Art of the Lie (12 page)

“I was wondering why you didn’t have a contract ready Thursday? I don’t really mind, because I wasn’t sure I was ready to sign a contract. And I don’t think you’re trying to take advantage of me or anything like that. But I thought a contract was what you wanted.”

“It is,” Paul agreed. He was slicing a ribbon-thin piece from his filet mignon and using it to dab just the right amount of béarnaise sauce from his plate.

“Well, then?”

“Is it what
you
want?”

Lindy thought about it as she sipped her chardonnay, appreciating the strong vanilla notes and the hint of peach in the finish. “I guess so. I would be crazy not to jump at the chance, right? Everybody seems great to work with. And I’ve heard nothing but good things about the company. I even shop at Red House when I can afford it.”

Paul grinned. “As a designer you could probably swing samples of anything you wanted. We could even write that into the contract.”

“Oh, that’s tempting.”

“And that right there—what you just said—that’s why I didn’t bring out a contract on Thursday.”

She could see the hint of regret in his face as he said it, but still wasn’t quite sure what he meant.

“What’s wrong with finding samples tempting?”

“Nothing. But you’re still only tempted. You’re still trying to be convinced.” Reaching across the table to squeeze her hand, as if to emphasize that he was okay with it, he continued, “The thing I haven’t heard from you is ‘Where do I sign? When do we get started? Let’s talk terms’. You’re not eager to do this, Lindy. Even though you think you should be, you’re not.”

Lindy started to protest, but shut her mouth when she realized Paul was absolutely right. She had been to meetings, she had talked about designs, she had thrown ideas out there. But the one thing she had never done was ask to sign a contract, or say she was ready to do so. She’d been hedging all along.

“I guess I was expecting you to make the first move,” she said at last.

“And you know, with anybody else I already would have. I will right now, if that’s what you want. I’ll call up legal and have the papers in my office within ten minutes. It’s been drafted up and ready to go for weeks.”

“Oh! Well, that’s…I don’t know. I guess I could read it and—”

“See?” He gave her a wry smile. “You’re not ready to do this. And that’s perfectly okay. Although yes, when you do end up a famous designer, you should definitely read over any contract before you sign it. And get a lawyer to read it over too.”

“You’re right.”

“I know. It’s my curse.” He popped the bite of beef into his mouth and rolled his eyes in pleasure at the flavor.

Laughing, Lindy shook her head at him. “So now what?”

“Well,” Paul suggested, “I’d love to know why you aren’t ready, for one thing. Because you know, you should be. Talent-wise. You’ve got plenty of ideas. I think it’s just the business part that’s got you worried.”

She smiled and shrugged. “I guess so. I’ve only just really started to stand on my own two feet out here. And it’s a good feeling. It was scary at first, because it was so much to learn. But now I sort of like it. I think you’re right, though, I think I don’t want to stretch myself too thin and risk messing up my ability to do art for a living because I don’t know the business end well enough yet. The extra money’s not worth that to me. Not right now, anyway. Besides, I never expected to make much money at this in the first place.”

His answer wasn’t what she was expecting.

“You know, Melinda, I envy you.”

“You envy me? I don’t see how that’s even possible.”

“Really?” Paul tilted his head to the side and grinned that puckish grin again. Lindy found it very cute. She suspected that many women found it devastatingly so. “To me it seems obvious. I envy you because you actually had the chance to find that out about yourself. You figured out what you wanted to do, and you’re going for it all on your own, at your own pace. That’s incredibly brave. I can’t imagine taking that kind of risk. I’ve never had to do that.”

“You could have done something else,” she pointed out. “Gone into something other than the family business.”

“True. But I like the family business. I never took that risk because I never really wanted to do anything else. And I’m grateful for that. But I can still admire somebody else for taking that leap.”

“Thanks, I guess. So with anybody else you would have pushed for a contract, but not me, huh?”

Paul winked. “You’re not anybody else. How’s the salmon?”

