His By Design (22 page)

Chapter 21

She’d made it through. The Grand Opening was officially a thing of the past. It went amazingly well considering the dismal state of mind she was in.

Amanda gave Zoe a hug then left with Dev’s arm around her shoulders. Watching them walk away doubled the pain in Zoe’s heart. Yesterday she thought she would have that kind of connection with Jeff. Friends and lovers, the best of all possible relationships. Today her world was in ruins and the man she thought she could trust had kept secrets from her. Big, important secrets.

Zoe locked the front door and looked at her watch. Ten o’clock. No wonder she was exhausted. She’d planned to close at nine but two last-minute sales kept her busy. She was grateful for the sales but, since one of them was a painting by Jeff’s mystery woman, all of the deception she’d been able to ignore during the day came back full force. She dimmed the lights and headed to her office where Russ waited. She dreaded the talk they would have, but couldn’t see any way to avoid it.

She picked up the last open bottle of champagne, two glasses, and an untouched box of hors d’oeurves and went to face the music. Russ was at her desk using her computer. Zoe didn’t know or care what he searched for there. She gestured to the stairs. “Let’s go up to my apartment. I might as well confess to my crimes in comfort.”

“I’m not the police, Zoe, so don’t worry that anything we talk about will go any further. You know my history with Jeff so it’s obvious I’d like to help him out of this mess.”

Does that mean I can’t trust you either?

He shut down the computer and followed her up. “Nice place you’ve got here,” he commented as Zoe set the glasses and pastries on the bar.

Zoe looked around. Maybe coming up here wasn’t such a good idea. Everywhere she looked Jeff’s touches looked back at her. “Yeah, Jeff turned this into a beautiful home and studio. He’s very . . . talented.”

He’s also a deceitful, philandering prick. But hey, we all have our flaws, right?

She filled both glasses and sat at one end of the sofa. Russ sat at the other. “Before we get into anything . . . else, I want to thank you again for being here today. The gallery did a lot of business and I’m sure a great deal of it was due to your appearance and the buyers it drew.”

Jeff and his . . . friend? . . . lover? Ugh, should be very happy with their proceeds.

Russ shrugged gracefully. “You’re welcome. Glad I could help.”

Zoe rubbed her forehead and avoided his gaze. “I’m sorry you had to witness the whole . . . thing—she didn’t know what else to call it—with Fredrick Barker. I should have realized he’d do something to ruin the opening. He can’t bear the thought that I might actually succeed in making my dream a reality.”

“I’m not surprised. Fredrick has a reputation for less than honorable dealings with both artists and clients. So it goes without saying he’d be equally underhanded with his employees—and business partners.” He sipped his drink.

“You know Fredrick?” Zoe’s brows headed north.

“He and I had some business dealings years ago, when I was just getting started. He talked me into giving him a very large commission—since I was a young artist and relatively unknown at the time.”

“Yes, that sounds like Fredrick.”

“Yes. Well, I learned my lesson and steered clear of him after that, but the art community is a small world and news travels, particularly bad news. I’m curious how you came to be partners with Fredrick. Jeff told me you used to be his employee?”

Zoe picked up a pastry and nibbled on it. Anything to prolong getting down to the nitty-gritty of their talk. “Yes, I was his employee, but, no, he is not my partner—and never will be.”
Brave words, considering the mess I’m in.

“You made it pretty clear that you’re not fond of him, so why on earth did you enter into this deal?”

“Because I was a fool.” She swallowed the remains of her champagne and took a deep breath. “My dream was to create an artist’s community—like Santa Fe, or Ashville—and provide a showcase for local artisans. I mentioned it to Fredrick once and he almost fell on the floor laughing.” Her eyes narrowed as she remembered the day and the scorn he’d heaped on her ideas. “Like an idiot I bet him I could succeed—as soon as I had enough seed money. A few weeks later he took me up on my bet, still laughing, of course, which made me even more determined to prove I could do it.”

Arched brows and a sad shake of his head was Russ’ only reaction.

Yeah, I bet you don’t think I can do it either. But I can, and somehow, I will, damn it.

“The deal was pretty simple, or so I thought at the time. He’d loan me fifty thousand dollars to get started and give me a year to pay him back. If I couldn’t, the gallery would revert to him and I would be bound to work for him for a year. Oh, yes, and one other tiny detail. The painting I’d done for my mother, that he’d been trying so hard to buy from me, would be forfeit as well.

