I closed my laptop and ran my hands down my face. Bianca understood me and my work in a way that aroused me and touched me to my core. There was nothing sexier and more satisfying than being with someone who understood me that well.
She is going to break me down, I thought, rubbing the spot over my heart.
Since Bianca left on Sunday, I spent my days thinking about her and my nights dreaming of her. It wasn’t unusual for her to cloud my thoughts, but something was different. I had a longing for her that extended past missing her. She owned me.
Our routine was like it had been for the last month. We talked when I finished my run and before she got out of the bed to get ready for work. We’d text during the day and then we talked before bed. But this week was different than the weeks prior.
For the last six or seven months, I’d known that I was in love with Bianca. I felt it the night of my first art show with Charlotte Spence in Art Space. Even if I couldn’t admit it until I let go of my California baggage, I knew Bianca was the one for a long time.
So why has this week been a bitch to get through?
I paced in front of the dream sequence painting with my hands resting on the top of my head. Even though we saw each other Sunday, I was still having a hard time with the distance.
I just saw her Sunday and I’m going to see her when I fly to New York tomorrow. What the hell is going on with me? I need to shake this off. Maybe it’s just this thing tonight, I mused, running my hands down my face and heading back over to my laptop. Five hundred people expected to be in attendance. Current students. Former students. Instructors. Colleagues. Community artists. Community members.
I wasn’t nervous. I didn’t get nervous about my work. But something was getting to me.
Opening my laptop, I double clicked the internet icon and searched Park Place. As I stared at Bianca’s apartment complex on my screen, I considered the possibilities.
“Shit,” I mumbled as the banging on the door startled me.
I looked at my watch. It’s time to head over to the University anyway.
Putting my laptop in my bag, I slung it over my shoulder. Picking up my keys and my phone, I stalked to the door and the repeated knocking.
“Hey! Sorry. I wasn’t at the desk when you came by today. I must have stepped out to go to the restroom. But Monroe made me promise I wouldn’t forget to give all of this to you,” Aniko started, handing me a stack of papers as soon as the door was opened enough to get her hand in. “Here’s the slip to show the delivery of your canvases. Here’s a package that came for you. And here’s…” She looked at it questionably and then forced it into my chest. “I don’t know what this is. Monroe just said that you needed your slip before your event tonight. Good luck with that, by the way.”
My eyes widened at the rate at which she spoke and the abrupt way she turned on her heel to head back to the elevator. She pulled out her cell phone and answered a call as I threw a ‘thank you’ to her retreating frame.
Locking the door, I hustled to the elevator just as it arrived. I stood in the corner opposite of Aniko as I listened in awe of her rapid delivery. I wasn’t eavesdropping as much as I was trying to figure out what the hell she was talking about.
Unless you’re an auctioneer, there is no damn reason to talk that fast, I thought with a smirk.
“…like that, Meredith,” Aniko snapped, catching my attention.
My body froze as I continued to stare straight ahead.
Meredith? As in stalker Meredith?
“I saw you on the premises yesterday. If I see you again, I will tell Monroe and she will call the police. I don’t know what happened between the two of you, but I know this: You don’t work here anymore. I’ve passed along your messages. When Monroe decides to follow up with you, she will. Until then, I have work to do.”
What the hell is going on?
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Aniko toss her hair over her shoulder and purse her lips angrily. I turned slightly toward her just as the elevator doors opened. With the phone pressed against her ear again, she strode out of the elevator. “Yes, Dean. The plumber came by your studio and apparently you’ve been…”
The click of Aniko’s heels was only drowned out by the rush of air that left my lungs. I wanted to follow her and question her about what I had overheard.
I should know if Meredith is lurking around here again. I don’t think she’s a threat, but I should know.
But when I looked at my watch, I realized I needed to leave immediately to arrive when I wanted to arrive.
Rushing out of the building, I hopped in my car and drove to one of the larger buildings on the Virginia Commonwealth University campus. After paying to park, I sat in the car to mentally prepare for the event.
Pulling out my phone, I looked to see if I had a missed call from the only person who would put me at ease. Seeing nothing, a twinge of disappointment tugged at me as I put my phone in my bag.
What’s this? I wondered, finding another distraction in the form of the package sitting in my front seat.
Eyeing the box critically, I noticed the lack of a return address, but I ignored the immediate red flags that went off in my head. Ripping the tape off of the brown box, I felt my entire face scrunch up in confusion.
Are those…flowers?
Tipping the box so I could get a good look, I saw the black flower petals littering the bottom of the box. A card was taped inside, underneath the flower petals.
With the sound of my heart hammering in my chest, I gingerly pulled the card out. Sitting the box in the seat, I clutched the card in my hand and the hair on the back of my neck stood up. Swallowing thickly, I checked my time and I knew I needed to get inside. But I couldn’t get out of the car until I knew what it said. Opening the card, I saw the words ‘it starts now.’
What the hell is this supposed to mean?
Something didn’t sit well with me. Something felt off. The words on the card weren’t the problem. It was obscure, but it wasn’t the problem. The flowers, although not my thing, weren’t the problem either. But black flower petals in an unmarked box with the only identifying object being a card with a typed message was a problem.
