by Anna Paige
“I can already tell you and I are going to be great friends, Emily.” I stepped over and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, wondering why I hadn’t noticed before that she was shivering. “You go back inside where it’s warm and show off what a phenomenal job you’ve done with this exhibition. Save me copies of any local write-ups you find. I’ll check out your reviews online and call in next week sometime to hear the official play-by-play from you. Sound good?”
“I’d like that very much.” Her voice was thready, like she was having a hard time getting the words out.
I grudgingly let my arm fall from her shoulder as I opened the door and stepped back, ushering her through.
Her heels hit the polished marble, and she swiveled to look up at me. “I know I shouldn’t say this since I made a complete fool of myself earlier, but if it turns out that this is all a dream, I’m going to be royally pissed.” The look on her face told me she really believed that was a possibility.
Acting purely on impulse, I stepped into the doorway and cupped her cheek with one hand, keeping the other on the door so it didn’t close on my back. Her breath halted in her throat and she stood stock-still as I leaned in and ever so slightly brushed my lips against hers. Both the reddened cheek under my hand and her lips under my own were chilled by the night air, but I was on fucking fire.
I stepped back and watched with satisfaction as her eyes fluttered open, her chin still tilted up from our kiss. “What was that?”
“In case it’s all a dream.” I winked. “I wanted to at least have the memory of one kiss before I woke up.”
“But I figured it was my dream, not yours.”
“I certainly hope not, because waking up with your face in my mind will be the highlight of my morning.” I stepped back and let my hand drop from the door, holding her gaze as the cold metal barrier settled between us, not looking away until the latch clicked into place and she was gone from sight.
Out of sight but definitely not out of mind.
She’d be dominating my thoughts for the rest of the night, of that I was sure.
Emily was right about one thing—it did feel like a dream.
A beautiful, hopeful dream.
Chapter Two
Emily
There’s no freaking way that just happened.
None.
I’m hallucinating.
I probably got nailed by a bus this morning, and now I’m in a coma in some hospital having insane dreams about a gorgeous drummer who moonlights as a reclusive artist. The same phenomenal artist whose paintings speak to my very soul.
Ethan Chase, ultra-popular drummer for the world’s hottest rock band, was also Conspicuous, the reclusive artistic genius who had a worldwide following.
Sure, that could totally happen.
I wonder if it was the number seven bus that got me. Probably. That guy nearly jumped the curb on me twice over the summer.
I walked into my apartment and immediately reached down to scratch behind Dammit’s ears as I kicked off my heels, sinking into the thick carpet with a sigh. Dammit was all tail wags and soft snuffles, as usual, doing his best to steal my attention. As soon as I could extricate myself from my excitable canine greeter, I headed to the kitchen to forage for wine. I hadn’t dared partake in the champagne being offered at the gallery, needing my wits about me to troubleshoot any problems. Not that I’d needed to, the show had gone perfectly—absolutely flawless—but drinking while on duty would have felt tacky, so I had the caterers give me sparkling cider instead.
Now that the one or two unsold paintings were safely crated, and the gallery was in the capable hands of the clean-up crews, my mind was free to wander back to him, to those shaggy curls and bright blue eyes. To the enormity of what had happened, of who he was.
Find the damn wine and drink the whole bottle. This is a dream anyway, which means no hangovers. Perk of being comatose.
Arthur had dragged out an NDA for me to sign before I left but hadn’t referenced the spectacle I’d made. I assumed he was awaiting further instructions—probably from Ethan himself—before dropping the proverbial guillotine on my neck. That was still a possibility, getting fired. I couldn’t lose sight of that, but it wasn’t easy to focus when I could still feel the soft pressure of Ethan’s lips on mine every time I closed my eyes.
He kissed me.
Ethan Chase kissed me.
Conspicuous kissed me.
Where the hell is that wine?
