Chapter 10

10

A ll I know is stepping back into my world shouldn't be as hard as it feels. Seven months ago, I was in a great place. I had a guy I loved who I thought loved me. I had finished art school at the top of my class and was trying to build a name for myself in the Parisian art world. Everything was perfect.

I met Claude a few months into starting school, and after that, nothing was the same for me. I went from being the quiet wallflower, more comfortable with a book or working on my art to being part of a social world you only see in movies.

I never went to frat parties. I never got drunk at a keg party or had a wild one-night stand with a hot football player. Yes, I realize much of this sounds like romance book clichés, and that's obviously where I'm drawing my comparison from.

My days were spent in my art classes, my afternoons working in Claude's gallery, and my nights in his bed. We'd go out to lavish dinners and exclusive parties with his art-world friends. I got swept up in the romanticism and sophistication of being with the famous, brilliant, and much older Claude Morceaux.

I worked hard, night and day to improve my craft. A craft that my lover told me wasn't quite ready for the big-time galleries and needed more development and skill. I was determined to get there and be just as successful as he and my mother were. I took his words as gospel. His guidance as my artistic bible.

And because I was young and he was older, and because my talent was burgeoning and his was masterful, and because I loved and idolized him so much, I lost myself. I was his, not mine. Only I didn't realize that until I left him and discovered I had to rebuild myself piece by piece without knowing where to start or how to do it when I felt so spiritually and creatively empty.

And insecure. There was that annoying piece of this too, only that part didn't last nearly as long as the rest has.

All that is bound to happen when your lover cheats—though he swore he didn't—and proceeds to speak down about your body and your work with the woman he cheated on you with, and then lies about what's your work and his. As if that's not bad enough, after you confront him about all of that, he flies into a rage, and you leave. Then when you return to get your things, heartbroken beyond words and comprehension, you realize he upped the betrayal ante to epic proportions and destroyed every single piece of art you spent your blood, sweat, and tears making.

It took me too long to understand that he was far more insecure than I was and that his actions were a byproduct of that.

Clearing that away, I start into the studio when my phone vibrates in my purse with an incoming text.

Owen: What time are you done with your studio thing?

Me: Three probably. Is that okay? Your mom said she was picking Rory up to take her to get ice cream since it's her first day.

Owen: Yes. That's fine.

That's it. That's how he ends it. Ugh. He's so Mr. Darcy. Everything about him is like Jane Austen's broody hero from Pride and Prejudice . The money, the caring for a young girl, the haughtiness. The hotness!

I shouldn't be surprised. We've been playing the hot and cold game since I started a little more than a week ago, though over this past weekend, it turned more cold than hot. Today is only my first day trying this. It's also Rory's first day of school. Owen went in late to work so he could take her, and I took the T here because it was just easier, and I knew Grace was picking up Rory.

My first week with her went exceptionally well, and so far, I'm loving being her nanny. Her father is a different matter, but we're both getting better at pretending nothing happened between us and are very firm that nothing will happen again.

After another minute of staring at my screen and debating if I should say anything else, I shove it back in my purse, refusing to be tempted. I take a look around, unsure which way I'm supposed to go. Owen offered me a spot in the basement in the unfinished area, and Rory and I had fun setting one up. It's a great space for clay work, but not so fabulous for painting. and painting is my first and primary love.

"Are you here to check out the studio or the gallery?" comes a male voice from beside me, and I turn straight into rich dark eyes attached to a handsome, dark-skinned face that's smiling at me with blindingly white teeth.

"The studio. I didn't make an appointment, though."

"Not a problem. But you look as though you're not sure if you want to stay or go. "

I laugh lightly at being so obvious that even a stranger picked up on it. "Because I'm not. You see, I graduated from art school about a year ago, and then seven months ago something not so great happened, and since then I haven't felt inspired, let alone had the desire to create anything. But I'm determined to change that because, despite everything, I do miss it." And why am I telling a stranger my every freaking inner thought?

"Ah. I see. First day back jitters. It gets easier. I promise. Where did you go to art school?" His warm smile hasn't left his face, and something about it puts me at ease.

"I went to school in Paris."

His eyes widen in appreciation. "Wow. That's very cool and different. I dream of going to Paris, but my boyfriend is more of a beach guy on vacation, and with him in only a bathing suit, I don't complain."

I laugh. "You'll have to show me pictures then."