Or am I reading too much into it? I wondered, staring at the short message until it became hazy and unfocused. The uneasy feeling I’d get when Meredith would send me her creepy ass emails started to flood my system, but I brushed it off. I’m reading too much into it.
A horn blared and raucous laughter erupted from a group of people strolling from a minivan, jolting me from my thoughts. Dropping the card back into the box with the rose petals, I got out of the car, making my way toward the building.
“Excuse me…Roman Harper? You seem to have lost something,” a purpled haired woman said as I readjusted my bag and pulled out my cell phone.
Glancing at the sidewalk behind me and not seeing anything, I looked into her blue eyes. “What?”
“My number,” she flirted, smiling brightly.
And that was ten seconds of my life I’ll never get back.
I gave her a tight smile and continued stalking into the building. Without being rude, I wanted to create as much space between us as possible.
“I’m Sharon, by the way,” she called from behind me. “Can’t wait for your program tonight!”
I didn’t bother to turn around as my eyes were glued to my phone.
A sarcastic laugh made my head snap up. When I saw who it belonged to, my jaw clenched.
Sliding my phone into my pocket, I acknowledged him gruffly. “Ashton.”
“Roman.” He paused, squaring his shoulders. Gesturing to the door, he continued, “I guess she’s just one of the many who have bought into the hype. Everyone treats you like a rock star in our department. But I know you. I see right through your shit.”
Ashton Blue’s words meant nothing to me, but the fact that he thought he could talk to me like that had me seething. Even while my eyes narrowed at him, I side stepped him and attempt
ed to move down the hallway without incident. I did my part to try to limit the contact I had with him. I made the effort to not engage with him. Nothing good ever came from interaction with him. But Ashton always managed to get under my skin.
“When was the last time you spoke to Bianca?” Ashton asked after I had gotten halfway down the hallway.
I froze.
Although the question was innocent enough, his tone was anything but. My hands immediately curled into fists as I turned around to face him. I didn’t want that asshole to even speak her name.
“Bianca is none of your concern,” I said evenly.
Ashton smirked, taking a step closer. “Bianca will always be my concern. We know each other really well. She’s…special.”
I took a deep breath, but I made sure not to show any emotion on my face. My muscles tensed as the insinuation mixed with the anger that swirled around inside of me.
She’s special? What the fuck do you know about how special she is? I wanted to yell as I stayed as professional as possible. He better thank God we’re here and not at the park or anywhere there wouldn’t be any witnesses.
“Ashton, you went on a couple of dates with Bianca six months ago. You don’t know shit about how special she is. Don’t go there with me,” I warned through gritted teeth.
Ignoring my advice, he asked, “Do you know why Bianca and I didn’t work out?”
I knew he was baiting me, but I took another step toward him anyway. My head told me to just walk away and prepare for my presentation. But my body wouldn’t listen. I’d been primed for a fight since Bianca told me what Benjamin said to her.
Why do these assholes keep testing me?
“We didn’t work out because you got in her head. You saw her happy with me and it killed you, didn’t it?” He sneered at me. “What we had was real and like the sneaky bastard you are, you stole her from me.”
My heart was beating loudly in my ears as I listened to his distorted take on the past.
“She was never yours.”
The conniving smile he gave me made my blood boil. “Well once I catch you slipping, you’ll be out of the picture. And who do you think she’s going to come back to?”
I took a couple of deep breaths to prevent myself from throwing down my bag and knocking him the fuck out.
Just walk away, I told myself. He’s not worth it. He’s not worth it at all. He’s just a jealous—
The realization hit me hard. Slowly backing away from him, I let out a short, dry laugh.
“I get it.” I lifted my hands and nodded. “You want what I have. You wanted her. You thought you had her. But she was in love with me. She’s still in love with me.” Watching the change in him as I said the words amused me. The tension eased out of my muscles as I called him out. I ran my hand over my jawline and flashed him a smile. “You want my girl. You want my job. You want my life. That’s got to be tough knowing that you want all of these things, but you can’t have them.”
The smug look on Ashton’s face changed from thinly veiled hostility to unadulterated hate. He glared at me angrily which only made me smile harder.
Turning, I strode toward the room in which my art was delivered. “I’m getting her back,” Ashton yelled at my back. “You may have all these people fooled, but Bianca is smart. She’s going to see through your shit.”
I continued walking without acknowledging him.
“Hi Mr. Harper! Do you have your slip?” a woman asked before allowing me in the room.
“Hi, yes,” I answered, giving her the moving slip.
“Right this way. Follow me.”
I followed the woman to a locked door in the back of the room and saw my work positioned on a cart, ready to be moved. I pushed the cart to the half-filled auditorium and set up my laptop to the projection screen. People streamed into the room in groups as I pulled up my presentation. I looked out onto the crowd and loosened my tie.
Here goes nothing, I breathed as Professor Grey marched over to shake my hand before addressing the crowd.