I’d just snatched a brand-new bottle of Moscato from its hiding spot in the back of my fridge—aha!—when my phone rang from somewhere inside my clutch purse. I gave the bottle a longing look as I set it on the counter and went to retrieve the phone.
As soon as I had it in hand, I pivoted and headed back to the kitchen where my sweet, bubbly elixir awaited. I thumbed the green button with a smile. “Hey, hooker. How’s tricks?”
“Not bad. Your boyfriend’s a really good tipper,” Dana quipped. She was my best friend in the world, and my favorite person to talk trash to.
I snorted softly as I worked to uncork my wine. “Good one. It’d be even better if I actually had a boyfriend.”
“Seriously, wench. I didn’t call to exchange put-downs. Tell me all about the show. Was it amazing? Did he show up?”
I wiggled the cork free and picked up the bottle, tipping it up and taking a much-needed swallow before bothering to look for a glass.
“Was that a cork I just heard?”
I took another swallow from the bottle and pulled a glass from the cabinet. “Yep. I needed to unwind a little. It was a long, eventful night.”
She huffed out an impatient breath. “Will you just spill already?”
“The show went great. Almost everything sold, and the ones that didn’t sell weren’t actually for sale in the first place, or I’m pretty sure they would have been snapped up, too. Everyone raved, ate, drank, and left. It was perfect.”
“Do you think he was there?” She knew about the rumors, knew how nervous I was at the possibility of Conspicuous attending.
“No. I’m certain Conspicuous wasn’t at the show.” It was the truth. I knew he wasn’t at the show because he’d come and gone before it started.
She sounded a little crestfallen when she said, “Sorry, Em. I know you were hoping he’d see how much effort you put into that show.”
“It’s okay, really. I couldn’t be happier with the way tonight went if I tried.” Also true, though I couldn’t tell her all the reasons why without betraying Ethan’s trust. Keeping things from her didn’t come easy. We talked about everything and prided ourselves on how honest we were with each other, even when it hurt. It wasn’t a good feeling, withholding something so huge.
“I wish I could have been there, babe. I tried, I really did, but my douchebag manager wouldn’t budge. He has a stick up his ass the size of a telephone pole. The bar wasn’t even busy tonight. He was just being a prick to prove he’s in charge. Stupid male posturing.”
I could tell she’d be holding a grudge for a long time over this one. I kind of felt sorry for her new boss. He’d been there maybe a month, and all I’d heard was how much of an asshat he was. He was stupid, too, if he thought he could push Dana around.
“You can come to the next one.” If there was a next one. There was still a chance I was out of a job, but I couldn’t tell her that without telling her why. It was a lonely thought, actually, not being able to discuss my fears with her for the first time.
Dammit tapped my foot with his paw, looking for attention. I reached across the counter and grabbed the cookie jar I used for his dog biscuits, feeding him a few between head rubs. He was going to get an earful tonight; the treats were my way of making it worthwhile for him.
“I’ll be at the next one if it means my job. I should have walked out tonight, truth be told, but I knew you’d see me there and know what I’d done.”
“And I would have kicked your ass right in the middle of the gallery, which would hav
e gotten me fired. So, it’s a good thing your common sense kicked in and saved us both from unemployment.”
She snorted. “That’s me, all considerate and shit.”
“I’ve got a hot date with a cold bottle of wine, so I’m gonna go. I’ll text you tomorrow, and we can meet up for lunch.”
“Sounds good.” She dropped her voice, sounding uncharacteristically emotional. “I’m proud of you, bitch.”
“Good thing you threw that ‘bitch’ in there. For a minute I thought you were turning into one of those ‘Wind Beneath My Wings’ chicks,” I teased, ignoring the lump in my throat. “Thanks. I’m kind of proud of me, too.”
“You should be. Now go get drunk, give the damn dog a belly rub from Auntie Dana, and call me mañana.”
She made a kissing sound and hung up.
