The Exhibition (An Executive Decision Trilogy) (9 page)

Chapter Eleven

It was possible they both dozed, but Harris wasn’t completely sure. He wasn’t too familiar with post-coital bliss – at least not when it involved sex with someone other than himself. It was Stacie’s little yelp that brought them back to reality, as she shoved into a sitting position and rubbed her bottom.

‘I think something just bit my ass.’

He could see her eyes in the sliver of moonlight. ‘Lucky something,’ he said.

She giggled. ‘Maybe I’ll let you kiss it better.’ Her sentence ended in another yelp. ‘Ouch, I’m serious, that hurt!’ She jumped to her feet, rubbing her bare bottom.

‘Let me see, let me see.’ Harris pushed himself up to stand next to her.

In spite of her discomfort, Stacie offered him a throaty laugh as she turned her bottom to him. ‘Oh, aren’t you just so helpful?’

‘I do what I can, ma’am,’ he said in his best white-knight-to-the-rescue voice. ‘I’m certified in first aid, you know.’

‘Can you see anything?’ she asked.

‘Oh yes, can I ever.’

She punched his shoulder with a loose fist just as he gave her bottom a solicitous grope. ‘Well, I’m not lying back down there.’

He pulled her to him, hands cupping her butt, then moving up her spine and around to her delicious, firm breasts, and she responded with a lazy kiss. ‘There are lots of other places to lie down where the only thing biting your magnificent bottom will be me,’ he said. Then he lowered his mouth to a pert, irresistible nipple.

‘And so there are.’ She gave his penis a rough stroke, stepped back out of reach, and began to dress. ‘But I think we better get decent and see if we can round up our stray belongings first. Can you get us back to the parking lot?’

‘Of course I can.’ He found his wallet and stuffed it back in his pocket as he tugged his jeans up over his hips.

She was already examining the contents of her damaged bag by the time he was tucked and tidied. ‘Would you look at that, the iPad’s no worse for the tumble. That’s good news.’ She dug a little deeper. ‘Got car keys, got BlackBerry, got wallet. All good.’ She smiled up at him.

‘And how’s the bottom?’ he said, giving her butt a good cupping as they turned to head back up the hill.

‘Anxious for you to kiss it all better.’

It was a steeper climb to get back to the main path through the park than Harris had realized. They were lucky they hadn’t broken more than the strap to Stacie’s bag in their fall.

They stepped out into the clearing where they could at last see the parking lot of the Boiling Point, now empty of police. He was just about to invite her to his place, where the crescent moon reflecting off the lake would be gorgeous, when her BlackBerry rang. ‘Leave it,’ he said. But it was too late. She’d already answered.

‘Kyle? Are you all right? What’s going on?’ She stopped mid-stride, and Harris could just make out Waters’ voice over the device, but couldn’t tell what he was saying. Finally, she replied, ‘All right, listen. Call your lawyer and I’ll be there as soon as I can.’ 

‘What is it? What’s going on?’ Harris asked.

She shoved the BlackBerry back into her bag and picked up the pace. ‘You know that chick Kyle was dancing with? Well, she was apparently well-supplied with blow and not smart enough to try and get rid of it. And Kyle was with her.’

‘Shit,’ Harris said. ‘So the bastard ended up in jail anyway. Well it serves him right, shoving his mess on you to clean up and … Hey, where are you going?’

‘To the police station.’

He grabbed her by the arm and turned her to face him. ‘You’re kidding, right?’

She blew out a breath and ran a hand through her hair, still deliciously mussed from their romp in the park. ‘Look, he’s scared. They’ve confiscated his camera and he’s never been in jail before. He didn’t know the woman had a stash. I’m sure everything’ll come clean in the end. He hasn’t done anything but still, he needs a ride back to his car once they release him.’

‘Well, have him call a fucking cab, and chalk it up to a lesson learned.’

She offered him a look he’d seen parents give kids when they were trying to explain a difficult concept. ‘Harris, he was here because of me, and OK, he was showing off a little bit, but how can I not feel at least a little bit responsible?’

She turned and kept walking and Harris followed her, mentally calling down curses on Waters’ future offspring for his interruption of their night while at the same time feeling a sting of jealousy that he didn’t like at all. ‘Are you dating him?’ The words were out before he could stop them.

