She mimed checking off an invisible list, one item at a time. “So this new enterprise you’re thinking of is inspired by one part revenge, one part ego, and one part genuine emotion. Gotcha.” She tilted her head. “No offense, but what does this have to do with me?”
He got up, feeling so much energy thrumming through him he needed to be on his feet. “Adalia, your work inspired my new idea. I want to put on an art show, featuring little-known artists, for charitable causes benefiting the city. It can be a biannual thing. Maybe we’ll even let people vote on the cause in one of the local papers.”
“Like the Gazette?” she asked.
He couldn’t read the look on her face, but he definitely had her attention now.
“Sure,” he said, “I don’t hold a grudge.”
“And I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt if they published something that made you look like a saint,” she said, challenging him.
He shrugged, not denying it. “We’ll rent a warehouse for the opening, and whatever hasn’t sold by the end of the first month can be part of a traveling show. We’ll let breweries and whatnot display them. They’ll want to, because it’ll be a good blast of publicity. In fact, we can have them bid on who gets to host the pieces. The artists will get their portion of money from their sales…” He felt the need to mention that upfront; he’d seen her car. “… but any profit above that will go to the cause.”
“We?” The look in her eyes was an open challenge now.
Hadn’t he made himself clear? She was the person who’d inspired this. He couldn’t do it without her. Dottie had already agreed to participate, and she’d indicated she had a few friends who might be interested. But it all fell apart without Adalia. She was the lynchpin for his plan. The reason for it.
“Yes,” he said. “You have a talent that deserves to be seen. To be experienced.”
She laughed again, although this time there was no hint of real humor. “Oh, is this performance art, then? You want me to make pieces and destroy them in front of an audience?”
He frowned. She’d been right earlier—this wasn’t going well. He’d hoped that by explaining himself, by telling her his reasons for wanting to do this, she’d be more open to participating.
“No, that wasn’t exactly how I was envisioning it,” he said. “Maybe you could leave the utility knife at home.”
She got to her feet, and even though she had to be more than half a foot shorter than him, it felt like she was staring down at him.
“Look, Finn. You don’t know me. I’m sorry you’ve been through a shitty experience, but that doesn’t mean you’re in any special position to understand me and what I have been through. Which you haven’t even asked about, by the way. Believe it or not, normal people, who are stable enough to show their art, don’t destroy their own things. Besides, in case you haven’t noticed, I have a job. I’m helping at Buchanan.”
“Yeah,” he said, “I saw the shirts you came up with. And the labels. They’re brilliant. And River told me that you’ve been handling the social media accounts.”
He paused, knowing he shouldn’t say what he was going to say next, and already aware that he was going to say it anyway. Because she was wrong. Because she was, for some reason, denying herself something she needed as desperately as she needed air. He’d seen it in her eyes. In the sorrow that flashed through them as she slashed the canvas with that knife. And even though he didn’t know her and had no right to confront her like this, he refused to give up on her. He didn’t want her to give up on herself. It would be a tragedy if she did.
So he slashed with words, which had always been his knife of choice. “How many hours of your day will it take up? One? Maybe two? Is that going to be enough to satisfy you?”
Her eyes gleamed fiercely, and he wondered for a moment if he’d gone too far. Were those tears?
“If my designs are as good as you say, maybe I’ll become a graphic designer. It’s harder to smash a computer than it is a painting. I might just be able to make it work.”
“Do you really believe that, Adalia?” he asked. “Because I don’t. There’s a fire in you that won’t be put out, and stylizing some words and photos and doodles won’t even throw a thimble of water on it. Please, just think about it. I want to do this. With you. I have the resources to make it work.”
Her expression twisted, and he instantly knew he’d said the wrong thing.
“Get out,” she seethed, just like she had in the studio. “It’s never, ever going to happen.”
Chapter Five
“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” Georgie asked.
Adalia pushed back a wave of loose curls from her cheek as she sat up at her makeshift desk in the corner of Georgie’s office. She loved her sister with every fiber of her being, but sometimes working with her was like living under a magnifying glass.
“For the tenth time, I’m fine.”
“It’s just that you’re so quiet today.”
Adalia heard the worry in her sister’s voice, and while she appreciated that she cared, right now it felt stifling.
“I’m fine. Really, Georgie. I didn’t sleep well, just like I told you the previous nine times you asked.” She’d tossed and turned, finally drifting off at around four. Finn’s discovery of her secret had made her do some serious reevaluation of her life.
Maybe her father was right. Maybe it was time to grow up.
It had come as no surprise when Adalia’s father had disapproved of her going to art school, but his refusal to pay her tuition had come as a shock, especially since he’d paid for all of Lee’s and Georgie’s college expenses. Nevertheless, she’d gone anyway, to a very respected—aka very expensive—school at that. But the loans had gotten out of hand, and even though she hadn’t finished school for that very reason, she still had to repay them. They ate up the vast majority of the money Georgie was paying her. She knew her sister would pay off the loans in a heartbeat, but Adalia would never let her.
Still, pride didn’t pay the bills. Maybe she really should get a graphic design job.
