Heartbreak for Hire

by Sonia Hartl

  “I’m so sorry.” I got down on my knees and helped her scoop up her stuff. “I didn’t know she had office hours right now.”

  “I don’t.” At the frost in my mom’s tone, the girl let out a squeak. She shoveled the rest of her books and papers into her backpack and hustled out of the room.

  “What did you do to her?” I asked.

  “She was trying to hand in a paper late. I don’t have time to grade outside my schedule just because she wanted to party at a frat house instead of buckling down to do her assignment over the weekend.” My mom had a reputation for being ruthless, but it was always a little terrifying to see it in action.

  “If you want your students to like you, maybe you should loosen the reins a little, give them some room to breathe. Who knows? They might even end up liking the subject too.”

  Her nostrils flared as she stacked a group of papers into neat little piles. “Do I come to your office and tell you how to file things?”

  Point taken. “I didn’t come here to argue.”

  “Really? Because I can’t recall the last time you came here for another reason.”

  I closed my eyes. Breathe. Count to ten. Don’t rise to the bait. “I came because you didn’t answer my calls.”

  “I’m a very busy woman. Midterms are coming up, and I have to rewrite the exam because someone leaked the latest one online. I have papers to grade. Important functions to attend. I didn’t know my adult daughter needed so much coddling.”

  She knew where and how to cut the deepest. “I’m not here because I want you to pat me on the head and tell me I’m pretty. I want to talk about Richard Vaden. Specifically, why he paid you two hundred thousand dollars.”

  My mom’s angular face paled. “How did you find out about that?”

  “It doesn’t matter how I found out. I want an explanation.”

  “Absolutely not.” She ground her teeth so hard, I was surprised she didn’t wear them down to stumps. “That subject is off-limits.” She put on her reading glasses and opened the textbook next to her computer. “If you’ll excuse me, I only have a few days to write this exam for approval and I don’t have time to indulge your nosiness.”

  Her refusal to answer any questions before I could even ask them put me on edge. What was she hiding? It must’ve been bad if she thought I would judge her, considering how she viewed me.

  “Fine. If you don’t want to discuss this, I guess I’ll head over to the Field Museum. Maybe Richard Vaden would be open for a little chat.”

  She slammed her book shut. “You want to drag up my painful history and force me to relive it? Fine. Let’s. But I will only speak of this once. I don’t want to answer any questions, and you will not bring this up again. Understood?”

  I nodded and sat down, resting my chin in my hands.

  “I had a fling with Richard when I was an undergrad student and he was a teacher’s assistant, before he became a professor. We didn’t end on good terms. He’s the reason I opted for a sperm donor when I decided it was time to have a child. You know my father couldn’t stand scandal, so he paid Richard a large sum of money to leave Northwestern and keep our affair quiet. I never knew about it, but after my father died, Richard’s guilty conscience got to him and he gave the money back.”

  So, Richard had been her Aiden. Still didn’t explain the caginess. “That’s it? I had to twist your arm for that?”

  “It could’ve been bad for my career.” She sniffed. “People would’ve questioned whether I’d gotten my position fairly, or if I had to sleep my way to the top. Fortunately, no one found out. Richard went on to marry shortly afterward and eventually took over as curator of anthropology at the Field Museum.”

  Her definition of scandal and mine clearly differed. She needed to read TMZ if she really wanted to see some doozies. “No offense, but I’ve seen more drama on the Home Shopping Network. He was a TA. Big deal. At least it was a fellow student and not one of your professors. Now, that would’ve been salacious.”

  “Yes. Well. Like I said, we didn’t end on good terms, but I’d rather not discuss it any further.” She grabbed a stack of papers. “Can I get back to work? Or do you have more irrelevant nonsense to pester me about when I’m busy?”

  I rolled my eyes and stood. “Good luck with your exam writing. I hope it’s tough enough to fail half your class.”

  “That’s not what I—”

  I shut her door, cutting off the rest of her sentence. Stopping by her office had been a total bust. Of course she didn’t have any deep dark secrets I’d find in a worn leather journal after her passing. This was my mom. The woman whose biggest risks included buying an off-brand jigsaw puzzle and drinking from a public water fountain.