“And you thought you could make fifty thousand dollars profit in only one year? With a brand-new gallery in an unknown town?” Russ’ tone indicated how unrealistic her logic had been.

“After checking a number of banks I realized no one was about to lend me any money until I proved myself, but I figured in ten months I’d have done well enough to get a business loan and pay Fredrick back his investment.”

“I understand your plan.” He tilted his head and pursed his lips. “Very risky, but doable.”

“It wasn’t until after I signed the papers, found the town, and bought the building, that Fredrick dropped his bomb on me.”

Russ steepled his fingers and nodded. “Oh, yes. The catch. I knew there had to be one. Tell me.”

Zoe dropped her head. This was the hard part. If Russ had even a slightly good opinion of her up until now, this is where she’d lose it. She rubbed her palms on her thighs. “During the time I was learning the ropes, after Fredrick saw that painting I’d done for my mom, he had me make copies of some paintings by well-known artists. Usually smaller, less-popular works. I would do these as a way to hone my talent, he told me. So, when a client brought in a painting for restoration or cleaning that Fredrick liked, he’d have me make a copy before we returned it.”

Zoe couldn’t sit still. She got up and began to pace. “A week after I bought this building, Fredrick took me out to dinner to ‘celebrate.’ Afterward, he took me to his townhouse to show me something. One of my copies hung in his study. At first I was flattered that he felt my work was good enough to hang in his home. Then he . . . kissed me. I tried to rebuff him gently, but he grabbed me and I slapped him. He was furious, then he began to laugh. He’d have me soon enough, he boasted, once the gallery belonged to him and I was his employee again. I told him that would never happen.” She remembered his smirk and the silky voice he used like it happened yesterday.

“Oh, it
will
happen, Zoe, my dear, unless you want to spend some time in prison for art forgery.” He nodded toward the painting. “That is not your copy, Zoe. That’s the real thing. Somehow you managed to switch your copy for the original and once Judge Abernathy finds out he’s been duped, he won’t rest until you’re behind bars. I will, of course, recover the original from a storage locker I’ve rented in your name, much to the judge’s everlasting gratitude.”

Zoe poured herself another glass of wine and gulped it down. Her hands shook and her knees suddenly felt weak. She collapsed onto the sofa. “I’ve been trying to figure a way out of this, but now that he knows Jeff didn’t paint those pictures, Fredrick has even more ammunition to keep me in line. The one person I thought I could trust turns out to be a liar and . . . and . . . a fraud.” She couldn’t stop the flood of tears. She dropped her head and sobbed into her hands.

Russ took a linen handkerchief from his back pocket and passed it to her. “That’s quite a tale, Zoe. Quite a tale.”

“It’s not a tale,” she gasped through her tears. “It’s the truth!”

“I wasn’t doubting your veracity, Zoe, merely agreeing that you’ve gotten yourself into a very difficult situation.” Russ took the glasses to the kitchen. “Do you have the makings for coffee or tea? I don’t think more wine would be helpful at this point.”

Zoe dried her eyes and blew her nose noisily. At Russ’ startled reaction, she scoffed, “Yes, I’m not a delicate flower. Despite appearances I work hard, I play hard, I eat a lot . . .”

And I love too easily and too deeply.

She pointed to a cabinet. “Coffee’s in there. Sorry, I don’t have any tea. Here, I’ll do it,” she said and stood.

He waved her back to her chair. “I can certainly make a pot of coffee. You just . . . relax.”

“Relax! How can I relax? The man I love is living with another woman, my gallery won’t be mine in a few months, once the press gets a hold of the news that I’ve sold fraudulent art works, and I may go to jail myself for the same thing!”

Russ shot her a sympathetic glance then pointed to the mug on the counter. “Cream? Sugar?”

“Just sugar,” she answered miserably.

He set the steaming mug on the coffee table. “Dear, you’re a mess. Go wash your face. When you come back we’ll figure out how to deal with this.”

After he dropped Dev off at the gallery, Jeff drove home. He parked George’s truck
and went into the office. “George? Are you back there?”

“Wha? Who’s there?” The sound of the recliner’s footrest collapsing was followed by ice clinking against glass.