‘What?’ She tripped over her feet in response, but when he grabbed her to steady her, she pushed him away, and nearly went over backwards with the momentum. ‘What kind of stupid question is that? Of course I’m not dating him. He was here for me, so I’ll go, just like I’d do if it were you.’

‘Oh, so that explains what just happened in the park then? That was you being there for me? Well, I certainly got the better deal then, didn’t I?’

Even in the streetlights he could see the fire in her eyes, see the fisting of her hands, and he braced himself for … for what didn’t come. Instead, she turned fast and furious, none too steady on her feet, and stumbled to a blue Lexus parked by the curb, unlocked the door and nearly fell in.

He ran after her. ‘Wait, Stacie. I’m sorry. I have a big mouth, and sometimes I speak before I think.’ He grabbed for the door and held it so she couldn’t close it, but she didn’t look at him. He could tell by her breathing that she was angry, probably even hurt, but she said nothing.

‘At least let me go with you. The police station’s not a very nice place to go alone.’

When she turned to face him, her eyes were icy calm. Everything about her was calm in a way that made his blood chill. ‘Believe me, I’ve been alone in far worse places.’ Then she slammed the door and sped away, leaving him standing in the parking lot feeling mean-spirited and miserable.

He didn’t know how long he stood there like an idiot, trying to figure out what had just happened, but he was certain he didn’t want things to end this way. He found his Jeep where he’d parked it what seemed like ages ago and headed for the police station.

He probably would have caught her too if not for the highway patrol. Christ! It really wasn’t his night where the authorities were concerned. He’d never had a speeding ticket. Well, he did now, and all because of Kyle fucking Waters. No! It was all because of Stacie Emerson. What the hell was he thinking? She was trouble. Hadn’t he said all along she was trouble? And yet, even after the officer had issued the ticket, told him to slow down and given him the whole be-safe-out-there spiel, did he go home and pretend he’d never met the woman? No! He went straight on to the police station. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t get the look on her face out of his head. He had been rude. She had not. She had just shut down. He would have never expected that from someone as fiery and confident as Stacie Emerson.

He shoved his way through the door at the police station a full 30 minutes behind Stacie. Neither Stacie nor Waters were anywhere to be found. The desk sergeant gave him a bored look over the top of his glasses.

‘I’m looking for Stacie Emerson.’

The man shook his head. ‘She’s not here. She left about ten minutes ago.’

‘You’re sure?’ Harris said.

‘Look, buddy, I forget most faces that pass this desk before they’re even signed in, but not hers. Tall, blond, prettiest smile I’ve ever seen, and nice. Really nice. I don’t get a lot of nice in here.’

Just then Kyle Waters came out of a door leading into the bowels of the station with a man dressed in smart casual who Harris guessed was probably his lawyer. Seeing Harris, he pushed forward toward him. ‘Did you see Stacie?’ Before Harris could answer he said, ‘She got here just after my lawyer did. God, Walker, I was so, so stupid. I need to apologize to her big time.’

The desk sergeant handed him a sheet of paper. ‘I’m not a secretary but, like I said, the woman was really nice. If you’re Kyle Waters, this is for you.’

Harris didn’t care how rude it seemed; he moved in close and read over Waters’ shoulder.

Glad your lawyer’s here, Kyle, and that everything will be fine. I’m really sorry, but something’s come up and I have to go. We’ll talk later.

Stacie

When the desk sergeant noticed both Waters and Harris looking at him, he shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his middle finger and said, ‘She got a text. That’s all I know. And whatever was in that text didn’t seem to make her real happy. Then she asked if she could leave a message, and she left.’ He looked down at his watch. ‘About ten minutes ago.’

I paid a million dollars for a sculpture by a woman I barely know, my darling. How much more do you
suppose I would gladly pay to help support a woman I
respect so much and know so very, very well?

Yours most sincerely,

TJ

Stacie looked down at the text again as she paced the floor of her office, clutching her BlackBerry. She had gone to the gallery rather than going home to her apartment. The apartment was just a rented space. The gallery was hers. It represented a new beginning. It represented more of her soul than anyone would ever know, and even when the rooms were still bare, even when the workers were still coming and going, even after it had been violated and vandalized, the space was hers, really hers. Maybe that was why she found she could always think better there.

