Page 5 of Colors and Curves
“Well, was she or wasn’t she?” She removes the hair band from around her wrist and proceeds to put her hair up in a ponytail. “It’s not a difficult question.”
I rake my hand through my hair again. Daisy shoots me a warning look. “She’s beautiful.”More than beautiful. “Truthfully, she’s the first woman I’ve noticed in a long time. Her curves were perfect. I photograph women all the time, but her—” My pulse races just talking about her. “I don’t know. There was something special about her. It doesn’t matter, though, because I didn’t even get her name. Chance tried to follow her when she left.”So did I. “She walked away after she told me to have fun being a lonely, miserable bastard for the rest of my life.” Daisy chokes on a laugh, then covers her mouth.
“Sorry. I know I shouldn’t laugh, but maybe you should dig down deep and think about what a stranger said to you just after meeting you for a few minutes.” I press my lips together and my shoulders slouch.
“I deserved it and I felt bad after. I could’ve handled the situation differently.”
A smirk grows on Daisy’s face.
“What’s that look for? No, ya know what? Forget I asked. I’m not in the mood for a therapy session.”
She glances at her watch. “I don’t have the time anyway. But really quick. Did you get your new contacts and sunglasses today? How are they?”
“They’re even more comfortable than the last ones. The technology keeps getting better and better.”
“Glad to hear it. Well, I can’t look at our treadmill anymore. I’m going for a run. Think about Friday night. If you don’t want to do it for yourself, do it for me. I don’t ask for much.”
“Fine,” I say through gritted teeth. “I’ll think about it.”
“That’s better than nothing.” She pulls a water bottle out of the refrigerator. “It sounds like Chance got enough exercise with your beautiful mystery woman. I’ll leave him here with you.”
“Yeah, I don’t think he’s interested anyway.” I angle my head to the living room. She peeks over my shoulder and laughs. Chance is dead asleep in his bed, belly up, and snoring away. I love that dog.
Chapter 3
Skylar
In a dark, quiet room, I stand frozen in place as the guy from the park circles around me like I’m his prey. Every hard angle of his face is emphasized and his red eyes blaze as they lock with mine. Maybe it should scare me. But it doesn’t. It only excites me. He stops behind me and his heat embraces my naked body like a blanket. His fingers lightly brush my hair to one side, revealing my neck. Goosebumps dance along my skin, and I shiver. My arms won’t move, as if they are bound behind me. I let my head fall back against his hard chest. Electrifying sensations explode through my body as his needy lips press the skin under my ear, then trail burning kisses down my slender neck and shoulder. My breath comes in pants as I arch my back, pushing my sensitive, swollen breasts forward. When his hands skim from my neck down, my knees weaken. I jolt away from his possessive touch when his fingers trace the mark on my heaving chest. I look down, and the scratch turns into a bleeding heart… a broken heart.
Before I can look at his face, the song “Girl on Fire” blasts in the distance, sucking me out of the darkness. I jolt awake. A sheet is tangled around my waist, I’m horny as hell, and I’m sweating like I’ve been sitting in a sauna for hours. My damn phone alarm is screaming the same song from my dream. After a few deep breaths, I rid myself of the bedding, and stumble to the bathroom to look in the mirror. The scratch is just as it was when I went to bed, but I can still feel the searing pain from the dream.
I brace myself on the sink and drop my chin to my chest. The guy from the park consumes my dreams. This wasn’t the first time. And the dreams get steamier and steamier. Sadly, this is the only action I’ve had in months. It feels like years. I huff, then grab my toothbrush.Stop feeling sorry for yourself. It’s time for work.
Two hours later, I’m sitting in my office at the gallery, measuring the performance of a Facebook ad that has been running to promote the Nouveau Exposures grand opening. My eyes sting from staring at the screen. I should’ve been a lot more productive since I arrived, but that stupid dream is still a major distraction.
I push my chair away from my white desk, stand up, and stretch my arms over my head. My reflection in the mirror on the adjacent wall reveals that my eyes aren’t as puffy as they were when I left my apartment this morning. Good.
After I wash my coffee cup and apply some lip gloss, I straighten up my desk. My goal is to be as neat and organized as possible in this office. My apartment is another story. Some days I walk in the door at home and wince. I’m not dirty, I’m just a mess. I won’t let that happen here, though.
I stroll into the showroom and give it another once-over. If someone truly looks at any gallery, the space looks pretty boring. Plain white walls and shiny hardwood floors. But it’s meant to be that way. It’s a clean backdrop for the paintings or photographs that will be hung on them one day. They are the decorations. And boy, do I love the photographs hanging on the walls in this place. I can’t wait for the opening.
Daisy Levi should arrive any minute. Every photograph is in its perfect place. I’ve posted prices and titles on the walls next to the corresponding works, as requested. The photographer, Julius Ariti, is pretty particular—he wants everything displayed his way. Well, if he wants themhisway, he should show up Friday night. I’ve made a few changes, and I’m hoping that Daisy, Julius’s agent, will agree to how I’ve arranged them now. I’m pushing my luck, but it’s worth the try.
I’m kind of obsessed with researching last names and their meanings. I’ve admired Julius Ariti for years, and when we landed him for the gallery opening, I had to look into his name. It sounds noble—Julius Ariti. Maybe Greek or Italian. I found out it’s of Greek origin, but I had to laugh when I learned that it means friendly, generous, and approachable. Everything I’ve read and heard about him sounds like the complete opposite. More like a cactus.
He’s one of the most famous black and white photographers in the United States, and he’s only thirty-three. Rumor has it that he’s hard to work with, antisocial, and a bit high on himself, which is disappointing. It’d be a dream to meet him, but from what his agent says, that won’t happen. He doesn’t attend his exhibits. Instead, Daisy handles everything and attends the openings for him. She’s a tough businesswoman. She’s a little intimidating, too, with her body full of tattoos. But once I got to know her, she’s pretty cool and easygoing.
I recently moved here from Boston to open and manage the Nouveau Exposures Gallery. We specialize in black and white photo-based exhibits. Monica Morrison, the owner, arrives tomorrow. She also owns the gallery I worked at in Boston. She used her long line of connections to get an exhibit by the one and only Julius Ariti for our opening. It wasn’t easy, but she won. It’s such an honor to have his photographs displayed here.
I’ve been surrounded with art since I was born. My mother is an artist. I didn’t inherit any of her creative genes, but I love anything that revolves around art and photography. As long as I don’t have to create anything myself.
My last name is Vitale. It’s Italian in origin, but comes from the Latin word vita, meaninglife. I’d say I’m full of life—well, that’s if I’ve had my daily dose of caffeine. Most people know to avoid me if I haven’t.
That guy and his dog at the park yesterday were lucky I didn’t lose my shit when I dropped my coffee. No one gets between me and my caffeine kick.
Light taps on the entrance door grab my attention. Daisy smiles and waves through the glass. I unlock and open the door. “Hey, Daisy.” She traipses in, plonks a box on the black front desk by the door, then turns toward me. We air kiss. “How are you today?” I ask. “Double espresso like always?”
She shakes her head and plops into a visitor’s chair in front of the desk, fanning herself. “I’m too hot. Give me a few minutes. So much for the humidity going away. I thought the rain the other night was supposed to help. It’s only nine, and I’m already zapped of energy. It feels damn good in here. I need a weekend away in the Hamptons or somewhere away from this sticky city.”