by Anna Paige
No, he pries into my life.
Maybe that wasn’t true. He probably took the same interest in everyone else, and I just didn’t see it because I tried to keep to myself.
He was older, but not old. Maybe forty, with jet black hair that he wore longish and swept back off his forehead. He had a full mustache that he kept neatly trimmed—it reminded me of a cartoon character for some reason—and a wide, perfectly straight white smile that kind of weirded me out. It was odd, his smile. It never matched his expression. His eyes were so dark and flat that, even when he laughed, he looked shark-like, dangerous.
I wasn’t being fair; he’d never done anything inappropriate. He was always nice and friendly, but there was just this vibe about him.
Vibe or not, he was my boss, and I paid him the respect he was due. He didn’t have to hire a just-out-of-college nobody to work in his gallery; he gave me my big chance, and I wasn’t about to lose sight of that, no matter how weird the guy was.
“Mr. Santoro, how wonderful to see you!” Arthur stepped forward and clasped Nikolai’s outstretched hand.
“Niko, please, Arthur. We’ve been over this.” He placed his free hand on Arthur’s shoulder and leaned down a bit, so they were on eye level. “You are many years my elder, and having you call me Mr. Santoro seems disrespectful. Niko or Nikolai will be fine.”
His slight accent made him seem worldly, even in his jeans and pullover. One thing about Nikolai—he wasn’t the least bit interested in looking as wealthy as he was. I had to respect that. The typical gallery owner, he was not.
“My dear Emily,” he said as he released Arthur’s hand and moved over to where I stood, my back straight and my hand outstretched in greeting.
“Nikolai, nice to see you again.”
He took my hand and turned it palm down, covering the back with his other hand as he smiled. “Conspicuous…I hear you were the belle of the ball.” He gave me a quick once-over that made me want to pull away. “Such a travesty that I was obligated elsewhere. I would have loved to see you shine.”
I just nodded, embarrassed. “Arthur tells me you were overseas, scouting.”
He still held my hand as he threw his head back and laughed. “Tanning is more like it. I may have booked a meeting or two with promising artists, but for the most part I was relaxing on a beach or my yacht, hiding myself away from the cruel New York weather.” He tilted his head toward the front of the gallery and the wide windows that overlooked the busy, snow-dusted street. “Already, the white stuff is invading here. It is depressing.”
“I like the snow,” I muttered. “But I can see how some people don’t.”
He studied me for a moment before someone at his back, one of the part-time decorators, sniffled and tore his attention away. He dropped my hand and moved to greet the rest of the staff. I tuned them out, going to reheat my latte in the break room microwave.
I was just turning to head back when Nikolai stepped into the doorway, all smiles as he motioned for me to take a seat at the small table in the center of the room. I nodded and did as he asked, sipping from my cup as he settled into the chair across from mine.
“I understand that Conspicuous has taken an interest in you after seeing the exhibition.”
Dammit. Arthur needed to learn to shut his gossipy old face.
“I don’t know if I’d say that, exactly,” I hedged, looking anywhere but at him.
“Arthur tells it differently.” He waved off my denials. “Regardless, building a solid working relationship with Conspicuous—” He glanced at the open door and deliberately used Ethan’s pseudonym for the sake of discretion. “Would be of great benefit to our little gallery. He has amassed quite a following in the last few years.”
He called it our little gallery to make me feel included, to give me motivation, but I wasn’t naive. “I agree. But, he’s only mentioned doing one additional showing, and that’s still not set in stone.”
His brow dipped in a stern way that he probably thought was intimidating. To me, it just underscored his cartoon character vibe. “Then get it written in stone, Miss Westin. Leave no room for misunderstanding, and get it all down on paper.”
I could feel myself getting angry at the tone of his voice, but I stifled my instinctive need to lash out, reminding myself that I loved my job. “I’ll do what I can. He’s already offered and verbally confirmed his intentions, so assuming he doesn’t change his plans, all that’s left is to work out the specifics. I’ll give him a call and see how he wants to proceed.”
I’d give him a call, all right, but I wasn’t going to push him about signing a contract. It would make it seem like I was exploiting our friendship to further my career and benefit the gallery.
He offered a ghost of a smile. “Splendid.” His eyes narrowed as he studied me. “Are you feeling well, Emily? You look a bit…I don’t know…fatigued.”
I clamped both hands around my cup and gave a hopefully friendly smile. Fatigued was code for ‘you look like shit,’ and we both knew it. “Nothing to worry about. Just didn’t get enough sleep last night.” Any sleep, technically.
He tried for a concerned look, but something rang false. “I hope whatever it was that kept you up won’t be an issue again in the future.”
I shrugged and stood. “I was just reading a good book and lost track of the time.”
He smirked and got to his feet. “One of those steamy romance novels that are all the rage lately?”
“Not this time. I’ve been gravitating toward horror and thrillers lately. You know, all the different ways to get rid of a body and things like that.”
His brow crinkled as he looked me over, this time with a tinge of worry. “So, you enjoy reading gore?”
“Nah. But it’s good research.” I smiled big and wide. “Just in case.”
