Page 19 of Tempt Our Fate
“Did you have an art tutor?” I ask, fairly confident Margo grew up in Iowa. Or was it Ohio? I don’t remember what state it was, but I know it wasn’t New York.
Margo laughs, shaking her head as her almost-black pieces of hair dance with her movement. “I had an art teacher, Mrs. Kiebler, and she was a saint. But my family couldn’t afford an art tutor. They could barely afford the supplies I begged for.”
“What’d you tell the men?” Beck asks. His fingertips stroke over the bare skin on her shoulder. I never thought I’d see the man so happy and in love. For a fraction of a second, I wonder what it’s like to love someone as much as he loves Margo. What it’s like to be loved the way she loves him. It’s only a thought I humor for a moment before I rid it from my mind. I don’t want to be in the position he’s in. I remember the terrified phone call I got from him when he thought she’d ended their engagement.
To love is to be vulnerable. I’ve never been very good at being vulnerable.
I’ve been lost in my own world, not hearing a thing either one has said. I only catch the tail end of their conversation. One that has apparently reverted to me because they both stare at me expectantly.
“What?” I ask, stepping around them to finally leave this office and return to the event.
“I asked how you felt it was going.” Margo’s voice is cautious. I don’t know why.
“Oh.” I clear my throat, my fingers absentmindedly fiddling with one of my cufflinks. “I think it’s going great—despite the one minor mishap. I haven’t rung up all of the purchases, obviously, but it seems like a lot of it has sold. Last I checked, there was a bidding war going on over your newest piece.”
Beck hums. “Maybe I need to put them all to shame and buy it for my own personal collection.”
This makes Margo roll her eyes. She playfully swats at his abdomen. “Like you don’t have enough already.”
Beck’s voice gets low as he mutters something against her ear. It makes me want to throw up. I need space from the lovesick puppies, and I need it immediately.
“I’m leaving. The two of you aren’t allowed to fuck in my office,” I growl.
I hear Beck’s laugh from behind me. “Maybe we already have, Hunter.”
I don’t enlighten him by reacting. But before I step through the small entrance to the hallway and join the party, I rattle off a text to one of my employees still in Manhattan despite the opening and tell him I need the entire art gallery cleaned. Immediately.
12
PIPPA
“Pippa,darling, who are you getting freaky with lately?”
I’d respond to the sweet old lady sitting in the salon chair next to me, but I’m too busy choking on the latte I’d been sucking down. I sputter, trying to swallow the iced coffee that’d gone down the wrong pipe.
“Stop wiggling,” Rhonda chides, holding on tight to a chunk of my hair as I try not to die at the words from a lady who hosts her bible studies at Wake and Bake some mornings.
“What?” Rosemary asks innocently, like the question she asked me was completely normal conversation for a Saturday afternoon at the hair salon.
“You can’t just go asking young ladies who they’re boinking, Rosemary,” Lenora chides from next to her friend. They’re both old enough to be my grandmother. In fact, they both were very close with my Grandma Pat before she passed.
“Who uses the wordboinking?” Rosemary fires back, her focus on the gossip magazine in front of her. I wish I was underneath one of the hair dryers so I could pretend this conversation wasn’t happening. That might not even work, considering the both of them seem to be hearing things just fine, despite being under the hair dryers themselves. “The kids these days are using the termgetting freaky with it.”
If I wasn’t attempting to melt into a puddle of embarrassment because two sweet old ladies are arguing over which terminology to use while discussing my sex life, I’d correct them that neither are relevant terms.
“Leave the girl alone,” Rhonda demands, painting hair dye onto strands of my hair. It’d gotten a shade lighter than I prefer over the summer, so I’ve decided to spend my Saturday getting it touched up. Maybe I should’ve forgone the haircut and color. At least then I wouldn’t have to talk about my nonexistent sex life with half the women of Sutten. But Camden had dropped off a large check for me and everyone who helped with his opening, and I wanted to treat myself after dealing with the people he’d invited. At first, I wanted to tell him not to bother. But it took a lot of ingredients and overtime from my staff. His payment was the right thing to do. I deserved to pamper myself. I just thought it’d be relaxing and I wouldn’t be discussing my sex life with Rhonda and Rosemary on a Saturday afternoon. “Maybe Pippa isn’t sleeping with anyone,” Rhonda continues. “There’s nothing wrong with waiting for the right person.”
I groan, trying to slide down in the salon chair. Rhonda keeps a hold of my hair, pulling on it slightly, which I’m sure shouldn’t be good practice for hairstylists. Isn’t she supposed to be gentle with me?
“Can we have a new subject, please?” I beg.
Rosemary snickers. She knows exactly what she’s doing. I’m never serving her again. “No, dear. You aren’t getting any younger. Soon, someone will have to plant their seed in you.”
Oh my god. It keeps getting worse. My cheeks heat. I’m sure my entire body is red with embarrassment. I want to disappear. Move away from this town forever so I never have to look at Rosemary again and remember her telling me that someone needs to plant their freaking seed in me.
“I didn’t have my first baby until I was twenty-nine,” Rhonda says from behind me, finally being somewhat gentle with me again. “Pippa has time.”
“I had three kids by Pippa’s age,” Lenora adds.