Authors: Liv James
She made it half way to the curb before he
stepped in front of her. She stopped abruptly, throwing her arms up in front of
her chest as she almost ran into him. He gently put his arms around her waist
and pulled her close to him.
“Jon, I …” she started to say, but he cut
her off with a heavy kiss that instantly shot a wave of heat through her. She
instinctively arched toward him, her resolve to keep him at bay melting away as
she couldn’t help but kiss him back, instantly recalling her near addiction to
his taste and spicy scent.
He slid his warm, hard hand up into her
hair, cupping the back of her neck as he slowly, tenderly ended the deep kiss.
“Now tell me there’s nothing left between
us,” he said, looking fiercely into her eyes, still holding her close by the
waist.
“That’s not fair,” she said breathlessly.
“You’ll take my calls,” he said, that
damned triumphant grin resurfacing as he let her go.
He picked up his overnight bag from where
he dropped it on the sidewalk and headed back toward his cab.
She stood there for a moment, every nerve
ending tingling from his kiss. When she realized he was still there, probably
watching her from the back seat of the cab, she headed across the street.
Halfway there, when she was sure he
couldn’t see her face, she allowed the smile she was trying to stifle to
surface.
Damn him, she thought. Damn me.
David Carpenter was waiting for her by the
window when she pushed open the God-awful door, the school-girl smile still
plastered on her face. It faltered when she saw Terry, who seemed itchy to get
out of there. She was a small woman, with short, graying hair and a nervous
laugh. Clara wondered what he said to her.
“There you are,” David said, strutting
across the gallery’s hardwood floors. He didn’t look like he showered and he
definitely hadn’t shaved. He was dressed casually, in a pair of tan khakis and
a hunter green sweater that accented the color of his eyes. “Where the hell
have you been? I’ve been worried about you.”
“I beg your pardon?” Clara asked, wondering
how long he’d been waiting there for her and, more importantly, if her lipstick
was smudged. Dealing with David was suddenly feeling less and less important.
“You didn’t come home last night,” he said.
She couldn’t tell if he was agitated or
concerned. It didn’t really matter.
“Yes, I did. You were sleeping,” she said.
“I tried to wake you but you wouldn’t get up.”
She paused.
“I left you a little
gift on the kitchen table.”
Anger flickered behind his hazel eyes.
“Did you find it?” she pushed.
“Clara, I can explain,” he said, motioning
past the magnificent displays of tribal pottery that were on loan from the
historical society. “Let’s go somewhere private and talk about this.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” she said,
waving her hand in dismissal. “We’re done. I can’t stay with a man who would
walk out on his own kids. You should know me well enough by now to understand
that.”
Terry stood up from behind the information
desk and scooted into a nearby conference room.
As soon as the conference room door clicked
closed David moved closer. He frowned as he ran his hand over his sandy hair,
which he kept clipped close to his head.
“You’re leaving me?” he asked in disbelief.
“Just like that? Without even giving me a chance to defend myself?”
“You really have to ask me that?” she said.
“You know how I feel about parents sticking by their children. We talked about
it. And you never thought to mention this?”
“I don’t have custody of them and I don’t
see them anymore. They live in Ohio,”
he said, as if that made a difference.
“You should have told me,” she said. “You
are still married!”
“I didn’t think you’d understand,” he said,
controlled. “Apparently I was right. Where did you get that picture, anyway? My
mother was the only one …,” he stopped himself, realizing he’d already said too
much.
“You didn’t think I’d find out,” she
corrected. “And you’re right, I don’t understand why you wouldn’t fight to see
your children. They should come first.”
“You had to be there,” he said.
“I’m glad I wasn’t. You need to go. We’re
about to open,” Clara said, pointing past the displays toward the front door.
As she did she noticed that the framed artwork along the wall had been swapped
out and now held only paintings by Aesthetics artists.
There had been a flap when she brought in
some art from people who actually got paid for their work. The resident artists
felt betrayed and made it clear to Clara that only their original works
belonged on the walls. If she insisted on bringing in other pieces they were to
be relegated to the display cases that now held the tribal pottery.
David followed her gaze to the front door
but didn’t move. She was surprised to see a flash of panic in his eyes before
he covered it with a tender smile.
“Honey, come on. That’s what I love about
you. You can be so naïve about things,” he said, putting his hands on her
shoulders. “Don’t you see? I wanted to start over … start a new family …with
you.”
“Naïve?” she asked, incredulous, stepping
out of his reach. Had she sunk so low to be considered naïve? Oh dear God it
was worse than she thought. “No, I don’t see. What makes you think our children
would be any different than Dallas and MaryJo? Do you at least pay child
support?”
He smiled at her as if she were an idiot,
although he seemed to flinch slightly when she called his children by name.
“Honey, I know you have issues …”
“Do they know where you are?” she
interrupted, impatient with his tendency to psychoanalyze.
He shrugged.
“They should be able to get child support
through your social security number.”
He didn’t say anything, but his smile had
faded.
“You know what? I don’t even want to know
what you’ve done,” she said, throwing her hands up into the air. “It’s time for
you to go before I call the police and tell them what you’ve been up to.” She
motioned toward the front door again.