In the back of her head, she heard Finn telling her it would never satisfy her inner fire, that it would be like trying to douse a blaze with a thimble of water, but who did he think he was, anyway? It had given her the chills, hearing him say that, but anger had chased them away. He didn’t get to tell her who she was.
Even if he wasn’t far off. Even if he saw her more clearly than the people she’d known her entire life.
“Things are going well with Jack?” Georgie asked.
There was a topic Adalia could latch on to. Anything to keep Georgie from poking at her feelings. She sat up in her rickety chair and turned in her seat to face her sister. “Actually, we had a family dinner last night.”
Surprise flashed in Georgie’s eyes, and Adalia thought she saw a hint of pain, but her sister shook it off quickly and smiled. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Adalia said with a shrug. “Dottie dropped off some food in our fridge, so we made plates, opened a bottle of wine, and sat at the dining room table and talked.”
Her eyes flew wide. “Jack opened up?”
“The conversation was pretty superficial, but…I like him.” The memory of Jack coming to her defense filled her with fondness and gratitude. “I’m honestly glad he moved in.”
Georgie took a moment, then said, “That’s great.” She lowered her voice. “Is that why you’re so tired? You two stayed up late?”
“Georgie.” It would have been easy to say yes, but that would have been a lie, one that might easily be caught, and she refused to say anything about Finn.
Because you know what she’ll say, a traitorous voice inside her insisted. You know she’ll encourage you to start making things again. Things you don’t destroy.
“I just worry about you, Addy.”
“I know, but I’m fine.”
Georgie’s lips pressed together, expressing her obvious doubt.
Groaning, Adalia snapped her laptop s
hut and stood. “I’m going to go work at Brown Beans.” The coffee shop down the street had a horrible name and subpar coffee, but the internet was fast and the employees left you alone.
“Addy,” Georgie protested, dismay filling her voice.
Adalia snagged her purse, slipping the strap over her shoulder, and grabbed the closed laptop. “Just to give you fair warning, I’ve decided to look for a graphic design job.”
Georgie was out of her seat in an instant. “Why?” she said, coming around the desk. She sounded as concerned as if Adalia had just expressed interest in joining a cult.
Releasing a sigh, Adalia held her gaze. She hadn’t planned on having this conversation yet, but now that she’d brought it up, she might as well push through with it. “There’s not enough work to keep me busy.” Finn had been right about something else too, damn him. “You know this is a part-time position, and I want to keep it, but I need to do more.” Then she steeled her back and said, “I need to make money. I have bills to pay.”
Georgie’s face fell. “Your student loans.” She grabbed Adalia’s upper arms. “Let me pay them off, Addy.” She shook her head before Adalia could protest. “Now, hear me out. You can pay me back if that makes you feel better, but you won’t be stuck with all that interest, and we can lower the payments so it’s affordable.”
Adalia stepped back out of her sister’s grasp. “Why should you bail me out at all? Going to art school was my choice. You and Dad and Lee were against it, so why should I expect you to help me now?”
“I was wrong,” Georgie said with tears in her eyes. “You’re so good, Addy. Of course you should have gone.”
“How do you know I’m good?” Adalia countered. “Because the arrest warrant valued the art I destroyed at over one hundred thousand dollars?”
Because she’d been arrested, and Georgie had bailed her out via a bail bondsman.
Her sister started to say something, but Adalia cut her off. “You didn’t see the value of my art until someone else did?”
Georgie’s cheeks flushed. “Dad paid for me and Lee to go to school. It’s not fair that he didn’t pay for you.”
“That’s between me and Dad,” Adalia snapped. “Not you.” She headed for the office door, not surprised to see River and Dottie standing outside the office, along with several other employees. They’d raised their voices, and sound carried in the industrial office area.
“But we have a meeting in ten minutes,” Georgie called after her.
“Have it without me. We all know airhead Addy isn’t good for anything except for fluffy designs and social media posts.”
That wasn’t fair, but Adalia realized that was how she felt about herself. That she’d been given a pity job. One whose scope kept shrinking until soon there’d be nothing left.
She expected Dottie or River to say something. Or for Georgie to maybe vault out of her office with a cape on, intent on rescuing her. But no one tried to stop her as she made a beeline for the exit, blinking when she hit the bright sunlight.
It was a beautiful day, but Adalia barely noticed as she stopped to shove her sunglasses on her face and stuff her laptop into the oversized purse.
No, Georgie’s laptop. The one she’d bought for the brewery so Adalia could work on the graphics. Sometimes it felt like she had nothing of her own anymore, that the independent person she’d been—the artist—was shrinking and shrinking until there’d be nothing left of her either.
Adalia started walking, and even though she’d told Georgie she was going to the coffee shop down the street, she found herself heading downtown.
Downtown Asheville was nothing like New York City, but it had an appealing vibe of its own. Creative and more laid back than the hustle and frenetic energy of New York. Truthfully, it fit Adalia like a glove, and as she mindlessly walked, she felt her stress ease a bit. Her problems were still there, but they didn’t feel so overwhelming.
