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“I have to go, dear! Late for tennis at the club. I’ll call you soon and we’ll plan dinner.”
“Mother—” But there’s the distinct click of the phone call ending and my teeth grind together. What the—pardon my French—fuckdid Jasper Pierce say to my mother?
I think over everything that happened the other night, the resigned fate that Jasper was so willing to concede to, the one that I remember saying no way in hell it was happening.
There’s this niggling doubt in my chest, one that just won’t freaking go away, the pressure to be the perfect daughter, the guilt that makes me such a pushover when it comes to my mother.
But I wouldn’t do that anymore. I couldn’t.
Warren was my future. No one would be taking that away from me.
Chapter Forty-Four
“They say before something great happens to you, everything falls apart.”
-Anonymous
Warren
Frederick—Freddie, as he asked me to call him—asks me to meet him at a country club in the middle of Denver. Apparently, when you’re as wealthy as he was, you could join anything, anywhere you wanted to, even if you didn’t live there.
However, Freddie didn’t strike me as the type of guy who enjoyed hanging out at country clubs often, he was more laid back than most of the people I’d ever met who were a part of one. He did seem to have a fairly established fan club here, though.
Since we’d sat down an hour ago, no less than a dozen women came by to say hi to him. He just smiled a charming smile and I smirked as I watched them melt at the sight of it. They gave me more than a second glance, but I found myself glancing around at anything and everything else around me.
Flirting with anyone that wasn’t Jane did not appeal to me anymore.
“The work you do is phenomenal,” I say, complimenting his art that has sparked a lot of inspiration for artists around the world.
“Thank you.” Freddie dips his head.
What I’ve noticed about him is that he’s humble about how much his art has touched people, how much people love the work he does. Despite the fact that it had earned him a name, reputation and so many millions of dollars that he was able to have a mini-mansion built in Aspen as we speak.
“You’re not so bad yourself.”
I nod my head once, keeping my mouth shut because I just don’t know how to take those kinds of compliments.
“What I want to do is spark emotion with your work, to connect people to it in a way that conveys real life. Your portraits are something else.”
He pulls my portfolio to him again; he’d requested I bring it along again. “This one here, in particular. You’ve made the action of sitting and breathing in the world come to life.”
The picture in question was a drawing of Jane. She was sitting at the little table on her balcony, a mug in her hand, her face toward the sunlight that streamed in. Her hair had been blowing slightly in the breeze. I remember thinking she was so fucking beautiful in the moment that I would have been a fool not to capture it with my pencil.
“Thank you. It’s definitely a favorite.”
“There are others as well, this one…” He points at a portrait of my mother. In her hand was a bouquet of flowers, she was looking at my dad, but he was outside of the frame. But you could tell that whoever gave her the flowers, she loved them deeply just by the look in her eyes. Freddie clicks his tongue. “It’s all just spectacular. I want a whole gallery full of these.”
I raise a brow. “The whole gallery?”
He nods his head. “Yes. I want to make this entire show all yours. All originals, no prints. Your art is going to make a difference in this world, I want to be a part of it.”
My hope soars and the dreams I’d dreamed for so long are in the palm of my hand. I couldn’t believe it. “Wow, thank you. I’m so—”gratefuldies on the tip of my tongue when my name is called.
I know the voice.
Beverly Leads.
I turn, putting on my most charming grin and see her striding toward us both.
