Breaking All Her Rules

by Maisey Yates

  He put his head against his knees, and squeezed his eyes shut. And all he saw was Grace. He hadn’t wanted for so long, he’d forgotten what it felt like. But right now he ached with it. And he was trapped.

  Between gut-wrenching, blinding fear and a need that made his bones ache. Funny how everything in his life came down to the heart.

  To a heart that was broken at birth and stopped beating long before it should have. To a heart that had been numb before Grace had come back in this life, and that was stuttering to life now, burning with each beat.

  He staggered to his feet and went over to his worktable and dug through old materials. He had an idea. And he had no idea if it would fix his artwork, or fix him. Or if it was all just the alcohol making something dumb seem like a good idea.

  But he had to try. Because there was one thing he did know, and that was that he couldn’t keep living like this. Because he wasn’t really living at all. He was existing. And until Grace, he hadn’t realized there was a difference.

  She’d brought something deep and rich back into his life. Texture, sound and color. All things that scared the hell out of him. Because he’d adjusted to black and white. To cold iron and dead lifeless metal. Daring to want more seemed like a risk that wasn’t worth taking.

  He should stick to this life. It was safer. He wouldn’t get hurt.

  But it was dead. And inside, so was he.

  “So then what’s the point?” he asked the empty room. He didn’t get an answer.

  He opened his kit that had a bunch of miscellaneous crap in it, and looked at the red tubes of glass sitting in their case. Color was something he never used. And he rarely used glass because it was just so damn fragile.

  But maybe it was time he took the risk.

  * * *

  “I quit,” Grace said, her voice strong in the empty room. “And it’s not entirely your fault. Though...a lot of it is.” She stared down her boss and felt a surge of power. “I’m good at what I do, and you get caught up in this petty system where you punish one of your best consultants because you’re trying to exert your power. It’s my fault that I didn’t stand up for myself about the client, because frankly, he was sexually harassing me, and I did keep that to myself. I shouldn’t have. I don’t trust you would have behaved any better, Doug, but I could have at least given you the chance.”

  Everything that had been bound up inside her, frozen, suspended in her need for perfection, her paralyzing fear of making mistakes, melted now. Released in a flood.

  “Grace,” Doug said, spreading his arms out. “I’m shocked. I thought we were all friends here.”

  “We are not friends, Doug,” she growled. “You’re condescending, sexist and a bit of a racist.”

  “Oh, come on now, Grace...”

  “You made me be the elf last Christmas, because I was cute, and small. And I believe at some point you suggested I be a ninja elf.”

  “It would have been cool.”

  “No. No, it wouldn’t have been cool. And it had nothing to do with Christmas. Also, asking the attractive female employees to sit on your lap is awful, and someone has to tell you that. But we’re all too afraid to tell you because you’re our boss. But you’re not my boss anymore. You’re just a tiny, little...mole man with an office. An office I no longer have to visit on a weekly basis. Goodbye.” Grace turned on her heel, her heart pounding, adrenaline pumping through her veins. She couldn’t believe she’d just done that.

  Holy crap.

  “Grace.”

  She turned and looked at Doug, who was still sitting, looking shocked.

  “Yes?” she asked.

  “What can I do? I can give you some extra accounts. We can work it out. I won’t make you be the elf again.”

  She shook her head. “We can’t work anything out because this just isn’t where I want to be. I don’t know quite what I want, but...it’s not this. And it’s not here. But...for heaven’s sake please try to be less of jackass. For the sake of everyone that’s left in the office.”

  She walked out of the office and down the hall, past Carol’s desk. “‘Bye, Carol,” she said, “I just quit. And I told Doug to stop being a jackass.”

  Carol’s eyes widened and she gave Grace a low-profile thumbs-up. Grace walked out the office door and got into the elevator, tugging her phone out of her bag and dialing her dad.

  “Dad, I quit my job,” she said when he picked up.

  “What?”

  “I quit. I just...walked into my boss’s office and quit because I hated my job and I don’t have another job, but I do still have my savings...but I don’t have another job. And I know you’re disappointed because now I’ve thrown everything off and I...I called my boss names so I’m never going to get a reference from him. And I did because...I’m in love with this guy and Dad, he’s an artist. And a cowboy. Which is possibly the most random combination ever, and if there was a way for him to seem more unsuitable to you, I don’t know what it would be. I don’t even think he went to college.”

  There was a pause on the other end of the phone, and the elevator doors opened to the lobby.

  “I’m not sure what you’re saying.”

  She walked out into the lobby and then out onto the street. “I was just very irresponsible and made a bunch of decisions based entirely on my feelings. I...think I’m having a midlife crisis.”

  “You’re thirty, Grace,” her father said, his voice soft.

  “I know. But I’m going through something.”

  “You were unhappy at your job?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you think this will make you happy? You think...this man will make you happy?”

