Chased by the Billionaire 1 (7 page)

I think for a moment or two I nodded
off standing there in the kitchen. I guess Dory had had enough of
me just standing there and stood on my feet, her paws up on my
shins, growling like a cute little beastie.

I reached down and picked her up,
grabbed a bottle of Evian from the fridge and went off to my
bedroom. I put Dory on the bed, slipped out of the Dior dress and
then hung it up in my closet. I’d get it dry cleaned and properly
stored in a new garment bag when I sent out my dry cleaning on
Thursday.

I removed my makeup, combed out my hair
and then slid under the covers with Dory. She curled up against my
hip while I checked emails on my laptop: a couple confirmations of
bills that were automatically paid; a reminder from Lance about
tomorrow’s appointments; and two booty-call e-mails from some past
hot times—I sadly had to send them “I’ll be out of town”
declines.

What good would it be to crash and burn
with men who knew the old sex goddess me?

And anyways, they’re not
the…

They’re not the man you
want?

I bit my lip and closed up my
laptop.

I didn’t want to think about what I
really wanted. I really wanted a condo on the ritzy Gold Coast of
Chicago. I really wanted the Chicago Art Council to offer me a
chair on their committee—not just invite me to their stupid
ball.

And you want Jackson
Burk.

No. I do not want Jackson
Burk.

I don’t want to ever see, hear
or…

Taste?

Touch?

Argh!

I don’t want anything to do with the
bastard!

Of course you
don’t…

No. I don’t.

But I kept flashing back to the way he
had looked at me. Like he used to look at me before that night in
my dorm room.

Before I’d ruined it all...

I shook my head. I hadn’t ruined
anything. He was the asshole that walked out on me.

Just because he suddenly shows up and
wants to see me again doesn’t mean anything.

Nothing at all!

I reached over for my super secret
stash of Dove milk chocolate minis—they’re inside the fake Faberge
egg next to my iPhone recharging station—and popped one in my
mouth.

Heaven…

I grabbed my TV and Roku remotes,
clicked to what I wanted and then snuggled down in my covers. Dory
wriggled until she was comfortable by my side.

A giant pink cartoon neon sign flashed
on the screen and eighties synthesizer music blared.

The word was
Jem
, and the J was topped
off with a bright pink star that shattered as the theme song
to
Jem and the Holograms
began and I sang along.

Don’t judge me! In a world
where cartoons are made for boys of all ages, but only for
little
girls, a young
woman has little to choose from—but with an internet connection she
can find what others have left behind.

Jem was one of those things.

I savored the Dove chocolate melting on
my tongue as my favorite episode played.

The Bands
Breakup
.

Jem’s sister and band-mate, Kimber,
left the band and joined forces with Stormer, a member of the rival
band, The Misfits.

Every time Jem’s boyfriend, Rio, took
her in his arms I felt a tug in my chest.

I’ve watched this episode a hundred
thousand times in my lifetime, and nothing like this has happened
before.

I ended up turning
Jem and the Holograms
off
and surfing the Amazon Prime menu.

Shakespeare in
Love?

No.

He’s Just Not That into
You?

Big no.

Love Actually?

Hell no!

All good movies, but the last thing I
wanted was to think about romance.

Black List?

What’s that about?

“
James Spader’s mesmerizing
central turn as Raymond “Red” Reddington, who after spending 20
years brokering deals for the world’s most sinister criminals, now
helps the FBI catch them.”

I clicked on the current episode and
watched a semi cute couple during breakfast. The woman was distant
while the man cooked for her. He then knelt on one knee and asked
her to marry him… again.

Romance…

I rolled my eyes.

I was about to go back to surfing for
another show when the man left and the wife tore the apartment
apart in a riveting fit of anger.

Interesting…

Next she met up with Spader in some
sort of tactical room and started screaming at him to tell her what
he knows about her husband.

Ooh, a husband with a fabricated past,
who tricked her into falling in love with her.

The bastard!

I could so relate.

I watched that episode, really enjoying
the female FBI agent’s violent tendencies and James Spader’s
utterly charming performance, and then started the series from the
beginning.

I fell asleep with Dory on my chest and
the Roku remote in my hand.

Chapter
8

The next morning came. I can’t say I
had a restful night sleep. I kept having sex dreams, and the man in
them bore a striking resemblance to Jackson. But I had never seen
Jackson naked, so… there were parts of him that my mind made up for
me.

I needed to purge all
thoughts of Jackson Burk from my mind. So, I took a nice long early
morning run to cut my sexual stress. Getting laid in a dream only
makes
not
getting
laid in real life that much worse. The nervous energy was building
up like a pressure cooker.

If I didn’t release some of that
pressure soon, my lid would blow off… or something like
that.

So I ran for five miles
instead of my usual three, and then gave Dory her breakfast and a
much enjoyed brushing. I showered and changed into a gorgeous
caramel beaded halter cocktail dress by
Anthony Vaccarello
that came halfway up my thighs, a matching pair of Napa Laces
stiletto pumps by Tom Ford, and then picked out my color block
Fendi clutch.

I pulled my long hair up into a twist
on the back of my neck.

I looked cool and confident… even
though I was still antsy—my fingers kept fiddling with the hem of
my skirt—and feeling hot flashes from my run.

Or so I was telling myself.

