Deceived - Part 2 Paris (11 page)

***

It was Monday; the start of a new week and Ryan had kept me busy the last two days with more preparations for the next artist who was to be featured in the gallery. Anxiously drumming my fingers on the office desk, I was up to my ears in work, yet cognizant, as one hour melted into the next that Francisco hadn’t called. Not a text, not a word. I made a mental note to myself, as I checked my watch for the hundredth time. He was more the phone calling type than texting anyway, a little old fashioned in that sense, somewhat chauvinistic at times, and a little rough in the bedroom. However, I brushed it off as being a cultural difference and something that could be improved, if this relationship were to go deeper, keeping in mind that he was the sensitive type and he was oh, so charming with those sexy green eyes. I had to press my legs together to stop the tingle that erupted down between my thighs.

As if my craving had summoned him, Francisco appeared leaning against the frame of my door, arms folded across his chest, his eyes were hooded like those of a hawk. He stood there, handsome as ever, silently waiting to see my reaction. “Well, hello there stranger. Where have you been? You didn’t call....” I sighed leaning my elbow on the desk, resting my chin in my hand.

“You look beautiful as ever my lovely one and I’ve been busy working. When I work, you see, I throw myself completely into it. I told you I had a commissioned piece, besides, I don’t call women, they call me.” He winked with a grin.  

Damn him.
 He did it again. Twinkle, twinkle, a charming smile and my pants fell off. “Actually, I’ve been busy too...swamped with marketing
your
paintings to the locals so you owe me big time buddy boy,” I said tilting my head and raising a brow.  

Dropping his arms, he stepped forward to my desk, and planted a sweet hello kiss on my lips. As he drew back, a long strand of sandy blond hair fell in his eyes and I raked my teeth across my lower lip as if to suck in every last taste of him.
Day-um!
I wanted more of Mr. Fancy Pants! “When can I see you again?” I heaved breathlessly as the musk of his cologne filled my nostrils.

“Ah...bella...I would love to spend every minute of the day, enraptured by your beauty, but I must work,“ he purred into my ear, as he traced the edge of my jaw with his fingers. A delightful shiver ran up my spine, but while registering it, I saw Ryan standing in the doorway. Francisco hadn’t noticed him and continued, “We can see each other as soon as I’m finished with the commissioned piece. I have a friend, Julian, who plays in a band at Le Viper at the Hotel Plaza Athenee. We should go and hear him play on Wednesday.” His attention was all on me and he still hadn’t noticed Ryan standing there. I blushed and cleared my throat as a signal that we were not alone.

“Francisco, glad you stopped by,” Ryan piped up, his face unreadable.

“Ah, Ryan. I came by to check on how things are going with my sales. Are we making a lot of money?” Francisco said, turning to give Ryan a peck on each cheek, Parisian style.

“Yea, well, we certainly have a lot of people interested and a couple have already reserved some paintings. I hope that they will bring their checkbooks soon. Everyone loved your “Reclining Woman” piece. I have three people wanting to buy it. We need more like that Francisco.”

“Aye, but you can’t force art. You can’t commercialize real art. I am not a businessman, I am an artist...I paint what I feel. I do not like “suits”. It clouds my imagination to be around too many suits all the time. You are the suit, I am the artist.” Francisco arrogantly proclaimed.

“Yes...yes... of course Francisco. That’s the plan. You paint and I’ll sell the shit out of it,” Ryan said furrowing his brow and rolling his eyes with a “what a prima donna” look for me.

“Good… good. We make a great team,“ he said exuberantly. “I must go now, I have a hot date with a paintbrush,” he said shooting a smile in my direction.

I rolled my eyes and smirked as Francisco exited the office in a swoosh.

“He’s like a charming tornado, isn’t he?” I chuckled to Ryan. The expression on his face changed, shrouded in a dark musing. “What is it?” I looked at him thoughtfully with large eyes, as he sat down in the chair, leaning forward nervously.

“Look Chloe, you know I care about you. I think of you like a sister and I can see you are falling for this Francisco guy, after all, he
is
very charming and well, drop dead gorgeous. I mean, I'd do him in a minute,” he said.

“I know, I know. I saw how you flirted with him that first day.” I bit my lip to stifle a grin.

His expression stilled and grew serious. “He’s been coming on strong and I can see the stars in your eyes when you look at him. However, let me give you a little advice. I’ve heard around town from the friends I've met here, that he has a fiery temper and has been almost violent at times, if you know what I mean. Just be careful my sweetie,” Ryan said in a voice rapt with concern.

The lighthearted glint evaporated from my eyes. I tucked my chin to my chest and furrowed my brow. I didn’t believe that to be true. There is a lot of competition among artists in Paris, and Ryan’s friends could just be blowing smoke, because they envied Francisco’s talent and success.

I pursed my lips. “Look Ry. We’re buds and all and I really appreciate what you just said...but I'm a big girl.  And I can take care of myself,” I said offhandedly. “Don’t worry about me. I’m just using Francisco to get over Patrick. As a matter of fact, I’m using him as much as he’s using me,” I said turning my nose up in the air and waved my hand as if I didn’t care. Although, inside I did care.

“Chloe, I want you to know that whatever happens, I’m on your side girl,” he sighed as he rose to his feet. “Well, love. I have work to do.” Holding my shoulders with firm hands, he planted a chaste kiss on my cheek and breezed out of the office.

As I turned my attention back to the unread emails I had ignored, I did a little soul searching. Usually, I’m pretty good at figuring people out. I mean, I’m good at reading people, reading their intentions and when I first met Francisco, I had a deep gut reaction. Normally, intuition always has our best interest at heart. It’s a voice that can tell us who is friend and who is foe, but often gets distracted by fear. My fear was that if I didn’t find a love to replace Patrick’s, my heart would be eternally broken.