“Delicious,” she replied, taking a bite. It was mouthwatering, really. The wine was superb. Later, Lindy would also enjoy a dessert involving a cake sort of thing with layers of crunchy meringue and dark chocolate that tasted pretty much like a candy bar having an orgasm in her mouth. So all in all, another noteworthy date.

Paul walked her to her door again, waited for her to unlock it and kissed her hand as he had the last time. Then he leaned in and kissed her lips very gently and carefully, and very, very thoroughly. By the time he was through, Lindy was backed up to the door and Paul was deep inside her personal space, and both of them were breathing more heavily than was probably safe.

“So,” he said, resting his forehead against hers and stealing another brief kiss before he continued. “So. That shouldn’t happen until we’re done figuring out the contract thing.”

“Right,” Lindy agreed, closing her eyes and trying to regain her sense of balance. “I thought the contract thing was settled.”

“No, I’m planning to make a counterproposal to your refusal of the original offer,” Paul explained. He ran his hands from her shoulders down her arms, twining his fingers in hers. “It’s a big secret. Very hush-hush. Don’t tell the others.”

“My lips are sealed,” Lindy said, and blushed as she remembered the circumstances of the last time she’d said that.

“Good. That’s good business practice,” Paul said with a nod, moving away a little and releasing her hands. “Better business practice than, you know…what I was doing.”

“I was doing it too,” she reminded him.

“True. Well, I have to go. Because I shouldn’t stay. But I’ll call you Monday. Or maybe tomorrow. No, Monday, from the office. Okay?”

For the first time since she’d met him, Paul looked uncertain. Lindy couldn’t help but smile. He was kind of cute when he had no idea what he was doing. He was kind of cute all the time, really. Any minute now she expected a repeat of the sensual jolt she’d gotten when he glanced her way at the gallery.

“Okay by me. You know the number. Thanks for dinner, it was wonderful.”

He grinned and waved, backing away down the hall instead of turning around. “Yes it was. So, Monday.”

“Monday.”

It wasn’t until she was safely inside with the door locked behind her that Lindy’s smile faltered. She lifted a finger to her lips but the sensation had already faded. Just the memory lingered, of the movie-perfect moment they’d shared. Following the wonderful date with great conversation and possibly the best meal she’d ever had. And the novelty of watching the valet pull up and look enviously at Paul’s midnight blue Jag as he handed the keys back over.

The date was perfectly lovely. She had enjoyed the kiss. And Paul was cute.

And that was all.

Lindy had hoped that losing her virginity would help her feel more confident in all her relationships, help her move on and get past the shyness that had kept her from too many opportunities in the past. But as an unexpected side effect of awakening her sexuality, she realized she now also knew when she
wasn’t
interested in having sex with someone. Even when she really wanted to be interested.

She took her jacket off and rested her back against the chilly metal of the sliding door, hoping the cold would jolt her out of her funk. But she was too keenly aware that just a door and a hallway and another door and a few more steps away, Richard was probably watching a movie. Or trying to work. Or even kissing a girl, for all she knew. He was certainly entitled to do that.

Lindy hated that the idea made her stomach churn.

* * * * *

Paul’s counteroffer turned out to be the deal Lindy couldn’t refuse. A simpler, straightforward buyout of a specific number of designs, and instead of being marketed as “Melinda Moore for Red House”, they would be sold under the “Red House Collection” label. The tags would also bear the line “by Melinda Moore” but in much smaller print. And she would be under no obligation to supply further designs, nor would designs be optioned; future deals would be negotiated separately. There was a very generous lump-sum payment involved.

“You know I still want to talk about a package of designs for the fall, though, right?” He was walking her down to her car from his office, probably more slowly than he would have done with most of his business associates.

“Yes, Paul, you’ve mentioned that. About five times now.” She grinned at his sheepish expression.

“Just making sure you know,” he demurred. “By the way, Stephen’s not happy about this deal. He really wanted options on your future work.”

“Should I be flattered?”

“Definitely. But I think he’ll come around. This is simpler, better. I think we were so gung-ho for changes when I took over for my Dad, we might have lost sight of some priorities for a little bit. Slow growth isn’t as thrilling as branching out all over, but it probably suits the company a little better. And it’s definitely a lot less stress.”

