Fixer: A Bad Boy Romance

by Samantha Westlake

  I thought about five percent commission on a six figure sale, and my pupils practically transformed into dollar signs like I was a cartoon character. That would be enough to pay Barry back for everything, to get me clear of this whole divorce once and for all, just on its own! Any other commission that I made would be free to go to other areas, like helping me pay for a nicer apartment, or giving me a buffer in case I decided to switch jobs, or maybe getting a new wardrobe so that I could move on with a new man...

  "And you're willing to let me work with you to sell this?" I asked Onyx, just to confirm.

  He looked over at me. "Yes, I haven't shown it to anyone else. I planned to put it up for public auction in another month or so, but I would be satisfied if you sell it, too."

  "Great," I murmured, my mind dancing away on piles of imagined dollar bills flooding into my bank account.

  Onyx drifted in towards me. I'd been distracted by the big statue he'd unveiled (who wouldn't be distracted by one of that size?), and didn't notice him drawing closer behind me until he reached out and gently laid a hand on my shoulder. "Rebecca," he murmured.

  I nearly jumped a foot in the air. "What?" I squeaked.

  "You have a lot of stress in your life, I can tell." Onyx's hand remained on my shoulder, and I felt the heat of his body soaking into me. Almost against my better urges, I leaned slightly back against him, feeling his strength behind me. "You need to release some of that."

  I really didn't want to start down this path, especially in a warehouse with a whole bunch of erotic black stone penises on one side of me and a bed on the other side behind a screen. This seemed like the perfect place for me to make bad decisions.

  "Yeah, I know - I'm working on it," I told Onyx, fighting a raging internal battle to try and move away from his warmth, his touch. "But I don't think that I'll be able to get any of it out until I've made some changes."

  "If there's any way that I can help, just let me know."

  God, he even made those innocent words sound like practically an invitation to go join him in a sweat-soaked love fest. Even glancing up at him, I still wasn't totally convinced that he wasn't suggesting I peel off my clothes and join him for the two-person horizontal tango, right here and now in the shadow of his giant stone dong.

  "Just don't sell the piece until you've given me a chance," I said, finally managing to win the battle against my libido and step back so his hand slid off of my shoulder. "If I can sell this, it will really help with my problems, more than you realize."

  Onyx nodded. "You've got my word." He smiled at me, and those white teeth even glinted in the dimness of the warehouse. "But perhaps, in exchange, once you've released a bit of that anxiety you carry..."

  "Then what?"

  "I'm always looking for a model to provide me with inspiration," he murmured, and this time there was no denying it. His low-pitched, rich voice practically dripped sex and arousal, making new beads of sweat break out as my body yelled at me to not be a fool and jump on him before this perfect specimen got away.

  "I'll, uh, I'll keep that in mind," I stammered, turning towards the door. "But hey, look at the time! I really ought to get back to the gallery and reopen - I'm sure there's a line of senior citizens out the door by now, all of them waiting anxiously to buy something. Wouldn't want to disappoint them, would we?"

  I knew that I was babbling, but Onyx didn't interrupt me. He watched me go, back-pedaling out of his warehouse studio and home, a smile still flickering around his lips. I couldn't tell if he was happy because he'd flirted with me, because he'd gotten me off balance, or just because I'd promised to sell his big ol' stonework penis for him, and I didn't stick around to ask.

  I knew that, if I stayed for a minute longer, I'd be lost.

  Outside the warehouse, I took a moment to get my breath back in the bright midday sunlight. "Be logical, Becca," I told myself. "Just because the guy drips sex appeal, that doesn't mean that it's a good idea to do anything about it, or even think about it."

  That's right. Don't think about Onyx's warm hand on you, how his coffee-with-cream skin would look against yours, about all those muscles that he's probably hiding under that tight black shirt, muscles that he's earned from swinging a hammer and chisel, about how he's probably got a nice big flesh model of his statues inside his pants, how good it would feel to sleep with someone who isn't Barry...

