Present day
“You can't look more bored if you wanted,” Karin marveled as we strolled through the exhibition hall. “Promise me you'll at least try to look impressed when you see my art piece.”
“I'm not bored, I'm just…” I waved my wine glass, searching for the right word.
“Tired?” Karin suggested.
“Uninspired,” I finished dryly. “But “tired” works too. Get a load of these dark circles, I look like a panda on meth.”
“You look amazing,” Karin said resolutely, waving at her friend as we passed her.
The girl was surrounded by three generations of her family, all of whom were eagerly snapping pictures of her and her artwork with their phones and DSLRs.
We were presently at the city's largest museum for an art show. Specifically, an exhibition displaying the mid-year projects from Karin's graduating college class. It was the students' first step to becoming legitimate artists, so it was a pretty big deal, and their family members had been invited to celebrate the occasion.
For Karin, that meant only me.
“Amazing? In my office wear?” I looked down doubtfully.
I was totally underdressed in my plain white blouse and black skirt. That fact was even more obvious as I walked with my younger sister, who had gone all out with a lovely sea-green cocktail dress and full makeup and hair.
In fact, everyone here looked dressed up, and that included the family members. I even spotted a few proud mamas in evening gowns.
I fingered the hem of my skirt that had shrunk to a size too small. “I should have brought something nicer to change into.”
Karin waved a hand. “You look fine. And whenever you feel like crap, just remember that your hair is so pretty, it takes the attention away from your face.”
“Gee, thanks, I feel much better now.”
“You should! People take you so much more seriously when you have dark hair. Mine's freakin' ginger.”
“Red,” I corrected.
“Orange.” Karin rolled her eyes dramatically. “A genetic defect, plus I have a higher risk of skin cancer and Parkinson's. If humans weren't so highly evolved, I'd be dead by way of natural selection.”
I grinned, having heard this same complaint for years. “I think I can speak for brunettes when I say that our hair color does not make people take us more seriously. Not in the workplace, anyway.”
“That's because you don't wear glasses,” Karin said reasonably.
I snorted. “Okay, Sherlock.”
“And also because your boss is a huge turd.” She slipped her arm through mine as we weaved through the crowd. “Has he tried to hit on you recently?”
“Nope, not since I threatened to inform his wife about his post-work activities at the hotel. After that, he retreated faster than his hairline.”
“Serves him right,” Karin sniffed. “I think you should tell her anyway. On principle, and as payback for all the OT. Oh, and also that time he made you run out for coffee during a blizzard.”
I drained the rest of my champagne and deposited the flute on a small table as we passed.
“Maybe.” No way.
It wasn't that I didn't wait to.
I did, and I'd been tempted several times before. Not so much as payback—I just felt sickened that I was complicit in the bastard's cheating.
But then jobs didn't grow on trees, and I still had a sister to feed and bills to pay. Ruining my boss' marriage was a surefire way to ensure I never got hired again.
So even with Charles Duncan's wandering eyes, I kept my head down and did my errands like a good PA. I bought his mistress underwear, him condoms, did whatever the creep wanted as long as the check kept coming in at the end of the month.
My younger self from ten years ago would have been horrified at my lack of pride.
Then again, she didn't know what it was like to have only two digits left in the bank account either. Pride was a luxury I couldn't afford.
Literally.
My attention wandered around the exhibition hall we made our way through the clusters of students and their family.
The museum we were in was a mausoleum-styled building straight out of a history book.
In contrast, the halls within were all clinically minimalist and modern. The whiteness of the walls around us was glaring, broken only by the brightly-hued canvases illuminated by massive pendant lights that hung from the ceilings.
It made the colors in this place pop. Everything seem more alive somehow, so it was kind of fitting that I was in monochrome.
I wasn’t dead inside yet, but some days I felt halfway there.
“Here we are,” Karin chirped.
My attention snapped to the four-foot tall canvas she had planted us in front of.
It was a painting of a woman seated cross-legged in a white expanse, gazing out at the viewer with a watchful, almost wary expression, with her face half-hidden behind her locks of dark hair. The paint strokes were raw and looked like haphazard dashes of color.
Even so, the woman's face looked familiar.
Really familiar.
I blinked. “That's...me.”
“Surprise!” Karin grinned up at me. “I didn't want to show you before, ‘cause I was afraid of jinxing it. But it turned out pretty well, don't you think?”
I stared at the canvas for a long moment. “Are my eyes really that far apart?”
“Seriously? I painted a portrait of you for my first ever exhibition, and that's all you have to say?”