Smiling, Lindy remembered what Stella had said about Paul, and was pleased she would be able to report back to her mentor favorably. Paul really did know Red House’s strengths and was willing to play to them even if it meant the company stayed small.

When they reached Lindy’s car, Paul opened the door for her. “So you’re going to meet me at the movie theater at eight, no dinner first?” he asked. “Should I be worried?”

Lindy shook her head. “Absolutely not. My cousin just wants to talk. Normally she calls my sister Tess first for that, but I think Tess probably gave her an answer she didn’t want to hear. So I’m next in line.”

“Is this all that unloading you mentioned?”

“Sort of,” Lindy said. “Usually Allison is one of the sane ones. I mean, she’s a psychology professor. Not that you necessarily have to be sane for that, but it helps. But right now she’s being sort of
emo
.”

“
Emo
?”

“
Emo
. You know. ‘Cheer up,
emo
kid’?” At his blank expression, she tried to explain. “
Emo
, as in emotional in the extreme. Melodrama plus ennui plus self-pity. Traditionally with stringy hair falling in your face and an iPod full of whiny soft punk. It’s a big look around the art schools. And Ally isn’t really
emo
, she’s just thinking too much about a guy, but it’s starting to get annoying. Wow, with this much explanation it just isn’t an amusing pop culture reference at all.”

“Ah. Well, you learn something new every day, I guess.”

“I’m sorry that
emo
was your only new thing today. I’ll try to think up something better for when I see you at eight.”

Paul laughed as he handed her into the car with the lightest brush of a kiss on her cheek. “I’ll be eager to see what you come up with.”

* * * * *

A few hours later, outside Allison’s apartment building, Lindy was frowning up at the night sky. It was unleashing a light drizzle on the hair she’d spent over half an hour straightening before her meeting with Paul, and she didn’t have an umbrella with her. She flipped up the collar of her black trench coat and broke into a jog to make it to her car a little faster, cursing when her heel caught in a crack in the sidewalk and she pitched forward onto her hands and knees.

“Fuck!”

As soon as she said it she looked around, hoping nobody had seen or heard. The sidewalk was empty, though, and she was able to limp to her car unobserved.

Her heel was ruined, her hem was soaked, her hair was a frizzled mess and there was no way she could show up for a date with Paul looking like this. Cursing again, she picked up her cell phone.

Fortunately Paul was understanding and there was a slightly later showing of the movie they’d planned to see. Lindy ended the call with a sigh of relief. She would have just enough time to go home, change clothes and do something with her hair.

Driving slowly in the strengthening rain, she thought back to her conversation with Allison. With any luck, Allison had taken Lindy’s advice and was even now on her way to Seth’s house to sort things out. She was obviously in love with Seth, and it shouldn’t take a genius to see that. But Allison, who probably
was
a genius, had needed to have somebody else point it out for her. Sighing, Lindy wondered what hope there was for the non-PhDs.

Lindy knew she wasn’t a genius herself, and particularly not when it came to love. Here she was dating one of the most prized catches in the state and all she could think about was the reprobate bohemian who lived in the decrepit loft across the hall. Who was she to lecture anybody else about matters of the heart?

Not that she’d seen much of Richard lately. Since her show, in fact, she could count the number of times she had seen Richard on the fingers of one hand. Fleeting glances mostly, and one brief, strained conversation about nothing much while waiting for a free dryer in the laundry room. He seemed even more preoccupied than usual and it worried her, but given the history they shared now, she was reluctant to approach him, even to ask what might be wrong.

Lindy suspected she knew what was wrong anyway. He was avoiding her, just like he always avoided his conquests after sleeping with them. That had been a known risk.

What she hadn’t anticipated was how much she would miss him.

Chapter Nine

It was hard work this time around. Richard looked at the tracery of fine blue lines on his canvas with a grim satisfaction. He didn’t know if it would lead to something good. He didn’t know if the final work would even resemble the faint sketch of a sketch he’d accomplished in his free time over the past few weeks. He just knew it was a start, and for now that was enough.