Tonight, the entertainment arena would be one of Francisco's favorite hot spots, and the summer Paris air was filled with expectations. For me, the city of love had brought a sandy-haired Spanish artist with a dozen lustful promises sparkling in his sea-green eyes. Couples huddled at tables, leaning in like lovers, a man with a mustache tipped his drink back, sucking the last drops of vodka from his ice-cubes. A waitress, her full breasts a sneeze away from falling out of her top, delivered cocktails to our table.  The heavy bass of the music was thumping and bumping through my body, as I lingered close to Francisco. He peeled off a twenty-Euro bill and held it up to the girl between his fingers like a cigarette. She smiled broadly; painfully aware of his handsome good looks and practically wet herself before turning to leave. I looked over at Francisco, his eyes still tracking her ass as it wiggled away.

“Hey, I’m over here,” I said a little rebuffed by his actions.

I liked this place. I liked it a lot, but Francisco's behavior was eating holes in my self-esteem like moths on a sweater. With our arms hooked at the elbows, we leaned into each other, pushed close by groups of people crowding around the table, the flickering red tips of their cigarettes spiraling like glow sticks in the dark. The small dance floor pulsated with sweaty bodies, the summer heat impossible to escape. I had worn the least amount of clothes possible, a glittery white spaghetti strap top and a soft, stretchy skirt that hugged every curve of my rump. My long hair was swept up, with two long wisps framing my face, as usual.

“Do you like the band?” he yelled, trying to out-shout the blaring music.

“This band is ....” I could barely finish my sentence when two obnoxiously hot Parisian hotties pressed their way through the crowd, spilling onto our table.

“Francisco, honey,” they gushed at him. “We saw your works at the gallery. We love them,” they squealed fawning all over him. “Call us next time you want to party.” They gestured with their hand to their ear, like talking on an invisible telephone. “Mwah. Mwah.” They each kissed him on both cheeks, French style and trotted away, giving him a fluttering finger wave and blowing a kiss. I rolled my eyes.

“Do you know them?” I asked, the green-eyed monster raising its ugly head.

“Argh, them? Just some groupies, roommates I use to...er...um...hang out with. But who cares. Where’s the fucking waitress?” he said exasperated and drew his lips in. “I’m going to the bathroom. You get us a bottle of wine from the bar,” he said sternly as he shoved his chair back.

“Whatever,” I mumbled. I sat there blank and perplexed as he dropped a twenty on the table and disappeared through the crowd.
What’s got his panties in a bunch?

Shaking my head I shouldered my way to the bar, catching a few “check her out” looks along the way. Money clutched in hand, I sidled up to the bar trying to flag down the bartender in vain. The music pounded and the crowd swarmed the bar like bees to a hive. 
Good luck getting this guy’s attention any time soon.
I leaned both elbows on the bar, in an effort to give respite to my aching feet from my hot pink glitter stiletto heels. Maybe Ryan was right after all. Maybe Francisco
was
bad news, much like the pain in my feet.
     

An elbow jabbed me in the side and my first reaction was to turn around and punch whoever it was, straight in the mouth, when a pair of deep blue eyes were suddenly right in my face. “Excuse me. I was just checking to see if the front is as beautiful as the back,” he said with a gleaming white smile. “I was wrong. It’s more beautiful.”

“What? Oh...thanks...I guess.” That was a cheesy opening line, but his sapphire blue eyes made up for it. Plus, it was refreshing to be getting attention again tonight, since Francisco seemed to have lost his for me.  

“So, can I buy you a drink, gorgeous?” He asked, getting in my face.

“No thanks. I’m actually here with someone. All I need is to buy a bottle of wine,” I said looking away awkwardly, wishing Francisco would reappear from the restroom.

“Don’t be like that sweetie. I saw you checking me out from over there.”  

“Well, if you saw that, then you saw my boyfriend, so please, fuck off.”  

“Oh come on, you’re advertising those titties and you’re putting me off? He said, while he reached his hand behind me to lean on the bar, trapping me in between.

Before I had a chance to shove him off, I heard Francisco shouting, “What the hell are you doing? I can’t leave for two minutes and you are already all over some other dude?”

“What are you talking about? This guy was totally hitting on me and you say
I’m
to blame? Get a reality check!” I glared. My blood was boiling and old blue-eyes slithered out, before he would get caught in between the two of us.
 
“And furthermore, you asked me here as your date, then you totally flirt with every woman you see, while treating me as your waitress. Fuck you!”

His nostrils flared and his eyes blazed as he growled, “We're outta here.” Grabbing my wrist, he yanked me out the open back door of the bar, my small party purse doing a loop-de-loop, wildly swinging from my arm.

“Get the fuck off me, jerk!” I shouted as I felt the burn of my skin under his tight grip. I tripped along in my high heels the best I could, following him out into the alley, wondering how the hell I was going to get away from this psycho.

“You fucking whore...what are you doing talking to that loser? You should be lucky just to be with me. Every girl in that place wants me...but you, you come dressed here like a hooker trying to get the attention of every loser guy in the bar.” His eyes were dark and threatening and his words stung like bullets to my heart. What happened to being his beautiful lady, worthy of painting?

As he dragged me further down the narrow dank darkness of the alley, fear gripped my mind. I knew he could easily overpower me if he wanted. My brain screamed,
Get away! Get away! Run!
But my normally agile feet lost all coordination in these shoes and my body contorted, causing me to lose my balance. All I could do was let him pull me further down the alley into the darkness, out of earshot and away from any safety as my mind raced with thoughts of an escape plan. If I said anything else, it would just egg him on and increase his anger. He was freaking flipping out.