He winks at me. "I only show him to people who make it through the door and into the studio. I can see how this would make you nervous if you've dealt with something not so pleasant. But you're here, and that's half the battle. You should stay and not go. I'm Billy, by the way. I own this place."

I blink and then sigh. "Of course you do. I'm Estlin. It's nice to meet you."

"Estlin. Gorgeous name for a gorgeous woman. What's your medium?" He puts his hand on the middle of my back and gently guides me deeper into the building.

"Painting is my main one. Acrylics, not oils or watercolors. And clay, but that's more fun than passion."

"Got it. We can work with either or both here. This is the studio."

We bypass the posh studio on the left and head right where everything is the opposite. Dirty and rough with paint-splattered concrete floors and a high open-rafter ceiling. There are about six or so people working in here, doing everything from throwing clay on the wheel to painting to sketching a nude model to working with metal.

"Right now, I have two open spaces for rent," he says as he walks me around, letting me take it all in. My blood hums through my veins and prickles my skin. I'm starting to feel it. That itch. That aching desire to create. "Each stall comes with a small safe, a sink that runs hot and cold water, and a fan if needed. If you require fire, we charge an extra fee to cover insurance and you need to provide the equipment."

"I won't need fire. The hardest thing I work with is occasionally marble."

"That's pretty badass, and our ventilation system is amazing, so if you do, dust isn't an issue. I have someone who works with wood, which I imagine marble is similar with that sort of mess."

I nod, taking it all in. "It's an incredible space."

"Thank you. I happen to agree. Still undecided? I can see your eyes swirling. In a good way."

"Definitely in a good way." I spin to him, giddy in a way I haven't been in so freaking long. I could rocket right out here with how high I'm feeling. "I'm in. But only if you show me a picture of your boyfriend."

He laughs. "You've got a deal."

"Awesome! Where do I sign?"

An hour later, he walks me out. Billy is a lot of fun, and we haven't stopped talking. It's a gorgeous day. The air is mild with a hint of the impending fall crisping the breeze. "So, are you a gym doer or a gym sign-up and never-goer?"

"Huh?"

He throws his arm around my shoulder. "Are you the sort who puts their money where their mouth is and does the work, or are you someone who pays the money and never shows up? I need to know what level of friendship I'm going to invest in here. "

I snicker and roll my eyes. "I'm a doer. I'm motivated. But more than that, I'm ready."

And I am. It's the best fucking feeling in the world.

"Fantastic. Then you can be my new friend."

I prop my hands on my hips, ready to sass him back when my name is called out. My head whips around, and I see Rory and Owen standing on the sidewalk by the edge of the street.

A smile splits my face in two and I wave. "Hey! What are you doing here?"

"We wanted to surprise you!" Rory screams back. "Look!" She jumps up and down and then points at Owen, who doesn't look happy at all to be here, surprising me. It takes me a second to realize she's talking about the car they're standing in front of, and my eyes go wider than the moon and my jaw drops.

Billy gasps. "Holy shit, who is that fine fucking man, and did he buy you a car?"

I can't help my small, nervous giggle. "Best surprise ever. I'll be right there," I call back to Rory. "That's my boss," I tell Billy without giving him Owen's name. "And the car is so I can drive his daughter around safely. I'm her nanny."

"That's a hell of a good gig you've got there, but he does not look happy right now."

I turn back to Owen, his eyes fierce and intense as they flicker back and forth between me and Billy, his jaw hard and his stance rigid. "Uh, well, that's just sorta how he is. Think Mr. Darcy."

"Girl, Mr. Darcy nothing. I know that possessive look on a man. He does not like me talking to you, and he definitely doesn't like my arm around your shoulder. Good thing I didn't have my hand on your lower back, or he'd crush me in that fist he's clenching."

I shake my head, turning back to Billy. "No. It's not like that."

"Uh-huh. Take out your phone. "

"What?" I question, scrunching my face up at him.

"Just do it. Take out your phone because I want you to text me, so I have your number. And don't argue with me that it's on your paperwork because I don't care."

I cock an eyebrow at him but do it anyway, pulling out my phone from my bag and texting him as he tells me his number. "There. Sent."

His phone buzzes, and he looks at his screen, smiling at me. He leans in and gives me a kiss on my cheek. "See you soon, Estlin. And if you don't believe me about your simply divine boss, take a look at his face now." With a wink and a self-satisfied smirk, Billy saunters off and I have no choice but to head over to Rory and Owen.

