sole focus is on me. “What are you doing here?”

  “Same as you.” For a second, my eyes flick to the man wearing a uniform, khaki pants and red polo with some store’s name I don’t bother to read, and he stumbles back. Almost drops his coffee and exits, for once using his common sense. “Needed copious amounts of sugar after being up all night re-examining the proposed showing you declined.”

  Her cheeks turn pink while those green orbs give me an apologetic look. “I’m really sorry about all that. If you need me to pay for—”

  “I’d never take your money.”

  “But I did make you waste your time.”

  “Not really.” That piqued her interest, her brows furrowing while my smile broadens. “Will you give me a few minutes of your time to explain? I swear it’ll be worth your while.”

  “I don’t know...”

  “Aren’t you curious about who I’m replacing you with?” Gabriella’s reaction to my words is instantaneous. Her eyes narrow and lips thin, hand clenching a bit around her cup. It causes the lid to pop a bit and a few drops to drip down her fingers. “I mean, she’s not our first choice—”

  “Sure. Let’s go talk about my replacement.” The latest half is muttered under her breath, and fuck me, her sour expression is adorable. Makes me want to bite her. To wrap those red locks around my fist. “Where’s your...never mind.”

  And I follow those thick hips toward the table Tero’s sitting at, his light blue eyes filled with a mirth he won’t display. Her scent swirls around me, pulls me in closer, and I’m only content when my hand meets the small of her back.

  I let it linger there and she doesn’t complain, gifting me with the small feel of warm skin on my fingertips.

  “Miss Moore.”

  “Uh huh.” Gabriella waits beside a chair, and I pull it out for her before taking a seat myself. Her fingernails drum on the wooden top, eyes searching the two contracts in plain sight. “So, that’s her?”

  “Yes.”

  “I see.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? Is there something I’m unaware of?” I’m not lying to her. This is my backup plan, but I won’t deny playing dirty in order to change her mind. Because no one likes to be replaced and she’s no different, reading down Cecily Marie’s achievements and sales figures to her last show in the states. “Please speak up if there is. Whatever you say stays here.”

  “She’s brilliant, no denying that.”

  “But?”

  “Her reputation is one of diva status and problematic with both staff and clientele. That’s on you if you want that headache on your hands.”

  A smile threatens to escape but I hold it back, nodding instead as though understanding. “I’ve heard a few things but have been left with little to no choice. The artist and dates will be announced this week. I don’t have time to scour the country for the next up-and-coming gem.”

  “You could still do better.”

  “Cecily Marie isn’t my first choice, but...”

  At my trail off, her arms cross over her chest and lips purse. “Oh, you’re good.”

  “How so?” I ask, giving her a perplexed look. Feeding her an innocent lie.

  “Tero, how—”

  “I’m just an observer here.” The man holds both hands up, almost tipping over his coffee cup in his haste. “That, and he does sign my check.”

  “You both suck.” Petulant behavior has never been a trait I find attractive, but with her it’s endearing. But then again, there’s nothing I don’t like. No part of her I don’t want or crave.

  “That’s mean.”

  “You’ve given me no choice, Gabriella. I do need to fill the spot and—”

  “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “Just give me a good enough reason. Just one.”

  “Because you earned this, Gabriella. Simple as that.” At my words, tears spring to her eyes but she blinks them back, not allowing them to fall. She’s also quiet, her emotions unreadable, but the small catch in her throat is a sign I’m getting through to her. The way she lets me grab her hand, entwining our fingers together, is a step in the right direction. “Your work speaks for itself, while your reputation is one of professionalism and dependability. Elise didn’t give you this—fuck that. The only reason I agreed to that brunch was you. Without Gabriella Moore there is no deal, and that’s a truth that can’t be negated or changed.”

  “Are you just saying that so I—”

  “Gabriella, I want you. No one else.”

  There are many ways she can take that, and the fact is they’re all accurate. She’s what I want. All of her.

  In any capacity. In any way.

  “Okay,” she says after a minute of silence. It’s low, almost too low, but I hear her as if she’d shouted this from a rooftop. Gabriella takes in a deep breath before letting it out slowly. Her shoulders straighten out while her head lifts a little higher, a small smile finally stretching across those sweet lips. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

  “Are you sure?” I ask while from the corner of my eye, Tero produces a pen for her to sign. Cecily’s contract is beside hers and the sums of money are blatantly unfair, Miss Moore being the clear victor—further proof of my choice always being her.

  “Give me the contract.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “You’re going to be demoted to number six in the first impression chart if you don’t let me sign, Mr. Astor.” The little te
ase, innocent or not, makes my cock jerk behind the confines of my pants. Sassy little thing. “What’s it going to be?”

  My answer is to rip the other contract in half after placing Gabriella’s in front of her. My beautiful little artist doesn’t disappoint either, grinning at my action before signing her name at the three designated areas.

  It takes less than sixty seconds.

  The binding agreement is set in stone.

  You’re mine, gorgeous.

  10

  Gabriella

  I knew what he was doing the moment I sat down at their table, and I’m not ashamed to admit I’m thankful. Relieved. So grateful, because missing out on this opportunity would’ve hurt me.

  Emotionally. Career wise.

  Something that Theodore saw and rectified when he preyed on my humanity. Because jealousy is a part of life, and the feelings that overcame me—the ones that made me sign after arguing someone else’s merit—aren’t ones I’m proud of. Nor do I negate them, because I know I’m better even though she’s a bigger name than me.

  However, two questions still remain, run rampant through my head. Why her? Why was he there?

  I’d gone to the bakery that morning because simply put, I devoured the extra surprise the shop owner had placed in a box. These flaky little chocolate croissants with a hint of spice in the hazelnut spread she’d baked within were delicious, and after not getting any sleep, I went back for more.

  I also wasn’t lying about his chosen painter’s attitude and diva-like personality. I’ve seen both firsthand. Have been in the same room and dealt with her criticisms while she flirted with a gallery curator to be given the rights to show at their location.

  “What’s done is done, and I don’t regret it,” I say out loud, walking up the stairs to my studio with Mr. Pickles close behind late the next afternoon. He’s been with me all day, my little shadow since I came home from my impromptu meetup with Theodore, and it’s been nice. We ate an early dinner together, watched the movie Secret Window, and then went to bed. Not fancy, but a nice quiet day that I desperately needed. “No sign of Elise either.”