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Slowly, I reached inside, carefully pulling out the large canvas from the case.
It wasLatchkey Rose, from The Met. The real, honest to god painting in my hands. I had forgotten how to breathe, slowly placing it back in the box, as I was certain my shaking hands would drop it. Of all the things to do, of all the gestures to make, this was the one he did. I couldn’t even imagine the price he paid, the steps he took in such a short time to make this happen. It was too much; it was beyond my comprehension, leaving me scared to even touch the box alone.
Covering my mouth, I looked out the window, staring at the bright skyscrapers across the street, focusing on anything that could ground me back to the world I was in. The buildings outside were so clear and visible, unlike the murky waters Alejandro and I found ourselves in.
We could never align, not perfectly anyways. This was my belief. But there was something we shared, a lack in the ability of being open that I couldn’t ignore. Our expression was code, leaking fragments of truths for others to perceive. How could I be mad now, just because he was clever enough to see my signs? He wanted what I wanted, a way to show the world who we were. For him, he was not Alex Rivers, but Alejandro Rivera-Marquez. That’s why I was here, that’s why I was supposed to make his suit. If words couldn’t do it, then I could, and maybe he saw that in me, not just the good girl, but the woman I knew myself to be.
CHAPTER 16
An entire block was gated off, home to curious fans attempting to peek over the production’s guarded rails. This was the mysterious yet magnetic effect of Alex Rivers. I made my way through the crowd, flashing my badge to security at the entrance.
Everyone was so excited, buzzing with the hope to catch a glimpse of the star himself. I was not. I was the opposite, completely and hopelessly nervous. It had been more than a couple weeks since I’d seen Alejandro, and when Ivanna called to schedule this appointment, a lot had already happened.
The hotel party that landed Alejandro into a lawsuit had been getting more media attention than I expected, leaving me to believe his absence for the past couple weeks were more than just movie related. Still, Parker wouldn’t share much about what was happening, as non-disclosures were in the works along with the speculated settlement to come. I just knew Parker wasn’t pleased and that he wanted to take him to court, to air out the dirty details of whatever happened at The Pierre Hotel.
On top of this, despite gifting me an already invaluable piece of art, Alejandro also paid for the services I provided thus far. This was an expectation, yet the amount was not. Fifteen thousand dollars was transferred into my account, whose routing number was never even shared with Ivanna nor Alejandro. That was a question on its own, but the amount delivered raised my concerns. Despite the cost of materials, and the effort I had already put into the suit, fifteen thousand felt less like a salary and more like a payment to spend time alone. I couldn’t accept it, which is why I’d written a check, returning a significant portion of ten thousand dollars. I knew it would be tough giving up that money, but I had to, along with the painting that still sat in my closet.
I second guessed my choice in coming, or even bringing the check, considering I was still unsure about how things from The Met would transpire. I’d probably need the cash, but Parker insisted he’d take care of anything that came my way. His need to secure my safety extended far past my body and included my future out of jail. Oddly enough, despite his extensive outreach, Parker wasn't able to find any acknowledgement that the photo at the museum was even damaged, not from Alejandro’s attorney nor The Met itself. Besides the one mention in the paper, it was as if that night never happened. I wanted answers but was unsure of the cost, given the gatekeeper, the man who haunted my thoughts that night in the bath.
I approached Alejandro’s trailer, a metal bus painted black and silver. I expected him to be inside, waiting on a throne, beckoning me to my knees with the hither of his finger. He gave me that impression, and I figured he could wield it on most women, possibly even the girl whose initials I assumed were tattooed on his chest. I climbed up the steps, unlatching the door.
“Hello?” I croaked, already forgetting how to use my voice.
“Alex?” A feminine rasp echoed along the chrome kitchen, questioning my arrival. I stepped up, relieved I wasn’t alone.
“No, sorry.” I replied, turning the corner. A rather tall and glowing woman sat on a lounger, her legs crossed in the slacks of a red designer power suit. She looked up from her phone, her eyes big and dark, shining like the sleek bobbed bangs that hovered above her brows. I clutched my book of sketches to my chest.
“Don’t tell me.” She smiled, her hoarse voice familiar, “The one and only Gemma?” She crinkled her nose, her freckles creased with a delighted grin.
“Please don't tell me I have a reputation.” I joked, attempting to ease the nerves in my stomach.
“A big one, babe, but I’m a fan.” Her eyes nodded to the coffee table. Sitting on top was the paper of Alejandro and I, my arms pinned above my head. It was so embarrassing to see.
“At least I have one, I guess.” I murmured, noticing as the woman extended a greeting.
“Ivanna Cortez,” she reached for my hand, giving it a firm but gentle shake.
“The woman behind the magic!” I replied.
“Finally, someone recognizes it.” She laughed, motioning to the counter, “Coffee?”
“I’m good, thanks.”
“Trust me on this.” She persisted, “It’s my brew, Colombian and strong.”Just like me,I expected her to say. She was gorgeous, and I wasn't the least surprised Alejandro had a vixen for an assistant. She was dressed as I should have been—professional, confident. Her breasts were hidden along the notched lapel of her suit, and mine through the thin orange fabric of a turtleneck. Alejandro was so perceptive, I had no choice but to minimize how I expressed myself. I wore jeans and white sneakers; shoes more fitting to run in, given how things went down at The Met.
“Thank you.” I replied, as she handed me a mug. I took a sip as she watched, waiting for my approval. It was sweet, not overbearing as I had in the past, almost chocolatey.
“Well?” She asked.
“Actually… pretty good,” I admitted, “and I don’t really drink coffee, so that’s impressive.” She seemed satisfied and took a long sip.
“Good coffee for Alejandro’s good girl.” She winked. Immediately I winced, unsure of what Alejandro may have said, or what she knew.
“I’m not his girl.” I laughed, feigning interest as I stared into my dark coffee.
“He’s a private man, Gemma, but nothing gets past me.” She stirred more creamer into her mug, her gaze not once leaving my direction, “I’ll admit, I took a peek at the card he wrote you. I couldn’t resist, especially with this spell you have on him.”
“Spell?” I asked, baffled at how she described our relationship.
