Selling Grace: A Light Romance Novel (Art of Grace Book 1) (10 page)

I ran my eye down the list, and wasn't surprised to spot Carter James about halfway down the page, with an impressive list of purchased art pieces next to his name. Sure enough, it looked like Carter did frequent the place, buying up art for the commercial real estate he bought and sold. Not a super-max prison escapee after all, it seemed.

Most of the names also had a phone number next to them. I took a deep breath and reached for the gallery's phone. I hated the idea of cold-calling these strangers to try and sell them some art, unseen, over the phone, but I didn't see much of an alternative.

The first few numbers that I tried, at least, connected me with an answering machine. I left a brief message, just stating that this was Becca Grace from the Halesford Gallery, and that the well-known artist Onyx had a new, one-of-a-kind landmark piece which they might be interested in viewing and purchasing.

I felt especially proud of myself for coming up with the word "landmark." It seemed very artsy.

After getting half a dozen answering machines (and one very rude woman who immediately hung up on me with a huff and "the nerve" as soon as I mentioned that I was calling from the Halesford Gallery), I decided to call it a day. The last of the little old lady browsers had already left, and I didn't see anything wrong with shutting down the gallery a few minutes before the traditional five o'clock closing time.

Back at home, idly scratching Salem in the small of his back as he purred like an engine in my lap, I thought about the three men in my life - one familiar and frustrating, the other two new and full of possibilities. When I closed my eyes, I could still see Onyx's dark eyes on me, could feel his hand guiding mine across the smooth, sensual stone of his statue, telling me how I needed to find some release...

"I probably ought to take a cold shower, huh?" I asked Salem, who blinked his big green-yellow eyes up at me before squirming into a more comfortable spot on top of my thighs. He clearly didn't want me to stop the scratching.

I resumed, repeating to myself that I shouldn't be getting into anything serious. Both of these men came with strings attached. If I ruined the professional relationship between Onyx and myself, he might not let me keep on trying to sell his massive stone dick - and then I wouldn't have a way to pay back Barry.

What about Carter? Similarly, I couldn't risk alienating him as a customer. I knew that, if the gallery lost him because the two of us had a romantic falling-out, Preston would probably be more than likely to cut me loose in an effort to get Carter back and buying.

Maybe I could sell the landmark penis to Carter, I considered wildly for a second. I could offer to sleep with him, be really turned on by the thought of him putting that huge gesture of his manhood in one of his buildings! Surely, he could rent the building out to someone who wanted to see a huge black carved penis every time they came into work. Did he rent to any porn companies, or maybe to Maxim magazine?

My mind circled back to the idea of sleeping with Carter to convince him to buy the statue. Of course, that was as good a reason as any to let that man tug me off to his apartment, feel his strong body moving against mine, his big hands moving across my bare skin, leaving trails of fire behind them as they stripped away my clothes and pulled me up to melt against his hardness...

"Yes, definitely a cold shower," I decided, pushing Salem off my lap and ignoring his complaint as he landed on the couch beside me.

More calls tomorrow, I told myself as I lay in bed a couple of hours later, gazing up at the darkened ceiling. I just needed to move this one statue, and I'd have my money problem solved with Barry. Then, I could focus on getting my life moving forward again, maybe even consider the possibility of dating.

Just before I drifted off to sleep, I wondered whether, if it came to this eventuality, Barry would be willing to accept an oversized stone penis instead of monetary payment for the house. "It says so much about you," I'd tell him, while silently adding inside my head that it also screamed of over-compensating.

Portia would love hearing that I'd paid off my ex-husband with a huge black stone dick, I grinned to myself, and then drifted off into the realm of unconsciousness.

#

The next morning, Carter James strolled in just a few minutes after I'd finished turning all the lights on, barely after nine o'clock in the morning.

"Were you sitting outside and waiting for me to open?" I asked him as he came in. He looked cool and put together, sipping at a cup of coffee. The smell made my mouth water, but I told myself that I was just fine with the day-old brewed stuff I'd poured into my thermos. Think of the money you're saving, I silently repeated to myself like a mantra.

Carter just shrugged. "What's all this?" he asked, glancing over the top of my desk and at the piles of paper that were still piled up from yesterday.

"I'm trying to find someone who wants to buy a big piece by Onyx," I answered. I pulled out my phone and accessed the photos app, turning it around so he could see. "You don't want to buy a gigantic black stone penis, do you?"

At the sight of the photos, Carter practically choked on his mouthful of coffee, quickly putting the cup down on top of the desk and coughing a few times. "Warn a guy before you just whip something like that out, would you?" he gasped, thumping his chest with a closed fist.

"What's the matter, feeling a little intimidated? Inadequate? Not quite measuring up?" I grinned at him as my words set off a fresh fit of groaning and coughing.

"And you need to sell that monstrosity?" he finally asked, after he'd managed to get himself back under control.

I nodded, my grin fading. "Yeah. All the paperwork here is me going through Uncle Preston's notes, trying to figure out who I could approach about it who'd be most likely to be interested."

"Anyone in there happen to run a brothel?" Carter suggested, taking another look at the pictures of the big sculpture on my phone. "God, and it's so accurate! This is an Onyx piece? I don't get the guy's obsession with his equipment."

"You could ask him next time he stops in here," I offered. "I met him yesterday, and he brought me to his studio to show me this. It was... impressive."

Carter frowned at me. "That's all he showed you?"

"As opposed to what else?"

"Nothing. Don't worry about it." Carter still wore a frown as he set my phone back down on the counter. "So what, he's going to drop the gallery if you don't sell this statue of his? Seems a little extreme."

