“It was unprofessional to wear and you—”

“To a meeting I didn’t ask for nor set up, and which I only found out about an hour before I needed to be there? That meeting?” My sarcasm is heavy, my glare just as icy as hers. I’m done being pushed around. “The same meeting where Theodore Astor ignored you, asked you to be quiet, and exchanged numbers with me?”

“He saw you as easy.”

“Never confuse me with yourself, Elise.”

“Tell me, Gabriella. What were you thinking when you offered yourself to him?” And there’s the woman I met today in the café: my friend’s true colors. Her face flushes and her chest heaves, the cup slamming down atop the counter with enough force that it breaks, and all that’s left behind is the handle in her hand. “Are you that desperate to lose your virginity? Isn’t it pathetic of you to throw yourself at the first man who indulges your quirks and is nice?”

And yet, I’m not moved or intimidated. Instead, a part of me is angry.

So angry.

Insulted.

Hurt.

“What was I thinking?” It’s rhetorical, but when she opens her mouth, I level her with a look. This surprises her; the hostility in me is new, but that little girl who grew up alone and with forced thick skin each time life knocked her down isn’t having it. This feeling is one I’ve fought to always push back, but today I’m embracing it. It’s bubbling within my veins and my heart races, I’m feeling flushed, and a deep vibration settles through every limb. “You’re asking me what I was thinking?” My laugh is sardonic, so dry. “I was thinking my friend went out of her way to make a dream come true for me out of the goodness of her heart—because she loves me, and not because there was a personal agenda attached. I was thinking that it was a business meeting, not a pimp’s personal catwalk where I’m used to attract a big spender and then told to bend over and take it as you please.”

Elise scoffs, tossing the mug’s handle onto the floor. Not the counter, but the floor as if she has a maid that majestically walks behind her to clean up each mess. How are we even friends? “You’re being melodramatic, Gabriella. Those weren’t my words.”

“But it’s implied. No?” Placing my coffee down, I rub a tired hand down my face. I take a moment to choose my next words carefully because even though her actions today cut, I still care. You don’t stop overnight, even though this makes it hard to. “Why are you really here, Elise? What do you want, because you can fuck right off if insulting me into submission is your game? I’m not the desperate one here.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re exhausting? So much work to be your friend.”

“Funny, but I understand that sentiment like no other today.”

“Gabriella, I need you to listen to me.” Elise points a manicured nail at me, her face looking as if she tasted something sour. The same one she had during brunch. “I need you to back off with Astor, and things will go smoothly for you. He’s mine. Don’t force my hand, Gabby. Please heed my warning and follow my lead on this deal. You’ve already made things hard enough for me as is.”

“Made what hard? My paintings. My work. My deal, not yours.” It’s difficult, but I manage to keep my tone calm. Unaffected. “I’m thankful for your input and unsolicited help in the past, but you’ve more than overstepped once again. Your place in my life was that of a friend, not a manager. You don’t own me, and I’m neither a puppet nor a stepping stone to whatever top you wish to reach.”

“I won’t repeat myself. Back off.”

“And you need to leave. Now.”

“As you wish.” Walking past her, I head toward the front door and open it wide. She doesn’t leave me standing there for long, the slap of her flip-flops loud on my floor. I’m not looking at her as she pauses beside me, I don’t react when she takes my hand and gives it a squeeze before stepping through. “I’m going to give you a few days to calm down and see things my way. I need him, Gabby. Please don’t ruin our friendship by forcing me to do things that can’t be undone. Trust me on this.”

“I did once, and this is where it’s led me. Disappointed and hurt.”

“Life isn’t easy,” she says, while my hand grabs the doorknob, grip tight. “You’ll survive just fine, sweetheart. Trust me, there’s plenty of other dicks in the sea.”

“That’s the only thing I’ll agree with you on, Elise. There are plenty and life will carry on, but what won’t change is that Theodore didn’t give you the time of day then, and won’t tomorrow no matter what you do.” My words shock her and she takes a step back, just enough for me to slam the door, and that’s what I do. I’m not interested in her reply or seeing her at the moment. Her words have cut deep and behind the stoic facade, I’m wounded. Her words did their damage, and no amount of apologies at the moment or threats or whatever the hell else she has up her sleeve will make a difference.

Screw her. Screw everything.

The first tear falls and then another as her hand lands on the door, a slap, slap, slap that’s loud inside my home. I’m sobbing by the time Elise tries to open the door with her key, and my chest feels as though it’s caving when I slide the side bolt in place.

Another thing to add to my already packed schedule.

New lock. New paintings...

“I can’t sign with the Astor Gallery now.” Another hurt-filled cry leaves me at the thought. I’ve put so much of myself into each finished piece, forgoing a life outside of my studio, and this is the repayment. Elise made the contact for me and if I accept, I’m using her. I’d be as pathetic as she claimed. Grabbing my cell phone from the countertop, I send out a quick message and turn it off. “This is going to hurt my career.”

9

Theodore

I

’m going to have to politely decline your offer. I apologize for wasting your time. ~Gabriella

Her polite refusal incenses me, but more so because the words come across as lifeless. Almost bitter, and I have an idea of the why, and the culprit. Because Gabriella thought Tero left and drove toward my location, but the truth is, he didn’t.

Under my instructions, he stayed. He watched her house, and I was right in doing so.

Miss Scott just doesn’t understand the meaning of the word not interested. Not by the subtle rebuff, and much less by my outright hostility during brunch.

But then again, women like her live in a false reality where everything is catered, and the word no isn’t in their vocabulary. I’ve known her kind in the past. Have seen many versions over the years, but the most consistent is the one stepping on those closest to them while climbing social ladders.

“What do I do, boss?” Tero asks, tone curt. He’s very old-fashioned in that sense, believes that a man chases and the woman has the right to refuse or accept, while I’m in the somewhat alluring middle. I’ll never force Gabriella, but I will romance her—seduce and then cherish. “Because from the small argument outside, Miss Scott was here to warn her off and threaten the deal.”

“Is that so? Interesting.”

“That she believes she has sway?”

“That she showed her hand so early.” There’s more to her reaction. To her pursuit of me—the unwanted flirting—when I know of her behavioral problems in the past. I’m not the first gallery owner or rich man she’s flirted with; however, I am the first to show no interest or fuck her. “When will the report be ready? I need to be sure before I make my next move.”

“Tomorrow morning.”

“Then head home. We’re done for today.” Sitting back in my chair, I look out the floor-to-ceiling windows of my office and catch the final rays of sunlight. With each moment that passes, the bright colors turn dark and while the world starts its nighttime routine, I let the chips fall where they may right now. “There’s nothing we can do until we talk to her face to face, and I’d like to have some proof of my suspicions before then. Gabriella’s too sweet and would never think bad of her friend, no matter how hurt she is, but she needs someone to watch out for her.”

“And that’s you?”

“Yes.”

“As you wish. Good night, boss.” The line disconnects and I toss my cell aside, thinking through my options, the first being how to accidentally bump into her and start the conversation in an organic manner where she’s not on the defensive.

Moreover, I can only think of one option where this might be plausible...

The bakery she went to with Tero is his favorite, and I was told her sweet tooth is a weakness—something I’m banking on her imbibing in. Emotions can be a dominating thing and after the rough day she’s had, my best bet is to think she’d go through the desserts and want more.

This is my in:

Bump into her at the bakery.