I left him flabbergasted in the break room and returned to my boring paperwork, where I remained until long after his visit had ended. Some days—especially ones when you haven’t slept—you just aren’t in the mood for the bullshit.
My enormous shipment of Death Wish coffee was being shipped one-day express, for the sake of my job and all those with whom I came in contact.
Chapter Twenty-One
Emily
Every day for the next two weeks, I heard from Ethan at least once, usually more. We texted constantly, which Dana loved to tease me about, and we talked every night before bed.
That Death Wish coffee really came in handy on the mornings after one of TotC’s concerts, since Ethan was later calling on those nights, sometimes really late depending on the time zone differences.
If I knew I wasn’t going to hear from him until two or three, I’d go to bed early and set an alarm, so I wouldn’t miss his call.
Nope, I wasn’t infatuated at all.
Or if I was, he was too.
He didn’t like waking me up to talk, but I insisted, and he didn’t put up much of a fight, admitting that he’d become kind of addicted to hearing my voice.
He mentioned the second exhibition during one of our late-night-slash-early-morning calls and assured me that it would be set up after the holidays, when things weren’t so hectic. I was so glad he brought it up because I’d been determined not to mention it myself, no matter how much Nikolai prodded me to.
I thanked Ethan for the update and changed the subject, content to take him at his word.
We talked about everything and nothing, inching our way into each other’s histories. I told him a little about my mom and how much she enjoyed belittling me for not going into something more “serious” and respectable.
He said he had been lucky on that front, since Ryan sort of paved the way with his parents with his art. They’d even let the band use their garage for practices when they were starting out. There was a lot of sadness in those discussions, though, and it made me wonder.
He admitted that he was estranged from his parents and had been for some time, but he didn’t talk about it long, steering the conversa
tion back to me.
“What about your dad?” he’d asked one night about ten days before Thanksgiving, as I lay in my bed enjoying the sound of his voice in the near-black room.
A picture of my father instantly popped into my head and I smiled. It was my favorite picture, the one where he was smiling the most. It was also the last picture my mother had taken of him before he deployed. “He died in combat when my mother was pregnant with me. The day you came to visit—that was his birthday. I never got to meet him.”
“Shit, Em. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. My mother told me a few things when I was younger, or rather she talked about him to her friends while she held me in her lap. She only cuddled me when other people were around, and she only talked about my dad when she thought it would get her sympathy. I paid attention when she talked about him, filed it all away in the back of my mind like pieces of a puzzle. I know he was really into art. Sculpting, specifically.” I glanced over to my dresser at the small, clay figure that was all I had of him, aside from his dog tags in my jewelry box.
An intricately carved rose, so realistic I used to try my hardest to smell it when I was a kid, like the fragrance was just below the surface.
“He’d been working his way through the ranks even before he met my mom, and she adored the idea of having an officer for a husband, so she reeled him in. They were married several years before my mom got pregnant with me, an accident according to her.”
Ethan made a sound of disbelief, like he was disgusted that she’d told me such a thing.
“They’d just moved into a new place a month or so before he deployed, and he put all his sculptures in storage, at her request. She’d been trying to get him to stop that ‘silliness’ for years, and she finally got her way. I guess she stopped paying the storage fees after he died and eventually everything was auctioned off. But there was a little one she must have forgotten about in a box of old junk she stuffed in the attic when we moved to Madison around my second birthday. I found it there when I was eight or nine and hid it away in my room, so she wouldn’t throw it away like she had everything else.” I still hated her for letting his legacy go like that, like it didn’t matter to her, like she thought it shouldn’t matter to me.
“My mom thought his art was a stupid hobby, a waste of time and energy better spent making a name for himself in the military. She wanted to be a colonel’s wife as soon as possible, and any time he devoted to his art was against her wishes.”
“Damn, that’s so wrong,” Ethan had muttered, sounding sad and a little angry.
“I think that’s one of the main reasons she dislikes me so much. I’ve made it a point to be everything she’s not. All she ever did was belittle me because my dad’s love of art inspired my appreciation of it. It also didn’t help that I look exactly like him, which she loved to point out with a distasteful look on her face. I don’t think she ever loved him at all. She just wanted someone she could mold into her twisted idea of a success.” I blew out a breath, tugging the covers over me as I snuggled in my bed and wished Ethan was there with me, just to hold me for a while. “She hates me because she couldn’t mold me either.”
“Let’s say you’re right; would you really want the approval of someone like that? What kind of person would you have to be for her to be the mother you wanted? For her to love you in whatever twisted way she’s capable of?”
“Someone like her. I’d have to be someone like her. And I’d rather die.”
“If you were someone like her, I can promise you I wouldn’t be talking to you right now. I bet your girl Dana wouldn’t be best friends with someone like that, either. And poor Dammit? Can you imagine where he’d be?”
I chuckled at how dramatically he’d said all that, like it was the most horrific thing he could imagine. Maybe it was. It sure as hell was for me.
“Point taken.”
“I’ll tell you a little secret, sweetheart. The best way to know that you’re a good person isn’t to look at your friends—it’s taking a look at those who dislike you. If truly horrible people hate you, it’s a sure sign that you’re living right. You are everything she’s not, and that means you’re fucking amazing. Remember that.”