  Okay, the deep breaths weren't helping me. I hurried back towards the art gallery, away from the warehouse, before I lost my fortitude and threw myself at Onyx's mercy, tearing off my clothes and begging him to ravage me until I couldn't even remember my own name.

  Get back to the art gallery. Maybe eat something, calm down.

  And then, I told myself, I'd figure out how in the hell I was going to go about finding a buyer for a massive, five-foot stone dick.

  Chapter Eleven

  *

  Back in the office, I did some digging through the back office, trying to make sense of whatever strange form of an organizational system my Uncle Preston used. Eventually, I concluded that he didn't really have any sort of system in place at all, and just started pawing through everything.

  What was I after? I wasn't completely sure if it existed, but I suspected that my uncle kept a list of all the "big fish" clients, those who were repeat visitors, or didn't blink an eye at dropping thousands of dollars on art that happened to grab their fancy.

  I just needed to find a list of these whales, I thought, and then I could see about approaching them with the massive Onyx statue, convincing them that they totally needed to have this "rare, one-of-a-kind symbol of male virility" sitting somewhere on their property.

  "These papers are totally mixed up," I finally said aloud, sitting back in the adjustable chair behind the desk and glaring at the stacks of mismatched sheets. "I'm never going to find anything here."

  Still, I didn't have much else to do. I needed to keep watch for customers, of course, but that wouldn't occupy most of my time. I grabbed a big stack of the papers and carried them out to the front desk, where I could both sort through them and keep one eye out for any customers who wanted to actually buy something.

  By mid-afternoon, I'd sorted the huge, disorganized mass of papers into several rough stacks. One stack just held receipts and other materials related to previous purchases. If nothing else, I told myself, I could dig through those and look for repeat big spenders. Another stack held purchase orders and other invoices, while a third pile seemed to be made of nothing but scrawled notes that Preston left in his distinctive wobbly cursive.

  A couple of customers did come in, but they were of the little old lady variety. I had already started to figure out that, just from looking at the customer when he or she entered the shop, I could tell whether they were interested in buying, or if they were just going to browse for ten minutes and then leave empty-handed. These customers didn't warrant a second look. I let them browse at their leisure while I focused on peering at Preston's writing to try and read his scrawl.

  Finally, just as I was considering giving up on the whole thing and dumping all the papers back into their disorganized mess in the back room once again, I struck pay dirt. Uncle Preston had written out, on several sheets of lined paper, contact information and lists of purchases for several people.

  These were my whales.

  I ran my eye down the list, and wasn't surprised to spot Carter James about halfway down the page, with an impressive list of purchased art pieces next to his name. Sure enough, it looked like Carter did frequent the place, buying up art for the commercial real estate he bought and sold. Not a super-max prison escapee after all, it seemed.

  Most of the names also had a phone number next to them. I took a deep breath and reached for the gallery's phone. I hated the idea of cold-calling these strangers to try and sell them some art, unseen, over the phone, but I didn't see much of an alternative.

  The first few numbers that I tried, at least, connected me with an answering machine. I lef
t a brief message, just stating that this was Becca Grace from the Halesford Gallery, and that the well-known artist Onyx had a new, one-of-a-kind landmark piece which they might be interested in viewing and purchasing.

  I felt especially proud of myself for coming up with the word "landmark." It seemed very artsy.

  After getting half a dozen answering machines (and one very rude woman who immediately hung up on me with a huff and "the nerve" as soon as I mentioned that I was calling from the Halesford Gallery), I decided to call it a day. The last of the little old lady browsers had already left, and I didn't see anything wrong with shutting down the gallery a few minutes before the traditional five o'clock closing time.

  Back at home, idly scratching Salem in the small of his back as he purred like an engine in my lap, I thought about the three men in my life - one familiar and frustrating, the other two new and full of possibilities. When I closed my eyes, I could still see Onyx's dark eyes on me, could feel his hand guiding mine across the smooth, sensual stone of his statue, telling me how I needed to find some release...