Stopping at a coffee shop, she ordered a latte and treated herself to a chocolate croissant. She took both out to a table for two on the sidewalk, feeling herself relax further as she sipped her coffee and nibbled on her pastry. She set her laptop on the table and started to create a résumé, but she ended up people watching. In art school, she’d made a game of observing passersby, trying to figure out who they were and where they were going, making up stories about them in her head. Sometimes she’d even sketch their stories in her book.
She’d been lonely back then. Although she’d always had a large enough circle of acquaintances, something inside of her had quailed from letting herself get too close. Except with Alan. She’d let her guard down with him, and look where that had landed her. Here she was once again, inventing lives for strangers on the street because she couldn’t bring herself to have a difficult conversation with her sister.
She was focusing on a mother pushing a stroller when she heard a familiar voice say, “Mind if I join you?”
Finn. He stood next to the table, gesturing to the empty chair across from her. Was this an unhappy accident, or had he come looking for her?
Her back stiffened. “If you’re here to talk to me about—”
He lifted his hands in surrender. “Not a word. I promise.”
With pursed lips, she gave him a slight nod, wondering why he wanted to sit with her if not for his charity idea. Wondering why she was a little disappointed he didn’t intend to push it.
“Working outside of the office?” he asked once he’d lowered himself into the other chair.
“Sort of.” She didn’t feel like telling him what she was really up to. Not after what he’d said to her. She was worried she’d see disappointment in his eyes, although for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why his opinion mattered. “But mostly playing the ‘Who are you?’ game.” She was slightly embarrassed to admit it, but it felt safer than talking about the résumé. Or her art.
He leaned back, his upper shoulder pressed against the railing around the small seating area, his arms crossed over his chest—did he always wear button-downs or polos?—and an amused look lit up his eyes. “Okay, you’ve got me. What’s the ‘Who are you?’ game?”
“It’s simple,” she said, leaning forward, sure this would scare him off. He might talk like a poet, but he was still a rich boy businessman. His name was Finn Hamilton, for God’s sake. “You find someone walking by and come up with a story about who they are and where they’re going.”
He cocked an eyebrow.
“I’ll start.” She scanned the street and found the mother pushing the stroller as she emerged from a store. “That’s Willow. She’s a former executive of some BS company from Charlotte—they probably made toilet paper or something. Then her husband got a hair up his butt to move to Asheville. She was reluctant at first, but see that yoga mat sticking out of the bottom of the stroller?”
Finn turned slightly, nodding when he caught sight of the woman.
“She joined a Mommy and Me yoga play group and she’s considering becoming a yogi.”
His slight smile turned into a full-blown amused grin. “And her baby’s name?”
“Fig Tree, Tree being the middle name, of course.”
“Of course,” he said, still smiling. “But you never said where they were going.”
“Home. The baby’s about to go down for a nap and she’s eager to try the tantric sex method she learned from the instructor while they sipped organic oolong tea after class.”
Adalia had said it to shock him. She was pretty good at catching people off guard, and she’d come to recognize it for what it was—a defense mechanism to keep others at a distance. And she definitely needed to keep Finn at a distance. Only he didn’t look as taken aback as she’d expected. Instead, he pursed his lips as though giving it some thought. “Interesting how you jumped right to sex.”
A slow smile spread across her face. He’d surprised her, and she delighted in surprises. Good surprises. “You disagree?”
He let his arms drop to his sides and
sat up slightly. “No, quite the opposite.” He turned slightly to glance at the woman before turning back to Adalia. “I’m sure her husband is already waiting at home, ready to strip her naked the moment she walks through the door.”
The way he said it made Adalia shiver with anticipation, but she mentally shook herself. This was Finn. The man who’d betrayed River by selling Big Catch to one of those mega conglomerates with so many product lines the people who ran it probably only knew about half of them. Finn Hamilton was much too good-looking, rich, and cocky for his own good. He was used to getting anything and anyone he wanted, and she wouldn’t be one of his conquests. Not her and not her art either.
Then again, he wasn’t coming on to her.
“Okay,” Adalia said with a mischievous grin, picking up her coffee. “Your turn.”
His eyes lit up and he rubbed his hands together. “Okay.”
He scanned the area, waiting for someone to catch his attention.
“I understand if you’re intimidated,” she teased, then took a sip from her mug.
“You underestimate me,” he said with an evil chuckle.
She perked up an eyebrow and tried to suppress a grin. Who would have thought Finn had a playful side? Granted, she barely knew him, but he hadn’t made a great first impression. She’d met him the night she’d flown back into Asheville, which was when he’d dumped an ice-cold bucket of hard truths on River.
Grandpa Beau had worked as many twists and turns into his will as a spy novel. If the Buchanan siblings failed to place in the top five in a national brewing competition next year, the brewery would go to River. Something Georgie had known about but hadn’t yet had the heart to tell River. Finn’s revelation had split them up, and even though the breakup had been brief, it had caused Georgie pain. She shouldn’t forget that, yet her opinion of Finn kept bouncing back and forth so fast it was giving her whiplash.
Better Luck Next Time Page 4