I took my wine to the living room and plugged in my phone, flopping onto the couch and waiting for Dammit to join me. He was a mixed breed fella—probably Australian Shepherd and some small terrier-type breed—that culminated in about twenty pounds of fur and kisses. He was a light golden brown with dark, soulful brown eyes. I adored his sweet canine face, with its narrow snout and pink spots on his wet, black nose that looked like freckles. I needed to take him for a walk, but I was fairly certain he’d used his “grass” pad on the patio already. I had a doggie door installed in the slider, so he could go do his business when I was at work, and my downstairs neighbor stopped in around mid-afternoon to take him out for me. Apartment living was tricky with a dog, but we made it work.
“Well, boy. I don’t know how your day went, but mine was all kinds of exciting.” He laid his head on my thigh, looking up at me like he was totally enthralled by my every word. “I know you probably get bored with all my chatter, but what went down tonight was much more exciting than the stuff I usually tell you. You want to know Mommy’s new secret?”
He lifted his head at my teasing voice and sniffed. I took that as a yes.
“Well, it all started when this scruffy looking guy walked into the gallery…”
The morning after an event is usually boring—lots of paperwork to be handled and sales to tally—but today there was a definite thrum of excitement in the air, even as I did the usual drudgery in the empty office. Arthur was relieving me for lunch at noon, so it was just me and the cleaning crew for the morning. The solitude was fine by me. I needed the time to process everything from last night.
My gaze kept roaming to the spot where I’d confronted Ethan, the whole scene replaying in my mind up to the softest, most tender kiss I’d ever experienced.
If Arthur was the type to notice things like this, he would notice me trying to hide my perma-grin as soon as he showed, but it wasn’t his way. He kept his nose to the grindstone. Not that he was an ass; he was just reserved. He lived alone, a widower who’d lost his wife more than a decade earlier.
He may not have been a social person, but he was always nice to me and because of that, I fed him. A lot. I used the excuse that it was impossible to cook for one person, so I always ended up making too much. I was no dummy, I knew how to cook for myself without having gobs of extra food, but the excuse worked, and he let me bring him lunches and dinners at least twice a week.
Maybe I should have cooked him something special as an apology for my run-in with Ethan.
Nah, I wouldn’t grovel or bribe my way out of it. If they demoted—or God forbid, fired—me over it, I’d accept my fate with class.
Then go home and cook everything in my refrigerator because that’s what I did when I was stressed; cook.
It wasn’t like I’d end up on the streets if I got fired; I’d amassed quite a bit in savings my first couple of years at the gallery. My constant overtime was what prompted Niko to promote me and offer up a salaried position, which probably saved him a bundle even if my salary was extremely generous.
But it wasn’t the money that made me want to hold onto the job. It was the art. The artists who were featured and the ones who just came in to show appreciation for the talent of others. The way they spoke of their work and their passion for creating. I loved that. That was what I was afraid to lose—the connection to them and their art. Their work and how it affected me, how it enriched my life.
Conspicuous’s paintings being my favorite of them all.
And just like that, I was smiling again as I pictured Ethan’s easy smile, his soft lips.
It was unnerving to be this anxiety-riddled over my job and still have to fight off a grin because I kept seeing that kiss in my mind. Anyone who knew what I’d done, how close I was to being unemployed, would see this grin and think I was insane.
But I sincerely couldn’t stop.
That nagging little voice in my mind had been at it all morning. I tried to shut it up with coffee, but that just made it more insistent. It wasn’t self-doubt that plagued me, it was my mother’s nagging, belittling voice that had set up shop in my head and gone to work on my good mood.
He’s just being nice so you’ll keep your mouth shut.
He’s probably not going to check in with you. Why would he? You signed the NDA after he left. No reason for him to continue the charade. It’s not like he was genuinely interested in you, Emily Ann. Be realistic. He was leading you on to keep you quiet. You’re far too plain to catch the eye of someone like that.