  "I probably ought to take a cold shower, huh?" I asked Salem, who blinked his big green-yellow eyes up at me before squirming into a more comfortable spot on top of my thighs. He clearly didn't want me to stop the scratching.

  I resumed, repeating to myself that I shouldn't be getting into anything serious. Both of these men came with strings attached. If I ruined the professional relationship between Onyx and myself, he might not let me keep on trying to sell his massive stone dick - and then I wouldn't have a way to pay back Barry.

  What about Carter? Similarly, I couldn't risk alienating him as a customer. I knew that, if the gallery lost him because the two of us had a romantic falling-out, Preston would probably be more than likely to cut me loose in an effort to get Carter back and buying.

  Maybe I could sell the landmark penis to Carter, I considered wildly for a second. I could offer to sleep with him, be really turned on by the thought of him putting that huge gesture of his manhood in one of his buildings! Surely, he could rent the building out to someone who wanted to see a huge black carved penis every time they came into work. Did he rent to any porn companies, or maybe to Maxim magazine?

  My mind circled back to the idea of sleeping with Carter to convince him to buy the statue. Of course, that was as good a reason as any to let that man tug me off to his apartment, feel his strong body moving against mine, his big hands moving across my bare skin, leaving trails of fire behind them as they stripped away my clothes and pulled me up to melt against his hardness...

  "Yes, definitely a cold shower," I decided, pushing Salem off my lap and ignoring his complaint as he landed on the couch beside me.

  More calls tomorrow, I told myself as I lay in bed a couple of hours later, gazing up at the darkened ceiling. I just needed to move this one statue, and I'd have my money problem solved with Barry. Then, I could focus on getting my life moving forward again, maybe even consider the possibility of dating.

  Just before I drifted off to sleep, I wondered whether, if it came to this eventuality, Barry would be willing to accept an oversized stone penis instead of monetary payment for the house. "It says so much about you," I'd tell him, while silently adding inside my head that it also screamed of over-compensating.

  Portia would love hearing that I'd paid off my ex-husband with a huge black stone dick, I grinned to myself, and then drifted off into the realm of unconsciousness.

  #

  The next morning, Carter James strolled in just a few minutes after I'd finished turning all the lights on, barely after nine o'clock in the morning.

  "Were you sitting outside and waiting for me to open?" I asked him as he came in. He looked cool and put together, sipping at a cup of coffee. The smell made my mouth water, but I told myself that I was just fine with the day-old brewed stuff I'd poured into my thermos. Think of the money you're saving, I silently repeated to myself like a mantra.

  Carter just shrugged. "What's all this?" he asked, glancing over the top of my desk and at the piles of paper that were still piled up from yesterday.

  "I'm trying to find someone who wants to buy a big piece by Onyx," I answered. I pulled out my phone and accessed the photos app, turning it around so he could see. "You don't want to buy a gigantic black stone penis, do you?"

  At the sight of the photos, Carter practically choked on his mouthful of coffee, quickly putting the cup down on top of the desk and coughing a few times. "Warn a guy before you just whip something like that out, would you?" he gasped, thumping his chest with a closed fist.

  "What's the matter, feeling a little intimidated? Inadequate? Not quite measuring up?" I grinned at him as my words set off a fresh fit of groaning and coughing.

  "And you need to sell that monstrosity?" he finally asked, after he'd managed to get himself back under control.

  I nodded, my grin fading. "Yeah. All the paperwork here is me going through Uncle Preston's notes, trying to figure out who I could approach about it who'd be most likely to be interested."

  "Anyone in there happen to run a brothel?" Carter suggested, taking another look at the pictures of the big sculpture on my phone. "God, and it's so accurate! This is an Onyx piece? I don't get the guy's obsession with his equipment."

