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When I returned and discovered how Bobby Wells, Bree’s dad had died, I blamed myself, and resented my father for the way he handled the matter.
On raising the issue with my father he not only couldn't remember the man he'd imprisoned, he called me weak, refusing to believe I could be torn up about a man that was so far beneath our station. I stopped speaking to him altogether. He didn’t seem to care, believing I would sooner or later return to my fate as a Farrington: Apex Energy.
I was determined to prove him wrong.
Finally locating an empty spot to pull into, I say “Mother I need to go, I’m at Grant’s exhibition already.”
“Oh that's right, it is today, isn't it? Give him my love, will you? We'll pick this up later.”
“Sure thing Mother.” Leaving the car, I walk briskly toward the revolving doors.
As I enter the crowded lobby, I immediately see and feel the appeal of the Century Gallery. Despite being outside of Manhattan, it pulls its fair share of art enthusiasts and investors. I see some of Grant’s photographic pieces mounted on the wall. Now framed and backlit, they're unrecognizable. Ethereal in their beauty.
Spotting Grant, I stride toward him. “Hey, man. These aren't half bad.”
“Yeah I know, they’re almost decent,” quips Ethan, my friend and my business partner, and Grant's older brother. Pride is stamped all over his face.
Grant chuckles. “Thank you guys.”
“I can tell the team down here certainly knows what they’re about." Being something of an artist myself, I’m no stranger to exhibitions."They might teach the bunch in Manhattan a thing or two about lighting and presentation.”
“There’s actually a new curator, she's great at what she does, and her ideas are quite refreshing. Once I met her, I knew I wanted to work with her team and this gallery.”
Spotting Dennis and Christina, old friends of the family, I smile and nod a greeting to them from across the room. Christina and I bonded over our mutual love for art before I left for college and again after I returned from the army. She’s brought some of my sketches to life in her oil paintings. I’m about to go over to chat when Chad Fendrell, the gallery director begins his opening speech.
He’s talking about the theme of the exhibition and introducing Grant and the other featured artists, when I feel the hairs on my nape rise.
There’s something eerily familiar about the woman standing next to the director.
Lithe and toned. Thick, bone-straight, dark hair. That face. She looks different without the long bangs. Older. Sexier. She’s wearing a charcoal gray pants suit which does nothing to hide the body beneath it.
Fuck me, it’s her.
She smiles as Chad calls her forward to join him, and there’s applause from the audience.
“That’s her,” Grant says. “Honestly, I wish I could take her to every gallery showing.”
I don’t respond. I can't. My heart is pounding and twisting painfully even while my skin tingles with awareness and my cock stirs as her voice washes over me. She’s saying something about a tour but my mind is back in Henderson, Nevada, eight years ago.
Tim Hadfield, Apex Energy COO, and I were in Henderson two weeks a month for four months to oversee the completion of the new solar plant.
Tim had taken the day off so he could pick up his visiting wife from the airport, and since my job was to shadow Tim, there was no real point in going to work that day so I stayed back home at the Farrington’s sprawling Anthem Country Club mansion.
Tim and his wife were vegetarian and I'd invited them over for dinner at my place. I was sure that whatever the chef made for the Hadfields would be delicious but perhaps because I knew dinner was going to be different from my usual, I found myself craving serious junk food, so I ordered pizza late in the afternoon.
I'm on the balcony enjoying a glass of wine and waiting for the food when a girl pulls up on a bicycle. She’s wearing a red ‘Pizza Fiesta’ T-shirt. A delivery girl. I’m instantly drawn to how gracefully she moves.
She takes off her helmet, shaking out her long, dark hair and I catch a glimpse of her face. She’s pretty. I grab my wallet and I’m down in a flash, driven by a sudden desire to speak to her. When I swing the door open, she’s gasps in surprise as she’d only just raised her finger to press the bell.
“Hi,” she says.
Her eyes are vibrant and warm, and remind me of molten gold, contrasting perfectly with the long, dark bangs. My eyes feast on her full, pink lips. Creamy, flawless, glowing skin. Curves for days.
My mouth opens but I’m speechless. When I eventually find my tongue it blurts, “My God, but you’re stunning.”
“Um.” She shifts uncomfortably and with good cause. I’m behaving like a creep.
“You ordered one pepperoni and one chicken BBQ pizza?” Her lilting voice is music to my ears and I want to keep her talking.
