Masterpiece (3 page)

Get a grip
,
Ell
e, I scold myself.

The gallery phone rings and Powers answers it, then disappears into the back office to
talk. Astrid
’s looking at me with a soulful expression I can’t quite
read.
She shoots a quick look towards the office door, which is
now closed.
“Elle,” she says earnestly, like she’s been planning what she’s about to say for a while. “We both know the only reason I get to keep my job is because I’m sleeping with the boss.”

I silently agree with her but don’t say so. I want to hear where Astrid’s going with this.

“You’re really good at this job, Elle,” she says. “
Really
good. You’ve got a killer eye for this shit, and I mean that. Every artist
you
find sells for much higher prices than either my picks or Powers’s – and
every single one
of the exhibitions you’ve curated has completely sold out, with crazy-ass profits
. Rain Ransom was
your
discovery.
You found her painting on that obscure website last year
, remember?
Powers reeled her in but it was you who found her.”

I’d had these thoughts myself, of course. I
’d even played around with the idea of asking for a raise at one point.
Now that I’d basically been fired I guess there wasn’t much chance of that happening.

“Elle, you should borrow the money and start your own gallery,” Astrid says. “
If you do, I’ll jump ship. If you’d want me, that is.
I’d do it myself but I don’t have th
e same kind of talent you have
. All it would take was one stellar opening show and you could probably make back
all the money it would take to start the business. Look at Rain Ransom – her paintings are selling for twenty thousand dollars each.
How much would it take to start a gallery? A hundred thousand?
One fifty?
Think
about it, Elle.
Twenty paintings at thirty percent commis
sion and you’re looking at
a hundred and twenty thousand dollars
. For
one
show.”

I’m a little gobsmacked by Astrid’s gush. She’s obviously given this a lot of thought.

“And you found Fleur Jensen, too,” she says. “
You
were the one who first saw her on that online gallery. Do you remember what you said about her? You said, ‘We should get her now before she gets too big.’
Do you know how rare that is? Do you know how lucky you are, to do w
hat you can do? To just take a line-up of paintings and say:
that
one.
That’s the masterpiece.
That’s
the artist that’s going to sell for megabucks.
T
he one who’ll hit the jackpot, out of all these other millions of paintings and painters who are trying to get noticed
.
I
can’t do that. Powers can’t even do that. We’re just
guessing
. But you
know
. You have a
knack
for it. You should totally capitalize on that knack.”

Wow, Astrid is
worked up.
She’s been plotting. S
tewing.
Things between her and Powers must be worse than I
thought.
She wants out of her relationship but breaking it off would also mean losing her job. I know how badly Astrid needs her paycheck, just like I need mine.

“At least think about it, okay?” Astrid says
. “Go to Montana,
Elle, and secure Fleur Jensen, if you can. But not for Powers. Get her for yourself.
Or get someone else. Someone even better.
”

Shit. Astrid is
desperate. Until now, I
’d never seen evidence of a vengeful bone in Astrid’s
lithe, pale-skinned little body.
But she’s serious. She’s
practically pleading. As if
I
might be her salvation.

It’s a strange turn of events.
Here I am, suddenly on the cusp of an impromptu journey that might turn out to be life-changing, in more ways than one.

“You really think I could do it?” I hear myself asking.

“Elle, I
know
you can do it.” We’re locked in this strange, intense little connection, with me sort of drinking in her encouragement and Astrid communicating a sparked urgency that practically shoots in flamboyant rays out of her eyes
. I
get the strange sense that Astrid is somehow relying on me.
Which i
s weird.

Until I realize she’s right.

Because the thing is: I know I can do it, too.

“You know I’d want you on board.”
I give Astrid a heartfelt hug. “I’ll let you know how it turns out. If I can sign her, we’ll work through all the details as soon as I get back.”

Without so much as a glance in the almighty Powers’s direction, I walk out of the gallery and take a left, towards the travel agency on the corner.

I’m on my way.

Chapter Three

The party’s in full swing
.
To celebrate my return to glory.

The only problem is, the last thing I feel like doing is partying. I’ve already accepted that I changed during my forced hiatus from the rodeo circuit.
The six weeks in
the hospital didn’t change
me. I
barely even remember most of that; I was too fucked up and too drugged up.

It’s the four and a half months between then and now that awakened some never-before-acknowledged corner of my psyche.
T
hose long days of recovery, when I couldn’t ride my horses or work the ranch, like I’d done every day of my
entire life. Those
days when I was left alone in my family’s house or in my solitary cabin, forced by circumstance to rest. Days when some crazy, newfound urge had been born in me, surprising me not only with the intensity of it but also the results.

I have a secret.

Not a secret, exactly, but a hidden talent I’ve only recently had the time to explore. I’m not quite ready to share this talent with the wider cowboy community I inhabit, but it’s on my mind.

All the time.

I find myself wanting to get back to it
now. T
o be alone. To think.

Which pisses me off.

This isn’t
me. I
’m an extrovert, a party boy, a fucking ladies’ man.
Not a
recluse with an urge to hide myself away and wallow in my new discovery.