Hoisting my purse higher on my shoulder, I reaffix the smile on my face and skip over to them. "This is such a fun surprise. Thank you for coming to pick me up."

Owen doesn't speak, but if I thought he looked tense and displeased a moment ago, that has nothing on him now. He's so cold, so controlled, so detached, but the anger burning him up is cracking a fissure in his brutal armor.

Rory gives me a hug that I immediately return while ignoring her father. "How was your first day?"

"Fun." She starts to tell me all about it, everything from her teacher's name to the other kids in her class, to where her cubby for her backpack is, to who sits at her table. "Daddy surprised me too, and we wanted to show you the new car for us."

I stand to my full height, taking in the large, black, expensive as fuck Range Rover. "It's incredible," is all I can manage. Finally, I look over at Owen, his blue eyes blazing and his lips unsmiling. "Hi."

He doesn't say hi back.

"Thank you for coming to pick me up."

Still nothing. Okay then. That's how this is going to be .

"Grandma is going to meet us at the ice cream store."

"That's so fun. Let's go."

Without a word, Owen walks away, moving into the street and climbing into the front driver's seat with an elegant grace few men possess let alone can pull off.

Fuck. He's pissed. But… why? I mean… yeah, I'm not quite getting it. We said professional. We said we'd act like that night never happened between us.

"Kiddo, let's get you in and buckled up." Rory is oblivious to her father's foul mood as I open her door and she climbs in. We get her buckled, and then reluctantly I slide into the front passenger seat, shutting the door with a heavy click and taking in the extreme luxury of the car.

It's the middle of the afternoon, the sun is high in the sky, and traffic is light since it's not yet rush hour.

"Rory, I'm going to turn up the music back there for you," Owen tells her.

She cheers from her booster, already singing along loud and proud while I'm upfront trying not to visibly cringe or shift.

"Did you like the studio?" he asks, his voice icy and low.

"Yes, thank you. I ended up renting a space. It was nice of you to take the afternoon off to pick me up."

"Well," he says. "I wanted to surprise Rory, and she wanted to surprise you since the car came in."

Gulp. I can practically feel the tension pour off him in waves.

"Do you not like the studio in the basement?"

Oh. Is he… hurt? Somehow that doesn't seem right. I slide closer to him, trying not to breathe in too deeply. His scent, I've learned, creates a Pavlovian response in me. I smell him and I'm instantly wet.

"I love the space in the basement. The lighting is fantastic, and there's a lot of room and even an old sink that works. It's everything. "

"But you plan to work here?"

"I plan to work in both spaces. I think the basement is perfect for my clay work, and the studio will be good for painting with all the natural light. I signed a monthly contract. It's been a very long time since I've worked, and since I used to solely work in the studio where I lived, I thought this might be just the separation I need."

"Why do you need separation like that, and why has it been so long since you've worked?"

Annnd I'm an idiot. "The family I nannied for made working on other things difficult since the children were so young."

I'm lying and he knows it, but he lets it slide. We're silent for another two blocks when his grip tightens on the wheel and he finally asks, "Who was the man you gave your number to who kissed you on the cheek?"

Here we go. I sit up a little straighter. "He owns the studio."

"Oh," he remarks, though there's no surprise or inflection in his voice. He's so controlled, but his animosity is starting to fissure through that control. "You met him today. As in just this afternoon?"

I grit my teeth, not liking where this is going. "Yes."

"Interesting. So you gave the owner your number and let him kiss you. Even though you had met him only an hour or so before that."

Bastard. "Yes. Did I not explain that clearly enough the first time you asked?"

"I'm just surprised, is all, though maybe I shouldn't be. You did more with me in less time. Still, that sounds like a bit of a conflict of interest to give him your number and let him kiss you, but I don't work in the art world. Or maybe a special deal is what you're after with him."

This motherfucker. "That's not what that was," I snap, growing angrier by the second. "On either account. Why are you being like this?"

He shakes his head as if even he doesn't know the answer to that. I could tell him that Billy is gay and has zero interest in me and that the number and kiss were to prove a point, but Owen doesn't deserve that level of explanation.

He doesn't say anything else, and neither do I, and I can't help but wonder if things will smooth out between us from here or if this is the start of a brewing storm.