“Thank you for being here. As most of you know, I’m Thomas Grey, the Dean of the School of Arts. Roman Harper is both an accomplished artist who signed a major contract with the renowned Charlotte Spence and he is an incredible teacher who has taught some of you out there. But I’d like to talk about the young man I met years ago. I had the pleasure of teaching Roman Harper for the first time almost eight years ago and I saw something special in him on the first day of class. We didn’t paint anything that day. If you’ve ever taken a class with me, you know that we spend the first day of class discussing our goals and what we want to accomplish. Everyone generally has a unique reason for becoming an artist—some do it for the love of art, some do it for the self-expression. But a twenty-one year old Roman Harper looked me in my eyes and said, ‘Because my heart doesn’t know anything else.’” He paused dramatically. The audience stared, captivated by the white-haired man with the beady eyes. “My heart doesn’t know anything else,” he repeated. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m proud to introduce you to a VCU alum, a colleague, and the manifestation of what we in the Arts Department want for each of our students. Roman Harper.”
The crowd clapped politely as I stepped forward and shook Professor Grey’s hand. Scanning the crowd in awe, the adrenaline pumped through my veins. Like always, I was excited to showcase my work. Even spotting Ashton near the door didn’t dampen my moment. After a few catcalls, the crowd settled down and I started.
Over the next forty-five minutes, I detailed my process and showed examples of my work. It was invigorating to relive each piece and feel the energy of the crowd. By the time it was over, I had chills.
“And that’s my time. Thank you,” I said, giving a sharp nod to the audience.
Applause, I expected. A standing ovation, I did not.
Taking a deep breath, I let out a shocked laugh. My eyes swept over the crowd, taking in the reception I was receiving. I was humbled. “Wow,” I mumbled under my breath.
“I am able to take a few questions…”
Hands flew up as I left the statement hanging in the air. I answered as many questions as I could about my inspiration, choice of mediums, working with Charlotte Spence. But the next question caught me off guard.
A woman who looked vaguely familiar asked, “Do you think being in love changes the art?”
“All emotions feed into the art—anger, passion, happiness, jealousy, even complacency. Since art is two-fold, the mindset of the artist and the mindset of the individual responding to the art, changes the art experience.”
I opened my mouth to ask for another question, but the woman chimed in again. “So were you in love when you painted that?” she asked, pointing to the piece that was on the screen. It was the abstract charcoal painting of Bianca’s face.
Being a private person, I normally wouldn’t answer the question. But with a smirk in Ashton’s direction, I answered honestly, “Yes. She is the inspiration for everything I’ve painted recently. She’s my muse.”
As a resounding ‘aww’ erupted from the crowd, I noticed Ashton get up and walk out.
“Thank you for inviting me to speak tonight. It has been an honor,” I addressed the audience, smiling brightly.
----------
Chapter Eight
“Needless to say, when I walked into Parachutes with Mindy last night, I did not expect to run into Sophia. Let me tell you…that was a shit show,” Brad groaned on the other end of the phone.
I laughed from the backseat of the taxi as we weaved in and out of New York traffic. “Damn Easy. How’d you let that happen?”
“I don’t know. I knew I should’ve kept my ass at home last night. When you had your thing at the school and Malik was with Courtney, I told myself that I just needed to chill and take the night off.”
“So why didn’t you? I invited you to the event.” I asked, craning my neck to see why the driver slammed on the brakes.
Yeah, I should’ve just hopped back
on the subway after picking these up, I thought with a glance over at the bouquet of flowers I’d gotten for Bianca.
“If I went to your thing, I wouldn’t be in this situation right now. And I could’ve seen the look on Ashton’s face when you started talking about B. I still can’t believe you did that!” Brad laughed. “You’ve gone soft! You try to be this hardcore, tortured artist, but the moment you got with B, you became a little—Oh shit, that’s Sophia calling me now. Let me call you right back.”
I laughed at the way his voice changed. “Well I’m about to pull up in front of B’s building so I’ll talk to you later.”
Handing the driver a twenty dollar bill, I grabbed my bags and got out of the car. Entering the luxury building, something seemed out of place. I was halfway across the beautifully constructed lobby when the thought hit me.
Where’s the doorman?
I scanned the room. Between the small group of kids who were hanging out in the lobby in their school uniform and a few people checking the mail, there was no one in the vicinity that looked like the doorman. Every other time I’d stayed at Park Place, someone was stationed at the door. Hitting the elevator call button, I wasn’t quite sure why that got under my skin as much as it did.
“Hi! Good to see you again. Nice flowers.”
Following the direction of the voice, I saw a familiar face. It was the woman who I’d seen in the main office of Park Place time and time again.
What is her name?
Flashing a smile, I answered, “Hi, how are you?”
“I’m good. You are Roman Harper, right? Here to see Bianca and Amber on the ninth floor?”
“Yes.” She made her way over to me so I clarified my answer. “I’m here visiting, Bianca. My girlfriend.”
“Yeah, from Virginia. I remember.” Her smile grew as she tucked her long hair behind her ear. “It’s too bad you don’t live nearby.” She paused. “For Bianca’s sake.”
I felt my eyebrows come together as I gave her a look. The elevator dinged at that exact moment. Adjusting my duffle bag onto my shoulder, I waited patiently for the few people on the elevator to exit. I didn’t know where she was trying to take the conversation so it was time for me to end it.
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