  As soon as I stepped into the courtyard, my phone buzzed.

  MARK: Meet me on the corner of May and Carroll. I have something for you.

  I hadn’t heard from him in five days, and that was the text he sent me? Not fully trusting it, I screenshot his text and sent it to Emma. Location of his murder warehouse?

  EM: He has something for you? 50 bucks says it’s his dick.

  I sent her back the middle finger emoji. Clearly I was on my own here. No big deal. Regardless of what he thought, I could take risks. I wasn’t going to end up like my mom.

  I pulled up the Uber app and let them know I needed a ride to May and Carroll.

  CHAPTER 24

  I got out on a busy street next to a cute little photography studio and a gothic gift shop that specialized in the macabre. Mark strolled up to me with his hands in his pockets, acting all cool and casual. The exact opposite of what brewed inside me. My breath caught in my throat as he raised his gaze to meet mine. A thousand unsaid things swirled in his eyes. I hated how much I’d missed seeing that pouty lip turned down in a frown, the arch of his brow that always seemed to be challenging me. I simultaneously wanted to kiss him and shove him away, but I did neither. Because I was exactly the kind of coward he believed me to be.

  “Where’s the big surprise?” I tore my gaze away from him, faking nonchalance as I glanced at the gift shop. “I’ve been to Tilly’s House of Horrors. It’s a sweet little place, but I’m all stocked up on shrunken heads at the moment.”

  “I didn’t ask you to come down here for the gift shop.” He turned to the empty space tucked against Tilly’s, its ridged metal exterior giving it a warehouse feel. He punched in a code on a box hanging from the door and took out a key. “I wanted you to see this.”

  Sheetrock covered the interior walls, making it appear half-finished, but a fresh coat of paint would clean it up. It had concrete floors with a few stains, which could be sanded down or painted, and I couldn’t get enough of the exposed ductwork. Its massive windows let in lots of light, and the air smelled like homemade bread and something herbal. It might’ve been a bakery run by potheads before it was abandoned. A few days of open windows would air the place out.

  I didn’t dare wonder if this space was for sale. It was empty, but I’d already had my heart broken this week. I needed time to lick my wounds. Like months. Maybe a year.

  Feigning disinterest, I crossed my arms. “Is this where you take all the girls foolish enough to believe you’re a mild-mannered professor?”

  “Funny.” Mark stood behind me, close enough for me to be tempted to lean into the warmth of his body. “I think it can be your gallery.”

  “No.” The word flew out of my mouth by instinct as I spun around. “You’re not serious.”

  His grin was so large, it took up half his face. “I did a little poking around, and this space is up for sale by the owner. I thought it suited you.”

  “It’s nice.” It was better than nice, but I’d learned to keep my cards close. “How much?”

  “Five hundred thousand. They want twenty percent down.”

  “Oh.” That’s why I didn’t get my hopes up. Wanting was a dangerous thing. “I don’t have enough. That’s okay though.”

  “It’s been on the market fo
r three months. I’m sure the owner could work out something with you, maybe go to ten percent down?”

  “I’m not interested.” Even though I’d mentally started choosing which of my paintings I’d bring in and where I’d put them. I couldn’t shut that part of my brain off. “But I bet you knew that already. I’m not a risk-taker, remember?”

  “About that.” Mark rubbed the back of his neck. “I said some things I didn’t mean on Sunday, or rather, I meant them, but I’m sorry they hurt. This is my way of apologizing.”

  His sort-of-not-really apology put my back up. “By pushing a gallery on me after I told you I didn’t want to try again anytime soon? I’m not sure if you’re trying to annoy me, or if it really is that effortless for you.”

  “What are you afraid of?” he asked quietly.

  “Everything.” I threw my hands in the air. “I’m afraid of failing and having no one to blame but myself. I’m afraid of falling in love with this place and having it snatched away. I’m afraid of feeling too much and not being able to turn it off when I need to be safe.”