“It’s me. Jeff. I need to talk to you for a minute.”

“Well, come on back then.” The footrest re-engaged.

Jeff ducked under the counter and entered George’s room. Newspapers were scattered around the recliner and the table next to it held a half-empty bottle of Jim Beam and a cloudy glass. The television was tuned to a baseball game with the sound turned off. George was bleary-eyed. He’d been sleeping. Passed out, more likely.

“Don’t tell me that old biddy in Number Four plugged up her toilet again.” George squinted at him.

“No. Nothing like that, George. I just need to ask you a question.”

“Oh, okay.” George patted his shirt pockets looking for his glasses, which promptly slid down from his balding forehead with the motion. Vision restored, he picked up the bottle and poured himself a shot. “What do you need?”

“Has anybody been snooping around my place? Asking questions, maybe?”

George tossed down the liquor and contemplated the ceiling. “Well, there was someone. Had a white van parked by your place a few months back . . .”

“That was my dad, George. Anybody else?”

George thought hard and started to shake his head but held up a shaky finger. “There was that delivery guy. Said he had a package for ya. I told him he could leave it with me or with your sister. He said he tried but she wouldn’t answer the door and you needed to sign for it or somethin’. Anyways he took himself off and didn’t leave nothin’. Didn’t look like a delivery guy anyways, if you ask me. All suited up for a funeral like he was.”

So
that’s
how he found out about Jen. Naturally the bastard neglected to mention the sister part when he outed him to Zoe.

“Thanks, George. Sorry to bother you. I put your truck out back.”

“No problem. Not like I’ll be needin’ it any time soon.” He chuckled and poured another shot. “Make sure that ‘No Vacancy’ sign’s lit when you leave, will ya?”

Jeff nodded and left, flipping on the neon sign on his way out.
As if anyone in their right mind would consider staying here for the night.

Heart heavy, he walked down to the door to his studio and let himself in. Jen’s paints were out and a canvas sat on her easel, faint pencil marks outlining the scene she intended to paint. She’d been at the easel until she heard his key in the lock, he knew. He rubbed his eyes and took a long breath.

“Jen, it’s only me. You can come on out.”

The door opened instantly and his sister frowned at him. “Why are you home so early? The gallery hasn’t even closed yet, has it? Besides, I figured you and Zoe would be celebrating all night tonight.” She studied him as he sat on the stool in front of his workbench. “Okay. Tell me. How bad is it?”

“Pretty bad. Really bad, actually.”
Bad enough to get me thrown in jail.

Jen sank onto her stool. “Oh God.”

“Zoe knows I didn’t paint those pictures. That asshole who loaned Zoe the money to get started must have followed me here. He talked to George and said he had a package for me. When he didn’t want to leave it with him, George said he could leave it outside your door since you were my sister.”

“Oh crap. I remember him now. I told him to leave the package with George.” She flattened her hand against her chest. “I should never have said anything. I—”

“Jen, it’s not your fault. George told him all he needed to know. I’m not sure how he knew that you did the paintings instead of me, but he told Zoe positively enough that I figured there was no point to deny it.”

Jeff ran his hand through his hair, leaving it standing on end. He blew out a long breath. “You don’t have to worry, Bug. He didn’t say you were my sister. Just the ‘woman I was living with.’ That was enough to send Zoe over the edge.” Moisture rimmed his eyes and he scrubbed his face with both hands. “She looked so hurt, Bug. It tore me up. Russ and Amanda and Dev all just stood there and stared at me. Waiting for me to deny it. Say it was all a pack of lies. And I couldn’t do it. Zoe took my key and told me to get out.”

Now Jen’s eyes filled with tears. One more person he’d hurt. Again. No hope for that second operation now, especially if he was in prison. Shit. Piss. Fuck. He ought to be shot.

“This is all my fault,” Jen moaned. “If I just had the guts to show my ugly face to the world this would never have happened.”

“No, Bug. You know it was my idea, right from the beginning. I practically had to twist your arm off to get you to agree. No matter what happens to me, I’ll swear you had nothing to do with it. That I tricked you into giving me those paintings. It’s bad enough you have to give up your other surgery. Right now I’m not sure what that bastard Barker will do. Until I find out, you just keep a low profile, understand?”