Honestly, I really
did
think Jackson would
get the hint. He’s the one who ended it back at Dartmouth. And now
he was a grown man. He would leave me alone.

But about half past noon I felt a
little pang of disappointment that the gallery phone wasn’t ringing
off the hook with an irate Jackson on the other end.

But by one Lance and I had finished up
our take out Chinese lunches, and I’d emailed Jill about the
monstrosities hanging on my gallery walls.

She called me back at
one-thirty.

“
Trust me. The show will be
a success.” She sounded out of breath. “How did your appointment
with old Musty Pants go? Are you on the list?”

I bit my lip. “No, that old bastard is
a complete snob.”

Jill cleared her throat.

“
After your little zombie
turkey blunder,” I warned, “I’d be careful what you
insinuate.”

“
Insinuate? Me?”

“
Yes, you, Miss
Smarty-Pants. And no, you’re not changing the subject so fast. I
have rotting, man-eating turkeys on my walls. Even if every
Walking Dead
geek in
Chicago comes and buys one, it will still be in the papers, and the
critics and my fellow art dealers will eat me alive.”

Jill made a sound in between a groan of
pain and a moan of ecstasy.

What the hell was she doing?

“
Are you having sex?” Here I
was in the middle of a sexual drought that would kill most women,
yet my zombie-turkey loving roving-talent-scout was getting her
buck on like a…

Jill giggled. “No, boss lady, I’m
getting my back adjusted. I was just rock climbing with your next
new artist.”

I sighed. “Another new artist? I don’t
think I can take another new one.”

“
Trust me,” Jill said,
sounding chipper and refreshed—
maybe I
needed my spine realigned?
“This guy’s not
well known yet, but he will be. He’s… well, I’ve never seen such
radiance in a painter's work before.”

“
If I didn’t know better,
I’d think you were sleeping with this guy.” Which was practically
impossible. Jill was married, in love with her husband, and they
had a three year old daughter.

Yeah, but anything is
possible.

“
You have sex on the brain,”
she said. “You need to get that looked at before it
rusts.”

“
Jill…”

“
And I promise, you’ll be
heralded as the art dealer that discovered the next big art star.
Angel Lassiter.”

I scoffed. “Angel Lassiter? Is that his
real name?”

“
That’s what his mother
tells me.”

His mother?
“How did you meet his mother?”

“
I went to night school with
her sister, Marlena. I met Angel’s mother through Facebook and saw
one of Angel’s paintings posted on her wall. I’m sending it to you
now.”

My email pinged and I opened the jpg. I
leaned back in my chair and stared at the canvas before me. It was
of a lake at sunset, of a woman lying on the end of an old wooden
dock, her shoulders bare as she sat up on her elbows.

It’s an overused subject: a woman
sunbathing near a body of water. But the way the light illuminates
everything, even how she’s pushing her hair back with her free
hand, the elegant though realistic length of her bare legs, and how
the sun sets the pond ablaze in the background.

And all those exquisite
shadows...

All that mixed with vibrant colors
somehow muted to a perfect glowing patina.

I had to shake the daze from my voice
before I asked, “So when do I meet him? When can I see the rest of
his work? Does he have a site?”

“
No site. He was pretty mad
at his mother for posting the painting you just saw… but I got him
to see how much that was going to help him. He works as a welder
part time and never thought his paintings would see the light of
day.”

So this guy really was an
undiscovered talent.

“
Oh, and you’ll meet him at
Crawford’s showing in two days. He lives in Chicago, so you two can
set up a viewing then.”

“
Oh, great. I get to woo a
rising star with zombie turkeys on my walls? Why am I not killing
you again?”

“
Because I’m making you
loads of money, finding you brand new talent and you love
me.”

That was all true. She was great at her
job—the zombie turkeys notwithstanding—and I did adore her on a
personal level. That’s why I had snapped her up when my best friend
went on extended maternity leave.

But…

“
Well, I’m cooking tonight,”
Jill said in a satisfied, sing-song voice. “So I’m heading home.
I’m off to San Francisco on Friday. I have a hot lead on a widow
that paints amazing houses.”

“
She paints on houses?”
Maybe I was working her too hard. “Like murals?”

“
No, silly. She paints
houses she sees in real life, and changes things. Puts them in a
hurricane, sets them on fire, makes them fall apart. That sort of
thing.”

“
Oh. Well, have a nice night
with the family.”

“
I will. Bye.”

I put my cell phone down and then
realized that Lance had abandoned me and was cheerfully chatting up
a customer out front.

Someday that man was just going to take
the place over.

I checked my makeup, got up, smoothed
down my skirt, and went to see what he was doing.

I stopped at my partially open door
when I heard Jackson’s voice.

I felt a surge of pure joy travel
through my body. I gasped and took a few halting
breaths.

But then my brain caught up with what
was happening and I felt my hatred for the man rekindle. He just
didn’t get it. I never wanted to lay eyes on him again.

Maybe this time Lance would dislocate
something on him…

But I noticed that Lance didn’t sound
distant or threatening.

He was laughing.

He was flirting.

And, goddamn it… so was
Jackson!

Jackson Burk was flirting with my gay
assistant!

I peeked out the halfway open door and
saw the two of them. Lance was seated at the reception area and
Jackson was standing on the other side of it, leaning over it and
making meaningful eye contact with Lance, his smile simply
lecherous.