I could hear my mother’s voice as clearly as if she were standing right next to me. Not in an insane, delusional way—I’d just become so accustomed to anticipating her reactions over the years that I could predict the trajectory of her sniper comments with total accuracy. Nothing was ever good enough for her—not the way I looked or dressed, not my friends or career. Nothing. She was a distasteful, wretched woman who I’d fled from as soon as I’d had the means. I’d hoped that once I was out of her house, we could find a kind of peace with one another as adults, as women. But after being shot down each time I attempted to reach out, I realized I was wrong to even entertain the notion.
We only talked when she had something to bitch about, usually once every few months.
But that didn’t keep her voice out of my mind on a daily basis.
That doubting, scathing, vicious remnant of her stayed with me always, rearing its ugly head in times when I managed to find a scrap of excitement or happiness in my life.
I wasn’t letting her win today, though. I wouldn’t doubt myself, or Ethan’s promise to call. He’d been telling the truth, I just knew it.
And that little voice in my head could go straight to hell.
Chapter Three
Emily
Arthur showed up early, as always, and I gave him the rundown of what was left to be done. Not much, as it turned out, because nervous energy is a great motivator, and I’d flown through my work in record time. Being gallery manager—and occasional assistant curator—was a lot of work, but I was immeasurably grateful for the job, so I was always vigilant about handling my duties well.
He still hadn’t mentioned the run-in with Conspicuous last evening, so I decided to bring it up to test the waters a bit. “I hope you’re pleased with last night’s exhibition, the unfortunate incident beforehand aside.”
Arthur shuffled through a stack of receipts, his head down. “I think the showing went remarkably well, indeed.”
I could feel myself leaning forward, waiting for him to expand on his comment, at least give a hint as to whether I was in trouble.
He didn’t.
Instead, he neatly stacked everything he needed and carried it off to his own desk, dropping it unceremoniously onto the polished cherry surface and setting off to make a fresh pot of coffee. He drank the stuff all day. If you stood close enough, you could smell it coming out of his pores. It was odd, considering how docile he always was. Never animated or excitable. Just kind of there, stonily silent like a piece of furniture despite the incredibly high levels of caffeine surging through his veins.
It was maddening.
I tracked him with my eyes as he got
another pot of java going, wondering if I should just come right out and ask if I was fired.
My phone chirped on my desk, distracting me long enough for Arthur to step away and into the men’s room.
Probably a good thing, since I wasn’t sure I was ready for the answer to my question.
When I checked my phone, I winced. Shit. I’d forgotten to text Dana this morning.
Dana: Bitch, I’m hungry. We meeting for lunch or what?
Me: I’m so sorry. Post-event paperwork drained my brain. Where we eating?
Dana: Damn blondes. Always getting distracted…
Me: Damn brunettes. Always bitchy…
Dana: Touché. Chelsea Market so I can graze.
Me: Done. I’ll be there at half past.
Dana: You better be. I’m starving.
Me: Oh, go eat a dick.
Dana: You know you’re not supposed to use teeth on those, right? Or is this why you’re single?
Me: I hate you.
Dana: Sure you do. Don’t be late.
I sent her the middle finger emoji and dropped my phone in my purse. Arthur was on the move again, heading back to the break room to check on his coffee.
Screw it, I’m asking.
I walked into the room behind him and inhaled deeply, the smell of strong coffee thick in the air. “Arthur, can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Certainly. Coffee?” he asked, holding up the pot for my inspection.
“No thanks. I’ve had two cups already.” I shook my head and launched into the question before my mother’s voice could chime in and cause me to waver. “I just wanted to ask what’s going to happen about the…incident before the exhibition.”
“What do you expect to happen, Emily?” His voice was even, no inflection, giving nothing away.
“I’m not sure, to be honest. I know it was an unfortunate mistake, and it could have had serious repercussions.”
“Yes, it certainly was,” he agreed, nodding into his coffee cup.