“Of course not,” I amended. “I also wanted to say…the nose looks a teeny bit off.”
Karin poked me in the side. “Oy.”
“Sorry.” I grinned as I examined the painting again.
It was a strange feeling to be looking at your own portrait. It felt almost like looking into the mirror, but instead of a reflection that moved when I moved, this woman seemed like another person altogether—the version of me that my sister saw.
It was scarily intimate.
“I like your shading,” I offered instead.
“Aww, you're so cute when you try.”
My lips twisted. “Bitch.”
“I appreciate it though.” Karin beamed at me. “I know you're already bored to death and would rather be reading at home, but on the bright side, you're killing two birds with one stone. You're attending my first exhibition, and my first sale.”
My mouth fell open. “You're kidding. Someone bought your painting?”
According to Karin, it was common for the family to purchase the artwork at these student exhibitions. I had painstakingly scrounged up three hundred dollars to buy hers, but it looked like someone had beat me to it.
“Yep, and it’s a nice figure too.” Karin darted a glance at the people milling about us before leaning in. “Five thousand,” she whispered.
“Five…” My eyes widened.
To my horror, the first thing that crossed my mind wasn't how proud or happy I was for my sister.
Instead, I thought of the three hundred dollars that were saved, and all the bills that could be paid with the five thousand...
I quickly shoved the ugly thoughts aside.
“Congrats,” I whispered back. “Do you know who bought it?”
Karin shook her head. “I only know it's a guy. But he's got to be pretty well-off. That’s a lot for a debut artwork, let alone a random girl's—” Then her eyes widened, and she grabbed my arm. “Allie! What if he bought it because of you?”
My brows drew together in confusion. “What? Who?”
“The buyer!” Karin’s face practically shone. “Maybe he paid that much because the painting is of you.”
A startled laugh escaped me. “If he did, I'd be really freaked out. It's not romantic when it's real life, K, it's borderline stalkerish.”
Karin looked unconvinced. “I think it's sweet.”
“We need to have a talk about trust soon. Specifically, how you have too much of it.”
“Please, I think you have too little. You haven't dated in like a million years.”
“Two,” I said archly. “Besides, I already have a boyfriend, and he's called Charles Duncan. I'm on call literally twenty-four seven.”
Karin sobered at that. “I know. You're doing it for me.”
“For us.” Looping my arm around her shoulders, I gave her a side hug. “It won't always be like this. It’ll get better one day.”
It had to.
My words were just as much a promise to my sister as they were to myself, and I held on to them like a lifeline.
It’s been ten years since we first made our way to this city. Ten years of living paycheck to paycheck and being in danger of having our heating and electricity cut. Ten years of constantly moving and mentally waiting for some kind of guillotine to fall.
I was exhausted, but even if we wanted, we couldn't go back to San Juan. Not after what had happened with our father.
If I closed my eyes now, I could almost make out the tang of his half-drunk scotch on his desk mixed with the coppery stench of blood, the acrid, burnt odor of gunpowder—
“So you like the painting?” Karin's voice broke in.
I opened my eyes again, letting the bright lights of the exhibition hall drown out the painful memory. “Yeah, very much.”
Karin leaned her head on my shoulder as we stared at the canvas.
“At least you took away my dark circles,” I murmured.
“I made your boobs bigger too.”
“Ah. Thanks.”
“I can't wait for the day my work is featured in a real gallery,” Karin mused. “Do you think it will happen?”
“Absolutely. One day you'll have an entire gallery just for your work, or maybe they'll be displayed beside Picasso, Da Vinci, Andy Warhol—”
Karin laughed. “They're not the same style, or even from the same era.”
“Fine, but the point is that they're famous, and you'll be too. I may not know art, but I know that you're talented.”
“It'll take more than talent,” she said wistfully. “You need connections, and a lot of luck. We don't have much of either.”
We used to, a small voice in my head said. We had everything once.
I forced a smile on my face. “Don't focus on that. Just think of all the stuff you'll get to do once you're successful.”
“Hm. I'll hire a plane to write Charles Duncan's name in the sky, followed by a penis.”
I was snickering when a soft voice cut in at my left.
“Ms. Alecia Beckett?”
I turned to see a grey-haired, suited man beside me, his head inclined in a slight bow.
“My employer would like to meet with you,” he said in an even tone. “He just purchased the painting.”
I smiled proudly at Karin, who was practically glowing. “Actually, that’s my sister's work. It’s her he wants to meet.”