“You wouldn’t do that,” he said, shaking
his head and looking at her with renewed curiosity. “I haven’t broken any laws.
Come on baby, we can work this out.”
“No, we can’t,” Clara said, challenging his
assumption with a hard look meant to show him she was serious. “It’s bad enough
that you lied to me and screwed me out of the last year of my life but you
really should be ashamed of yourself for ditching your wife and kids.”
His round face grew red as she spoke. She
absently wondered if he took his blood pressure medication, then pushed the
thought away.
“Please leave,” she said again. “Don’t make
this any more difficult than it has to be. Please David. I’ll have my stuff out
of the house before the end of the week.”
“You don’t want to do this,” he said. Any
trace of a smile was gone now, and Clara could sense hot anger raging just
below the surface. She hadn’t seen him like this before, but she didn’t really
care. She’d made up her mind that she just wanted him gone. Another woman might
wait for an explanation but not her. Kids came first. You ditch yours, I ditch
you.
“I
don’t want to do what?” she asked dismissively. “To leave you? It’s already
done. Go find your wife.”
He took another step toward her. “We are
getting married,” he seethed. “I have plans for you.”
“No, we’re not,” she said, a little
unnerved at how possessive he sounded. “David, please. I’m trying to be
graceful about this but it’s time for you to leave.”
He stepped forward and grabbed the tops of
her arms. She stiffened. He looked so angry she thought he might actually start
foaming at the mouth. For the first time she felt a whisper of fear slide
through her.
“Who is he? Huh? Who is the fucking
bastard?” David demanded.
“What are you talking about?” she asked,
trying to squirm free. Yes, he was beginning to scare her. He’d never been
physical with her, in fact, he’d always been just the opposite. He’d been so
docile that sometimes she wondered if he even wanted to touch her at all. She
was growing concerned that the man she assumed would have little reaction was
about to get out of control.
“I saw you,” David spit, his hazel eyes on
fire and his mouth crimped in a dangerous sneer. “From the window. I was
watching for you to come out of the parking garage but you came out of the
hotel instead and kissed someone.”
“I didn’t kiss anyone,” she said.
Technically Jon had kissed her. A small technicality for sure. But that
explained why David was so pissed. He probably felt the heat from that kiss all
the way across the street. Way to wake a sleeping giant.
“Who is he?” David demanded, giving her a
shake. “Did you leave me last night so you could go screw him? Did he make you
feel better?”
“Get out of here,” she said. “You’re the
one who blew it, not me.”
He leaned down. She could feel his hot
breath on her hair as he spoke.
“You will regret this,” he hissed.
She pulled away from him, shaking her
shoulders free from his grasp.
“What the hell is the matter with you?” she
demanded, looking at him as if he’d gone mad. “What did you expect me to do
when I found out that you were married and had children and didn’t tell me? Not
care? I thought we’d have a family of our own. Don’t you think I should have
known you weren’t cut out to be a father?”
“We’re done here,” David said, pulling away
from her and backing up. “You don’t have a week. Get your shit out of my house
by the end of the day.”
He turned and stormed toward the front
door, violently raking his arm across the lobby wall and knocking down the
framed paintings and photographs that had been so meticulously placed. Clara
stepped out of the way as the glass smashed in each frame, one after the other,
pocking the hardwood floor.
“Are you okay?” Terry cried, running out of
the conference room when she heard the glass breaking.
“Fine,” Clara said, clenching her fists and
staring after David as the door refused to meet up with its jam. The wind
caught it and held it open, affording her a view of him stalking toward the
parking garage in a fit of rage.
“What happened?” Terry asked, her eyes
wide.
“I broke off the engagement,” Clara said
without looking at her.
“Why?”
Clara whirled around and stared at her.
“You know that little trick you played on me last night?”
Terry stood up straighter.
“It turns out the man you set me up with
wanted to give me some information about David.”
“That bad?” Terry asked.
“Worse,” Clara said.
“Oh Clara.”
“Whatever,” she said, rubbing her face with
her hands. “I don’t want to think about it. It’s over now. Is anyone else in
yet?”
“No, just you and me.”
“Okay. I’ll get this cleaned up and then we
can get on with the rest of the day. I’ll need to leave early.”
“That’s not completely true,” Marguerite
sang shrilly, stepping off the elevator and walking over to them, her thick
two-inch heels clicking on the bare, natural wood floors. “I’m here. What’s
going on down here? I heard glass breaking.”
The last sentence hung in the air like the
last verse of a bad 70s song. Marguerite DeVeers had a way of putting Clara on
edge to begin with, making Marguerite the last person she wanted to see this
morning. At 70, she was perfectly preserved, in fact, she was nearly pickled.
Thanks to her husband’s money, she was not only Aesthetics largest donor, but
she also rented a studio on the fourth floor where she painted watercolors and
gossiped about people who came into money the old-fashioned way, by earning it.
Clara had admittedly gathered a lot of interesting information about Tulsa’s finest from
listening to Marguerite tell all, but she’d never grown comfortable with the
woman.