“Hey,
Max.” It’
s Fleur Jensen, my
brother Travis’s girlfriend.
One of the two people, in fact, who knows about my
secret.
Travis knows
, too. Travis
is a year older than me and we’ve always been close.
Practically inseparable when we were young.
We’d both known Fleur since we
were kids. She’d grown
up on the ranch that bordered our own.
Then, she’d been a skinny little girl with white-bl
ond pigtails. Now, she was a gorgeous woman
with a cascade of long platinum hair and bright blue eyes.
Fleur’s beautiful but doesn’t flaunt it, like she’s unaware of her own radiance
.
She’s a painter who’s made a name for herself in the local art scene and is beginning to get some recognition from further afield.
“Congrats. That was some ride.”

“Thanks.” Fleur, I know, can
ride a bull better than most men.
Not that she’s interested in competing with men anymore, like she was
as a tomboy kid. Now s
he’s focused on her budding career as an artist.

“You coming tomorrow night?” she asks.

I
catch her eye. She’
s trying it on again, pushing me to do something I’ve already made clear I’m not about to do. Good thing she’s like a sister to me, or I
might’ve told her to fuck off. She knows this. She knows
she can get away with shit most people wouldn’t dare
suggest.
“No. Thanks for the invitation. But I’ve got some other stuff going on tomorrow night.”

“Like what?” She’s watching my expression, reading me
.
Knowing full well I’m avoiding the topic.

“Like jerking off,” says Travis, appearing out of the crowd. He slings
his arm around Fleur’s shoulders. “This hermit gig
is getting a little old, bro. What’s the big deal, anyway?”

“No big deal,” I say, finishing off the last of my
beer.
I glance at one of the many women eyeing me up. I can pretty much take my pick
.
I survey the open-plan living room of my
family’s house. It’
s a huge room, with a stone fireplace taking up most of the northern wall, high ceilings displaying a criss-cross of wooden beams and the hanging deer-antler chandelier. Expansive windows look out across the thousand acres of my
family’s ranch. The house i
s packed full of people, loud with music and conversation as the alcohol flows and the party gets looser.

As my attention roves, I can see that almost every woman in the room is aware of me, trying with varying degrees of success to get my
attention.
The rodeo hero is back on top. I know from past experience I’m practically irresistible to
women.
I’m 6’3’’ and built. With black hair and ‘striking’
dark-blue eyes, so I’ve been told. I
’m not overly arrogant about my luck in the looks department. Not really. I just accept it, and make the most of what I’ve
been born with.

My gaze lands on one of the voluptuous rodeo groupies. Her hair’s predictably blond, an obvious dye-job. But she’ll do
just fine for tonight.
It’s been too long since I bagged a groupie. Way too long. Since before the accident, to be exact.

She’s cute enough
. Eager as fuck.
As soon as I make eye contact, she smiles at me
.
Anything you want
, that smile says
.
“And I’m not planning on hiding myself away,” I say. “
Not alone, anyway.”

This
is me. A player. A hotshot. Not some pansy-ass creative type who spends my days inside, manic and brooding.

The groupie
walks over to me. As she gets
closer, I
almost shut her down. That hopeful, needy lo
ok on her face never fails to inflame my scorn. Sure, I’m the dominant type who always gets my
way. But why does
every single one of them have to be so fucking
easy
?

“Hi, Max
. I’m Jessie,” she says.
“
God
, you were
so
awesome today. That ride was just …
so
awesome
,” she repeats
.
Mildly
irritating. But then, I’m not
all that interested in how extensive her vocabulary is
.
“I was so
scared
for you,” she continues
. “That bull was
gigantic
, and so mean-lo
oking! But you made it look
easy. You’re
such
a good rider.”

I should be glad. I should be thanking my goddamn lucky stars that women are willing to drop their panties whenever I so much as flick them a half-interested glance.
But I
can’t shake the disappointment at the
lack of challenge.
It’s all so predictable. I’ve already won.
I know exactly how it’ll play out if I go with it: she’ll give and I’ll
take.
She’ll
grovel and beg.
I’ll use her then move on as soon as I’ve had my
fill. She might ent
ertain a glimmer of hope that I’ll call her again, but deep down she’ll already know I won’t. She doesn’t care. She just wants a slice of Max Cash any way she can
get it. Maybe I
am
arrogant, but at least I’m aware of my own draw. I’m a prime piece of real estate women want to experience, even if it’s only for a brief moment in time.
It’s just one of those things I’ve come to terms with.
“You’re even hotter up close,” Jessie coos, slinking closer to me, touching my shirt.

I glance down at her. Her face is pretty enough, and she’s doing her best to work
her assets.
Her top is extremely low-cut and practically see-through
.
I feel the smallest flicker of lust – not for her in particular, but just … someone
.
Someone special
.
This lust is more about the waning adrenaline high and the euphoria of my win. I wish I could share it with a girl I actually
cared
about.

“Max, there’s something I
really
want to show you,” Jessie says coquettishly. Her fingers touch mine.

“You don’t say,” Fleur murmurs, looking mildly repulsed.

“And there’s something
I
really want to show
you
,” Travis says to Fleur, leading her away.
“Later, kids.”