The man cleared his throat delicately. “My employer made it quite clear that he wanted to speak with you. Alone,” he added.
His quiet but firm words sent warning bells ringing in my head.
Then I stilled as a thought occurred to me.
“How do you know my name?” I frowned. “The description didn't mention it.”
The man said nothing, merely waited for my reply.
So this was how we were going to play it.
My eyes narrowed, and I turned to Karin. “Wait for me here. I’m going to find out what this employer's deal is.”
“This way, please,” the grey-haired man said, stepping aside for me to walk.
With a backward glance at Karin's worried face, I left with him.
Unsurprisingly, this whole thing had me uneasy.
No matter how much this mystery guy liked Karin’s painting, it was still weird to want to meet the subject instead of the artist. Not to mention that his secretive servant/butler didn't want to reveal how he'd known my name.
The man took me a short distance down the hallway outside, and we soon came to a stop in front of a heavy door. There, he scanned a card and pushed the door open.
I stared past his arm into the expanse within. “It's dark,” I said blankly.
“It's part of the exhibition, Ms. Beckett.”
Cautiously, I edged a step into the room and peered into the darkness. As my pupils adjusted, I noticed a faint light coming from around a low wall.
I paused. “Are you coming with me?”
“No, but if it helps, this hall is directly connected to the one we just came from. There is a straight corridor there at the back.”
“Thanks, but a lot can happen in a dark place, so I don't exactly feel reassured by that.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “I want the door left open. The moment it shuts, I'll start screaming.”
The man inclined his head in agreement, though he looked reluctant about it.
Shooting him a final wary look, I stepped into the room and skirted the low wall, making my way towards the main area.
Like the earlier exhibition, large canvases hung on the walls here, with a few sculptures displayed on the floor. The pendant lights were turned off however, and each of the artworks were illuminated with only a single bulb. The dim lighting cast long shadows across the floor and walls, which made the place more than a little creepy.
Hoping that I wouldn't suffer the same fate as the blonde in the horror movies, I took one halting step forward, then another.
“Hello?” My voice echoed back at me. “Anyone there?”
I stiffened when something shifted in the corner of my eye.
Looking around quickly, I spotted a dark figure lounging on a bench by the far wall.
“Hi,” I called. “I have some questions for you too, so I'd appreciate if...”
I trailed off as the man stood up.
Crap, but he was huge. He looked like he was about a foot taller than me, and the size of his shoulders probably doubled mine.
My heart thundered in my throat as he strolled towards me, his shoes clipping smartly on the linoleum floor.
But instead of coming to stand in front of me, the guy stopped five feet away.
I squinted and tried to make out his face, but it was so dark that I could only see his white shirtsleeves and black slacks.
The rest of him remained cloaked in shadow.
I decided to make the first move. “How did you know my name?”
“The same way you know mine,” was his reply.
I blinked at the timbre of his voice. It was low and masculine, and seemed to rumble deep within my bones…
Hold on.
What did he just say?
My throat tightened, and the warning bells in my head began to make a racket.
“I don’t know you, actually, and I think you're trying to intimidate me. So if you don't come into the light in five seconds, I'm leaving and calling security.”
“I should’ve guessed,” the guy mused with a hint of mockery in his voice. “You’re still as annoying as before.”
My blood chilled at the meaning of his words.
What the heck?
“Who are you?” I demanded, my voice louder this time.
We stood in silence for a beat, and then I sensed that the guy came to a decision.
A strong leg clad in black slacks and a polished dress shoe stepped into the pool of light that I was in, followed closely by tapered hips and waist, and then a broad torso. His shirt sleeves were folded up to his elbows, revealing muscular forearms lightly dusted with dark hair.
My breath caught in my throat when I finally saw his face.
This guy was unbelievably, alarmingly attractive. His chiseled jaws and cheekbones could have been cut from marble, his strong brows and straight nose were solid proof of an unfair universe. The only thing that looked soft about him was his dark hair, which was expertly arranged in a classic style.
But what made my heart stumble the extra beat was his pale blue eyes. The piercing irises were the exact shade of an arctic glacier and looked just as warm.
They were also eyes I had seen before, ten years ago, in a seaside town in California.
And if I still hadn't realized who this guy was yet, his arrogant, cold smirk as though he owned the world gave him away.
My lips parted in a soundless breath.
“You.”
Ryland Wyatt, self-entitled heir, spoiled trust-fund prince, and tyrant of my high school and hometown, cocked his head and stared down his nose at me.
“Hello, Allie cat.”
***