  He cupped my face and tilted it upward so I’d meet his eyes. “There’s a lot going on inside there. Want to know what I’m afraid of?”

  “Not being named one of Chicago’s Forty under Forty by the time you’re thirty-one?”

  He huffed out a breath, not appreciating my sarcasm. “I’m afraid of waking up one day and realizing that no matter how far I run from my past, it will always define me. Trying to overcome it is still giving it control.”

  I knew this was his way of trying to delicately push me to escape my past as well, but I didn’t want to give him that satisfaction. “So what are you going to do about it?”

  “I don’t know.” He dropped his hands to his sides. “Maybe I am self-destructing through overachieving, but this is who I am. I’m not sure how to be any other way.”

  I recognized the conflict warring inside him, similar in nature, though not in execution, to my own. The opposite side of the same coin. Instead of hiding in cold comfort, he threw himself into the fire. But it wasn’t on me to point that out to him. We weren’t together. We weren’t really friends either. We were just… nothing. Absolutely nothing.

  “I think you already know what you want.” I walked away and pretended to examine the caulking on the windows. “And believe it or not, a job title isn’t what makes people impressive.”

  “I know that,” he said in a tone that suggested he knew no such thing. “And I think you already know what you want too. Are you going to take a chance on this place?”

  The neighborhood didn’t have the posh gallery row of River North. West Loop was for the foodies, but it had some up-and-coming galleries and shops. Places for people to browse after a meal. Unlike the near-turnkey condition of the building I’d lost, this space was in rough shape, which just made me like it more. I’d be able to make it my own. It made sense to have a gallery here, especially since I wanted to have mixed media and didn’t want to step on my neighbors’ toes. It made so much sense that I knew the universe wouldn’t let me have this one.

  I worried my bottom lip between my teeth. “I don’t think it’ll work.”

  “Bullshit.” If I’d thought he was going to let it go, I was sadly mistaken. Mark had zero interest in playing the Humor Brinkley game.

  “Excuse you, but it is not bullshit. I just lost my other place and need some time. Why can’t you respect that?”

  “Just like you needed time after your breakup. How long ago was that again?” He held up a hand as soon as he felt my claws come out, cutting me off before I could utter a word. “If you walk away, this place will be gone before you work up the courage to go for it, and you know it. It’s perfect for what you want to do—so yeah, I call bullshit. Tell me I’m wrong.”

  I wanted to. I wanted to tell him off so badly I could feel the words burning in my throat, just waiting to be unleashed. But I couldn’t. I hated how right he was about this place. Someone would buy it before I could get over myself. I had an opportunity staring me in the face, and I was too afraid to go for it. Why? At what point would I stop feeding my fear of failure?

  I couldn’t believe what I was about to do, but it was past time to make my dream a reality. Gritting my teeth, I kicked at a loose board. “Let me talk to the owner.”

  Mark didn’t make a smartass remark or rub my face in it, much to my surprise. He just called up the owner. Fifteen minutes later the three of us were sitting in steel chairs around a mosaic table at the Hot Tin Roof bar. Freddie was a petite woman with leathery skin and a hawklike face. When her beady eyes blinked at me, I felt very much like an exposed mouse in an open field.

  She had originally bought the place to start a small brewery. That explained the scent of yeast and hops that still hung in the air. When she got picked up by a national chain a few months ago, the limited space could no longer accommodate her needs.

  “I don’t mind renting it out,” Freddie said. “But I had hoped to sell.”

  “I’m not looking to rent.” I knew how that game worked. If my gallery ended up being a success, she’d jack up the rates or force me to buy at a higher price. “I can do ten percent, but I don’t have enough for twenty.” I could’ve gone to fifteen if I was willing to drain my savings, but I still needed to fix the place up. There was no point in buying if I couldn’t do anything with it. “I was hoping we could work out a deal?”

  “What about a land contract?” Mark asked. “The limited space is going to make it hard for you to sell to any other business in the city. Although, since it’s been on the market for so long, I’m sure you already understand that.”