“I will.” I giggled.
“Now, get some sleep. The band is flying out tomorrow afternoon, so I’ll see you sometime this weekend.”
I groaned. “I wish I didn’t have to work Saturday. I’d much rather spend it with you.”
“I can’t wait to see you either. Soon, sweet Emily. Don’t you worry. Besides, I have to squeeze in some work myself. We’ll probably get in late tomorrow night and Saturday morning, we have an interview, then I need to get my studio organized.”
Thankfully, he couldn’t see me pouting. “Fine, go do rock star or artist stuff or whatever you have to do.”
“You’re pouting, aren’t you?” he asked, amusement in his voice.
“Maybe.”
He chuckled then. “I bet that’s almost as sexy as your pissed-off face.”
“Shut it, drummer boy.”
“Good night, pouty girl. You’ll be seeing me very soon.”
Yeah, as soon as I close my eyes. “Sooner than you think. Sweet dreams.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ethan
The Saturday before Thanksgiving
“Dude, you look like shit,” Lennox remarked as he bumped my shoulder. “Long night?”
I flipped him off and kept walking. We’d just finished recording a radio spot for a local station, talking about the upcoming concert and our holiday plans. We’d given the standard answers, made a few jokes, answered some pre-submitted fan questions, and signed some swag for the station to give away or auction off.
Same old, same old.
Only the holiday questions were non-standard. And speaking of…
“Hey, Edenfield!” I called out as Kade and Kane rounded the corner down the hall. Sure enough, both twins stepped back and waited for me to specify which one I was talking to, which in this case was both of them. “I forgot to tell you guys I’m hanging here in the city for turkey day this year.”
I hadn’t forgotten anything; I just didn’t feel like listening to any shit over it.
Kade frowned over at his brother as I approached and then shot me a look of confusion. “We’re not actually doing Thanksgiving dinner until the weekend, E. We’ll all be stuck here Thursday because of the concert. I personally plan to stick to tradition and binge on Chinese food while watching the game until time for the show.”
I shook my head. “No, I mean I’m not going back to Pennsylvania with you guys after the concert. I’m gonna chill here for a while, do my own thing.”
“You mean you’re gonna do the art gallery chick.” Lenn snorted at my back.
“Fuck off, Reid.”
He leaned over my shoulder and winked. “I love when you use my last name. So authoritative. Use that same tone on art girl and she’ll be on her knees in a microsecond.”
“Shut it, Lennox,” Kade bit out, tiring of Lenn’s shit. It was too early in the damn morning to be so annoyingly…Lennox.
“You guys are no fun. I miss Jared. He always laughs at my jokes. When does my new best friend Jared get into town? I need a hug or something to soothe the sting of your rejection.” Jared was held up dealing with some…issues…but would be there in time for the concert on Thursday.
It was Kane who snapped first. “For fuck’s sake, if you don’t shut up I’m gonna rip out your vocal cords and strangle you with them.”
“Sounds kinky,” Lenn retorted, waggling his brows.
He wasn’t going to stop, so the three of us turned and left him standing there, muttering under his breath about how persecuted he was for being the witty one.
We finished our conversation as we walked, thankful that Mr. Witty hadn’t fought to keep up.
“You’re staying for her, aren’t you?” Kane asked as we walked three-wide down the corridor toward the elevators. His tone h
eld a note of disapproval.
“Partially.” I checked our surroundings to be sure no one was in earshot. “But I also want to spend some time in my studio. I’ve got several in-progress pieces I’d like to finish and a couple more that I want to at least sketch out.”
“Code for I’m gonna scribble a little and fuck a lot.” Kade snorted.
I shook my head. “You’re spending too much time with Lennox.”
He wasn’t joking when he said, “And you’re playing with fire.”
“Maybe. But while you’re in some hotel watching the game with your Chinese takeout, I’ll be having a real meal with a beautiful woman, her best friend, and an adorable little dog who loves to Skype. Whose day sounds more interesting? Yours or mine?”
“Wait, there’s gonna be another girl there? Single? Hot?” This from Kane.
“I’ve only seen her fleetingly during that video call, so I know nothing.” He grinned for a moment before I shook my head. “Except that I’m not letting you anywhere near her.”
“You suck. Cock blocking your best friend. It’s the holidays, man, the season of giving.”
“You’re not my best friend, asshat, but you are giving me a headache, so shut it. I’m not introducing you to her friend. Go back to the club and pick someone up there.”
Lennox finally caught up as we waited for the elevator. “I’ll go with you, Kane. There were a few skirts I neglected to get under last night. Hopefully, they’re regulars.”
“You boys have fun with that. I still can’t believe you went out after we got into town so freaking late last night, you couple of whores.” I chuckled, watching Lennox make totally obscene thrusting gestures as the elevator doors opened and we stepped in.
“Oh, I got in all right.”
“I’m taking Aubrey out tonight, so you fuckers are on your own,” Kade said, ignoring Lennox’s crude comment and ongoing air thrusts, eyes on his brother. “Be sure to get pics of Lenn getting shot down. It happens at least once a night. No wait…screw pics, video is better.”