"No, nothing like that," I said. "But the commission on it is enough to- to handle my expenses."

I hoped that Carter wouldn't ask about my weak cover-up, but I saw his eyes narrow. "What expenses?"

"It's really nothing," I insisted, but damn it if tears weren't starting to well up at the corners of my eyes, betraying my true feelings.

I tried to blink them away, but Carter moved around the desk in a flash. He crouched down slightly so he could gaze into my eyes. "Hey, Becca, it's okay," he said softly, putting both his hands on my shoulders. "What's wrong? Talk to me."

I shook my head, but now the tears were coming down my cheeks, no longer held back by my eyelashes. All of my worry about selling the sculpture, about meeting Barry's stupid payment deadline, came rushing up. I'd managed to hold it in check before now, but something in the gentleness of Carter's tone made it all spill over the edge of my control.

Carter, meanwhile, just moved in a little closer, putting his arms around me. He felt warm, solid, a reassuring and comforting rock in my sea of frustration. I held onto him, smelling the soft scent of his cologne, as my chest shook and heaved.

"I'm sorry," I choked out when I finally got my breath back, when my lungs stopped sucking in short, staccato breaths. "I didn't mean to just unload-"

"How about lunch?" he asked.

The non sequitur at least stopped my little gasps as I tried to control my twitching diaphragm. "What?"

"I'll come back around lunch, and you can tell me what's going on," he repeated. "In my experience, it's easier to talk about problems when there's food in front of me, preferably something that's been fried. Plus, lunch is usually after noon, so it's acceptable to have a drink."

I smiled at the lame joke, even as I wiped away the tears from my cheeks. I probably looked puffy and red. "I guess I could do lunch."

"Great," Carter promised, releasing his hands from around me after giving me one last squeeze. "I'll be back in a couple of hours."

"Thanks," I said, as he rose up.

It wasn't until he'd already left that I realized that he'd forgotten his still-steaming coffee cup on the desk. He had set it down when he moved forward to hug me, and must have overlooked it, distracted by the weeping woman and lingering after-images of a huge stone dick. It was too late for me to go rushing after him to bring it back.

In my defense, I left it alone for a good three minutes, just in case he came back for it, before I stole it for myself.

Chapter Twelve

*

True to his word, Carter strolled back into the gallery a few minutes before noon. "I've got a couple options, but you can make the final decision," he greeted me as he walked in. "Either Mexican or Asian - I know a couple great places for either one, just let me know what your preference might-"

He paused, frowning at me. "Hold on, isn't that my coffee cup?"

"No," I said as I took my lips off of his cup. "Maybe. You abandoned it, so it was fair game. It would have just gotten cold and gone bad otherwise, since you didn't come back for it."

For a moment, I thought that I saw Carter's lips quirk up in a little smile before he clamped back down. "So, what's it going to be for lunch?"

I frowned. "Can I hear the options again?"

Eventually, after I couldn't make up my mind, Carter decided on the Mexican place. "The Halesford Gallery is in a good location, at least," he told me as we walked along the sidewalk in the bright sunshine. "Lots of nearby lunch places."

"Lots of places for me to spend all the money I make instead of saving it," I challenged him. "Perfect. Just what I need right now."

He looked over at me. "Yeah, are you going to talk about that, from this morning? Or do I need to fill you up with chips and guacamole?"

"Definitely need the chips and guac first," I promptly answered, making him snort a little.

"At least you're wearing decent shoes today," he said, nodding down at my feet. "Although I do kind of miss the high heels."

"What, you liked watching me twist my ankles and topple over?"

He shrugged. "They made your legs look nice, that's all."

That response shut me up, and we walked the next couple blocks to the restaurant in silence.

The Mexican restaurant that Carter picked out, Taqueria El Burrito, was booming and busy, and the interior was filled with the chatter of customers, even drowning out the ever-present Latin music playing in the background. Despite all the customers, however, there were still open seats at the big tables, and the kitchen seemed to be moving orders quickly. We placed our orders at the front, received a number to set on our table, and then snagged chips and salsa on our way over to an open seat.

"Okay, here's your snackage," Carter said, putting down the basket of tortilla chips. "Now, talk. What made you start crying this morning? I need to know, so I can avoid mentioning it in the future."

I sighed, grabbing a chip and using it to deliver a big scoop of salsa to my mouth. "Okay, remember how I mentioned that I used to own a house, because I used to be married?"

Carter nodded, waiting.

"Well, there's another little bit to that story," I confessed. "See, I told you that I caught Barry cheating on me, and that proved to be the final straw - especially when I put it together that this wasn't a one-time, brand new occurrence. It had been happening behind my back for months, and I only just caught on."

"So what happened?"

"So I had to get out of there, right away," I said, pausing for a moment as a pimply teenage waiter delivered a big plate of steaming hot food in front of each of us and darted away. He swept our number off of the table as he left without a backward glance, not asking if we needed anything else. "I didn't want to deal with Barry any more, and I just wanted to get divorced. I told him that, before I stomped out."

Carter winced. "I'm guessing that the divorce didn't prove as clean of a separation as you wanted."

"Nope." Angrily, I took a big bite of quesadilla, and then winced as the hot cheese stung at my mouth. Delicious, but almost too hot to eat. "As it turned out, when we got the house, he put it in both of our names - and that included the mortgage. When I got divorced, the market was down, and he insisted that I had to buy out my half of the mortgage, since my name was on the title."

"What was the damage?"

I sighed, setting down the hot quesadilla slice before it burned my fingers. "After all the bills and everything, after I'd given up just about everything that I'd saved - and remember, I pooled a lot of our money because I thought we'd be married forever - I still owe a bit over ten thousand dollars."