  She looked up at the sky, at the buildings looming overheard, the sun burning her eyes. “I don’t know. But...it doesn’t really have anything to do with Zack because we...broke up. But he made me realize some things. Things I want that I didn’t know were so important to me. I’m just sad that...I think you’re going to be disappointed in me. And Hannah already...she’s hurt you and Mom so much and I just don’t want to hurt you, too. I want to be the daughter you want to have.”

  There was a long pause. “I am so sorry that I never told you,” he said.

  “What?” she asked.

  “You are the best daughter I could ask for. You are the daughter I want to have, no matter what you do.”

  “But...but I just...”

  “You don’t need to live your life atoning for your sister, Grace. You shouldn’t live your life for anyone. Not even me.” He took a heavy breath. “I think I’ve been too rigid, Grace. Success has always been important to me, and to your mother, because we know what it’s like to live in a world where opportunity is lacking. But...hearing you speak now, I feel...I feel that success, doing what someone else might think is right, is not so important if you are miserable in it.”

  “I don’t want you to have to worry. The way she made you worry.”

  “Grace, I’ll always worry. I’m your father. Bu that’s my job. And yours is to live.”

  A tear rolled down Grace’s cheek. “I love you, Dad.”

  “I love you, too. No matter what you do. No matter where you work. But I’m not sure about an artist. They don’t make any money.”

  She laughed. Her dad was handling all this much better than she could have anticipated, but even he had his limits, apparently. “Well, that’s the least of your problems, Dad. Because the artist doesn’t want me.”

  “What an idiot he is.”

  She swallowed hard. “Thanks, Dad. That means a lot.”

  Chapter Ten

  Grace adjusted the strap on the back of her black stiletto before getting out of the car in front of the gallery.

  She didn’t know if Zack would be thrilled to see her, but then...he mig
ht not see her. It was a crowded event, and Zack was the featured artist.

  That show he’d been alluding to for the past couple of weeks was, it turned out, a charity event. And he’d never said. That man and his secrets. He was so closed off. So terrified of everything. And she couldn’t blame him.

  For her, pain was a vague fear. She’d tested her worst fear, losing her father’s approval, and she’d been met with such kindness. Her fear hadn’t had teeth in the end.

  The fear of a husband and father was the loss of his family. Zack had found that fear to be very real. For him, the worst nightmare could come and get you when you were awake, and she had no idea just how much that might color the rest of your life.

  Or rather, now she did, because she’d seen it in him.

  He was the strongest man she’d ever known. The most talented. Funny, sexy and genuinely life-changing. And he was locked up inside of himself. She couldn’t help him and it killed her.

  But she could come to this. She could donate. She could give in the way that she could, and then maybe, after, she would feel a little more able to let him go.

  The thought stabbed her in the chest like a knife, deep and deadly. She didn’t want to let him go. She wanted to keep him forever.

  It just sucked that that wasn’t an option. Like, big-time sucked.

  It was amazing how two weeks in your life could change everything. And she never would have believed it if she hadn’t experienced it.

  She smoothed down the front of her dress, and did a quick check to make sure the sweetheart neckline wasn’t giving away too many secrets, not that she had many to tell, then she walked up the steps and into the gallery, flashing her ticket as she went through.

  The lobby area was filled with people glittering and chatting, drinking champagne and eating little canapés that passed on trays.

  Zack must hate this. All of this. It was so very not him. The glitz, the tiny food...the lack of beer. But he was here, giving himself. Giving his talent.

  This was Zack’s love on display. His love for his daughter.

  Her heart squeezed tight and she walked through to the gallery. She stopped when she walked through the door, and just stared, a smile tugging at her lips.

  The first piece was an iron bull, large bars of metal bent and twisted into impressionistic shapes that managed to look very real, even without minute detail. It was the strength in it, the movement, even as it was motionless on its pedestal.

  Then she went through the room and to the next piece. A man. Bent at the waist and tied up in barbed wire, unable to move. She stopped there. Because she recognized that man. She recognized his pain. The grief that kept him there. The fear that made fighting against it impossible, because pushing at the bonds would hurt so badly. Would make it dig in deeper before he was ever free.

  The room was filled with Zack’s art. With him. And she was so glad she’d come. So glad she’d been given this window into the man who had her, mind, body and soul.

  There were some paintings, too, some sketches. Some work by other artists. And each piece had a box in front of it with bids inside.

  She reached into her purse and pulled out the fox. He was still in there, on the note card. The fox in the big city. Too bad her New York chicken self hadn’t really been able to protect herself from him in the end.

  She took a deep breath and walked through the display area, to a woman who had a name tag on, signifying her as part of the auction staff.

  “Hi,” Grace said. “I...I have this piece here—” she showed her the fox “—by Zack Camden. Only...there isn’t anywhere for me to bid for it.”

  The woman frowned. “That’s strange. It should be on display.”

  Grace had a sudden vision of being run out by security. “Well, no...I mean...he made it for me. But I want to...bid on it. What I mean is I want to...buy it. For the charity.” She was guessing the big metal pieces were being bid on in amounts far above her pay grade.

  “I suppose you could...donate,” the woman said.