  "You could ask him next time he stops in here," I offered. "I met him yesterday, and he brought me to his studio to show me this. It was... impressive."

  Carter frowned at me. "That's all he showed you?"

  "As opposed to what else?"

  "Nothing. Don't worry about it." Carter still wore a frown as he set my phone back down on the counter. "So what, he's going to drop the gallery if you don't sell this statue of his? Seems a little extreme."

  "No, nothing like that," I said. "But the commission on it is enough to- to handle my expenses."

  I hoped that Carter wouldn't ask about my weak cover-up, but I saw his eyes narrow. "What expenses?"

  "It's really nothing," I insisted, but damn it if tears weren't starting to well up at the corners of my eyes, betraying my true feelings.

  I tried to blink them away, but Carter moved around the desk in a flash. He crouched down slightly so he could gaze into my eyes. "Hey, Becca, it's okay," he said softly, putting both his hands on my shoulders. "What's wrong? Talk to me."

  I shook my head, but now the tears were coming down my cheeks, no longer held back by my eyelashes. All of my worry about selling the sculpture, about meeting Barry's stupid payment deadline, came rushing up. I'd managed to hold it in check before now, but something in the gentleness of Carter's tone made it all spill over the edge of my control.

  Carter, meanwhile, just moved in a little closer, putting his arms around me. He felt warm, solid, a reassuring and comforting rock in my sea of frustration. I held onto him, smelling the soft scent of his cologne, as my chest shook and heaved.

  "I'm sorry," I choked out when I finally got my breath back, when my lungs stopped sucking in short, staccato breaths. "I didn't mean to just unload-"

  "How about lunch?" he asked.

  The non sequitur at least stopped my little gasps as I tried to control my twitching diaphragm. "What?"

  "I'll come back around lunch, and you can tell me what's going on," he repeated. "In my experience, it's easier to talk about problems when there's food in front of me, preferably something that's been fried. Plus, lunch is usually after noon, so it's acceptable to have a drink."

  I smiled at the lame joke, even as I wiped away the tears from my cheeks. I probably looked puffy and red. "I guess I could do lunch."

  "Great," Carter promised, releasing his hands from around me after giving me one last squeeze. "I'll be back in a couple of hours."

  "Thanks," I said, as he rose up.

  It wasn't until he'd already left that I realized that he'd forgotten his still-steaming coffee cup on the desk. He had set it down when he moved forward to hug me, and must have overlooked it, distracted by the weeping woman and lingering after-images
of a huge stone dick. It was too late for me to go rushing after him to bring it back.

  In my defense, I left it alone for a good three minutes, just in case he came back for it, before I stole it for myself.

  Chapter Twelve

  *

  True to his word, Carter strolled back into the gallery a few minutes before noon. "I've got a couple options, but you can make the final decision," he greeted me as he walked in. "Either Mexican or Asian - I know a couple great places for either one, just let me know what your preference might-"

  He paused, frowning at me. "Hold on, isn't that my coffee cup?"

  "No," I said as I took my lips off of his cup. "Maybe. You abandoned it, so it was fair game. It would have just gotten cold and gone bad otherwise, since you didn't come back for it."

  For a moment, I thought that I saw Carter's lips quirk up in a little smile before he clamped back down. "So, what's it going to be for lunch?"

  I frowned. "Can I hear the options again?"

  Eventually, after I couldn't make up my mind, Carter decided on the Mexican place. "The Halesford Gallery is in a good location, at least," he told me as we walked along the sidewalk in the bright sunshine. "Lots of nearby lunch places."

  "Lots of places for me to spend all the money I make instead of saving it," I challenged him. "Perfect. Just what I need right now."

  He looked over at me. "Yeah, are you going to talk about that, from this morning? Or do I need to fill you up with chips and guacamole?"

  "Definitely need the chips and guac first," I promptly answered, making him snort a little.

  "At least you're wearing decent shoes today," he said, nodding down at my feet. "Although I do kind of miss the high heels."