  “I don’t know.” Freddie rolled a bottle of Two Hearted Ale between her hands. “Land contracts are risky. If your business falls apart—no offense, it happens all the time—then I’m the one left holding the bag.”

  “Not necessarily. I have another job, and this won’t be a full-time venture for me for at least another year.” Mark’s belief in me was nice, but it wouldn’t pay my rent. “I’ll be able to make payments, even if my business isn’t doing well.”

  Freddie tapped the edge of the table. “How long are you proposing for this contract? I’m not willing to go longer than five years before you buy outright. I’m moving my operation to Michigan, and I’m counting on this sale to pay the mortgage on my new building.”

  We spent the next half hour hammering out the details. When we’d come to an agreement, Mark called a lawyer friend of his to draw up a contract. We signed papers promising the place to me, but we couldn’t close for a few weeks, at which point I’d get the key. Thanks to the contract though, it couldn’t be taken back. I was now the owner of my own gallery.

  When Freddie made her exit, Mark and I crossed the street to stand outside my building—my building! For all the saving and hoping and disappointments, it was finally happening. I peered through the dusty windows at the potential that waited beyond. The place needed so much work. I’d paint everything a brilliant white, so the colorful art would pop. I had to buy a counter for a register, lacquered red, since I’d heard somewhere that red increased sales. Items to stage vignettes in the windows, glass-covered podiums for metalwork, discreet price tags. It would be a lot, but I could do it. I could make this space mine.

  I wrapped my arms around Mark and screamed into his chest: “I did it! I really just did that!” Then, remembering myself, I released my grip on him and took a full step back with a short cough. “Anyway. Yay me.”

  He laughed. “What are you doing with the rest of the day?”

  “I’m in the middle of a painting, and Winnie needs a sweater change.”

  Mark mimed gagging. “Animals in clothes.”

  “What is your issue with that? Winnie loves it.” I pulled out my phone and showed him a picture of my Christmas card from last year: the two of us in matching reindeer sweaters. Winnie had a paw up, claws out, aimed for my face. But otherwise, adorable.

  He shook his head
. “It’s just wrong. Nature gave them fur for a reason.”

  I had a lot of hills I was willing to die on, but my cat’s sweater collection wasn’t one of them. We’d just have to agree to disagree. “Thanks for bringing me out here. Really.” I couldn’t hide my grin as I peeked in the windows. “I wish I’d gotten some pictures while we were inside.”

  “You still can… if you want.” He pulled out the key to my building with a glint in his eye that didn’t belong to a stuffy college professor.

  My toes curled as he unlocked the door and pushed it open.

  CHAPTER 25

  He put his hand on my lower back as we walked into the building. From the moment he touched me, heat pooled in my core. It became a roaring inferno that threatened to consume me. All my limbs went loose as my stomach tightened with need.

  It couldn’t just be me. He had to feel this too.

  I made quick work of taking pictures with my phone to send to Emma later. When I finished, I turned to Mark. The intensity of his stare drew me closer. I wrapped my arms around his neck. “What should we do now that we’ve got this place all to ourselves?”

  His fingers traced the curve of my spine. “Whatever you want.”

  I pushed up on my toes. Maybe it was the triumph of finally owning my own space, or maybe it was the way his fingers skimmed my back, but I was tired of being cautious with Mark. I trembled as my lips brushed his ear, and I whispered, “I want you to fuck me so good I forget how to breathe.”

  He groaned and claimed my mouth with his as he walked me back until we hit the wall. His tongue stroked mine with such perfect rhythm, I had no doubt what he’d do with other body parts. The thick strands of his hair wound around my fingers as I pulled him closer. He lifted me up, pinning me against the Sheetrock. As I tugged my sweater over my head, I gripped him with my thighs. He slowly pulled the straps down on my bra, then pinched and rolled my nipples before lifting one of them into his mouth and sucking gently. My hips rocked forward, but he held me still, teasing me with his lips. I yanked his cable-knit sweater, tugging him toward me with urgency.