  “Great. But...but you can you please make sure it’s listed that it was for the fox?” She just wanted him to know she was there. Not to be impressed that she’d given, but to know she cared. That she always would.

  The woman nodded slowly. “I can do that.” She pulled a card out from behind her name tag. “Put all the information in here.”

  Grace started to write on the card, her hands shaking as she entered an amount nearly equal to her month’s rent. But hell, who needed a savings account?

  “You’re overpaying for that.”

  She turned and her heart stopped for a second, then went into overdrive. It was Zack, looking perfect in a black tux, his hair brushed back, a glass of champagne in his hand. He looked...every bit the part of a suave, urban artist. As much as he looked the part of cowboy. But it didn’t really matter to her what he wore. In her eyes, Zack was perfect everywhere.

  “I probably am,” she said, trying to force a smile, “but...I actually think it’s a pretty priceless piece. The artist made it for me in the back of a cab. I actually go to watch him draw it.”

  “Impressive,” Zack said.

  “Yeah, well, I’m attached to it.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t set it on fire.”

  She shook her head. “I wasn’t even tempted to. I love it as much now as I did the day you gave it to me.” And you, too, jackass.

  “That’s a compliment I’m sure it doesn’t deserve.”

  “Ah, well. Sometimes in life we get things we don’t deserve. On both sides of good and bad spectrum, huh?”

  He nodded slowly. “You’re definitely a spot of good I don’t deserve, Gracie.”

  “I quit my job,” she said.

  “Do you still need me?” the woman asked, looking between her and Zack.

  “Oh.” Grace scribbled out her phone number and handed her the card. “No, sorry.”

  The woman took the card and slowly sidled away from her and Zack.

  “Awkward,” Grace said.

  “A little. But I don’t really care about awkward.”

  “I should have known.”

  “You quit your job?” he asked. “Why?”

  “Because it didn’t make me happy. None of it did. This whole...living inoffensively and just working so that I would succeed and be good...it didn’t make me happy at all. I’d forgotten what happy felt like, if I ever knew...and then...you made me want more, Zack. You made me feel more. Even when...you made me leave I felt more, deeper, in that moment than I ever had. Even the pain was better than the okay.”

  “I don’t think I deserve that, either,” he said.

  “Sure, maybe not. But it’s not about deserving. It’s just about love. Whether you’re worthy of it or not, whether I’m worthy of it...I love you. You changed me. It’s the most amazing thing, Zack. And I just wish...I wish I could have done the same for you. I wish like hell I could have set you free,” she said, her chest heaving on a sob, “because you did it for me.”

  “Grace,” he said, his voice rough, “I need to show you something.”

  He held his hand out and she took it, lacing her fingers through his. The rush of heat and relief that filled her was so intense her knees nearly buckled. She held onto him tight, savored the feel of his skin against hers.

  It was like being home.

  They walked into the next room, where people were congregating around the newest piece.

  “That’s the one,” she said. “The one from the studio that you hated.”

  “I didn’t know what it was supposed to be.”

  The figure was standing straight. But his hand wasn’t empty now. There was a heart there. Glossy and red, the only real color she’d ever seen in his work before.

  “Perfect for the Broken
Hearts Foundation, I guess,” he said, his voice rough.

  She tuned to look at him. “It wasn’t just because of that, was it?”

  He shook his head. “I sort of had an epiphany or some kind of BS like that.”

  She laughed. “You really hate this feelings stuff, don’t you?”

  “I really flippin’ do.”

  “It’s okay. Tell me your epiphany and we’ll never speak of it again.” She leaned into him, tightening her hold on him.

  “I didn’t think I had a heart left, Grace. I thought it was broken into pieces so small...that it was dust. And then you got in my taxi, and in my bed, and under my skin, and it turns out I have all those damn feelings that I was so much happier living without.”

  “You were happier without them? And you had feelings?”

  “I wasn’t really happier. It’s like you said...it was nothing, and it was comfortable. Because it was better than pain and risk and all that other stuff I just...didn’t want to deal with. And hell yeah, I have feelings for you.” He turned to face her, his eyes blazing. “I have a lot of fucking feelings for you.”

  “You’re a poet, Zack,” she said, a tear running down her cheek.

  “No, just an artist. Just a guy. And I love you, Grace. That’s really scary to me. Because figuring out I still had a heart to break was one thing, but deciding that I wanted to love something again? I’m shaking.”

  “It’s scary, even for me,” she said, her throat tightening, her heart racing, “I can’t imagine how it is for you.”

  “I realized something.”

  “What’s that?”

  “That working with glass sucks. And I burned myself.”

  She laughed and leaned against his shoulder. “Okay, anything else?”

  “Yes. I have a choice I have to make. Loving someone when they’re gone is one of the most painful things I can even imagine. It’s something I live with every day, and even though the sharpness of it has faded, and will keep fading, it will never go away.”

  “I understand that,” she said. “I would never expect to. I would never ask you to dishonor your past that way.”