She looked down at her watch. It was almost two in the morning. The furniture would come the day after tomorrow; after that, she could truly occupy the space. She brought up the calendar on her BlackBerry and scrolled down. Martin Flannery was sending in a crew to start work on her security system that same day. There was a message concerning the progress of the Japanese exhibition. Everything was right on schedule, even slightly ahead. She stood and looked out the mezzanine window which overlooked the main exhibition hall. True to their word, the workmen had finished repairs on the damaged floor and walls and, in her mind’s eye, she began mentally placing exhibits. In spite of the vandalism, everything was coming together. But she still wasn’t sure if Harris Walker was in or not. Her insides felt like they were in freefall as she thought about him, as she thought about the way the evening had begun, so promising, and the way it ended with him still thinking the worst of her.

She moved back to the desk and settled in the uncomfortable metal chair. Opening her laptop, she found the proposal she planned to send Harris. She could kick herself for letting things get so out of hand with him. Granted, she had no way of knowing there would be a raid on the one night she chose to show up at the Boiling Point, on the one night she invited Harris Walker, who’d come even though she knew he hated the place. But that didn’t excuse her thoroughly unprofessional behavior in the park after the raid. In one short evening, she had managed to destroy any chance she had of him believing her to be anything other than the bimbo who fucked the Thorne brothers. In less than 30 minutes she had done more to cement his opinion of her than she could ever possibly undo, and going to Kyle’s aid only seemed to prove his point.

Quickly she typed up an email.

Dear Mr. Walker,

Please find attached the proposal of which I spoke when we met. Don’t hesitate to get in touch if you have any questions. I look forward to working with you.

All the best,

Stacie Emerson

Then she added quickly:

PS. I’m sorry for tonight’s mishaps. I apologize for my bad behavior and will do my best to conduct myself more appropriately in the future.

It sounded stilted and stuffy, but she was desperate to salvage the situation. He was still the one she wanted, the one she needed in her exhibition. He could do what no one else could, and as much as she hated it, she could live with him thinking badly of her if he would only agree to the exhibit. She sent the email. She’d call him at a decent hour and do her best to salvage the situation. In fact, it took all her control not to call him now. But it was hard to think about what happened and not be angry and hurt by his response. It was better that she wait.

She stood and paced again, then looked back at the text from Jamison. It had rattled her way more than it should have. It simply meant there was no room in her life for any kind of distraction now. Not even one as exciting as Harris Walker. Her insides did a little flip-flop as she recalled their breathless tumble in the park. Especially no room for a distraction as exciting as Harris Walker. Focus was paramount if she was to survive this. Everything was ready, checked and re-checked. She was ready, as ready as she would ever be. So why didn’t she feel like it?

She spent another hour answering correspondence and doing busy work – anything to take her mind off the night’s misadventures and the text from Jamison. When she could no longer function properly, and her body ached from the uncomfortable chair, she shut down and left the gallery, which had no bed. Until the comfy sofa arrived, she’d have to go to her apartment if she wanted to sleep, and she found she really did. In fact, she half-hoped she could wake up and find the whole incident had been nothing but a bad dream.

Stacie had deliberately rented close to the gallery, and that meant a tatty place in a faded but relatively safe apartment complex. Being frugal was still her default setting after everything that had happened with the New York gallery. It didn’t matter what she could afford; for now all she needed was a bed and a shower, both of which she’d have at the gallery when the work on it was finished. The rest would come later, but, at the moment,
later
was a step too far to even contemplate.

Inside the entryway to her apartment block, she unlocked her mailbox, which was stuffed with mostly junk mail and a sales flyer for the local Fred Meyer. She sorted through it as she climbed the stairs and stuck the whole lot under her arm while she unlocked the door, an awkward act that resulted in her dropping her damaged bag on the floor. Contents skittered and rolled in all directions on the worn green carpet, the mail following suit in a flapping flurry of paper as she made a heroic, but ineffective, effort to grab the bag. Numb from a day that felt as though it had gone on forever, she dropped on all fours and shoved lipstick, BlackBerry, three pens, a compact, and an all but empty bottle of hand cream back into her bag before she came to the one letter in among all the junk mail. It lay upright in its clearly expensive handwritten envelope. The return address was Jamison Holdings. She sat down hard in the middle of the paper litter.