It was his worst fear put into words, and he felt like she’d kicked him with her pointy-toed boots right in the balls. As soon as he caught his breath, he tried to deny it. Just as he’d been denying it to himself for the last six months.
“You think I can’t paint? Well, I can paint anything I want to paint. I just don’t happen to want to paint you.”
Chloe’s eyebrows lifted beneath the fringe of uneven bangs. “So you’d rather paint apples? Although that X looked nothing like an apple to me.”
His eyes widened. “You looked at my painting?”
She shrugged. “I was curious.”
While he struggled to get his anger under control, the elevator arrived at the lobby. Chloe lifted a hand as she stepped off. “Good luck with that apple.”
The sarcasm in the words sent his temper right off the charts, and he stepped out with her. But before he could tell her that a lot of talented artists painted fruit, the security guard took her arm.
“I’m sorry, miss, but I’m going to need to know what you did with the floral arrangement.”
Hearing the guard, some muscled guy in a white polo with a flower on the breast pocket came hurrying over. “Is she the one who took my ducky?” He pointed a finger at her. “Give me back my ducky!”
Grayson wasn’t sure why he did it—maybe because he had never liked bullies—but he stepped in front of Chloe. “What’s going on?”
The flower guy gave him the once-over. “I don’t need some street bum butting into my business.”
The security guard spoke up. “That’s not a street bum. That’s Mr. Beaumont.” He turned to Grayson. “I’m sorry for the disruption, Mr. Beaumont, but this man says he had his flower bouquet stolen.” He looked at Chloe. “And I did see this young woman with a big ducky of roses.”
“But I didn’t steal it.” Chloe looked at Grayson. “Tell them.”
For the first time since she had strolled into his studio, Grayson felt in control, and he wasn’t about to give up that feeling. He squinted. “I’m sorry, but do I know you?”
She rolled her eyes. “Very funny. Now tell them that I brought the floral arrangement to your office.”
Thoroughly enjoying himself, he smiled. “What exactly would I do with a ducky filled with roses?”
Just that quickly the belligerent young woman Grayson remembered so well made an appearance. And for some strange reason, he was happy to see her. “How about shove it up your ass!”
“Don’t you dare talk to Mr. Beaumont like that.” A blonde hurried up. Grayson didn’t recognize her face, but he did recognize the standard purple dress and heels that all the receptionists wore. The woman pointed a tangerine-colored nail, which clashed with her dress, at Chloe. “This is the same woman that was trying to sneak into French Kiss earlier. She thought she could see a Beaumont without an appointment.” The woman looked at him and batted her eyelashes. “As if you would want to talk to someone with a bad haircut and faux-leather boots. Which is exactly why I told her to take a hike and come back when she had a clue.”
As much as he was enjoying toying with Chloe, this woman’s arrogance didn’t sit well. Especially when he had grown up poor and knew what it was like to have bad haircuts and cheap clothing pointed out by the wealthier kids. He was about to put her in her place when the doors opened and two police officers walked in. Upon seeing them, Chloe raced toward the opposite doors.
The policemen gave chase, and Grayson figured that his fun was over. It was one thing to let Chloe get hassled by a security guard and another to let her get arrested and thrown in jail. Unfortunately, by the time Grayson got out to the street, the police officers had Chloe on the ground and were handcuffing her. Or trying to handcuff her. As he might have expected, she was putting up one hell of a fight.
“Get your hands off me! I did nothing wrong.”
“If you did nothing wrong, ma’am, then why did you run away from us?” The officer who had her on the ground finally got ahold of her wrist and pulled it behind her back.
“Let her go,” Grayson ordered as he walked up.
The other police officer stepped in front of him. “Back off. This is none of your business.”
“It’s exactly my business. I’m Grayson Beaumont, and I own French Kiss.”
The officer looked him over and laughed. “Sure you are. And I’m Donald Trump. Now go about your business before I haul you in for interfering with an arrest…or for loitering.”
Grayson glanced down at his tattered, paint-splattered jeans and couldn’t blame the officer. He did look like a vagrant. “Look, I can prove it.” He made to pull out his wallet, but then remembered that he’d left it in his studio. Unfortunately, the officer didn’t take kindly to Grayson reaching for something behind his back, and grabbed Grayson and shoved him against a parked car. Grayson’s reaction was more reflex than anything. When you grew up with two older brothers who loved to box, you had to have good reflexes. He didn’t intend for his elbow to clip the officer’s jaw and send him stumbling back. Before Grayson could ask if the guy was all right, the other officer joined the fray, and Grayson found himself lying facedown on the sidewalk next to Chloe.
He grunted as the cop’s knee dug into his back and cuffs were slapped on his wrists. “You want to tell them who I am?”
Chloe squinted. “Do I know you?”
Grayson didn’t know why he laughed. He should’ve been pissed that she had turned the tables on him. And he was pissed, but he could also see the humor in the situation. He continued to laugh as the police officer got him to his feet. The other one helped Chloe up. Of the two, he acted a little more friendly.
“So what’s your name?” he asked her.
For the first time since Grayson had known her, Chloe actually looked scared. She swallowed hard and cleared her throat a few times before she glanced at Grayson. “Chloe McAlister.”
“And do you have any identification on you, Ms. McAlister?”
She shook her head. “I don’t drive.”
That surprised Grayson. Growing up in a small town in Louisiana, he had started driving his dad’s beat-up cars when he was twelve. Not that Deacon had known Nash let him drive. Nash and Grayson kept quite a few things from their volatile older brother.
The officer nodded, then had her spell her name and give him her birth date before he did the same with Grayson. While he radioed in the information, the other officer tried to control the crowd that was forming.
“This is all your fault, Grayson,” Chloe grumbled.
He adjusted his cuffed hands and leaned against the cruiser. “How do you figure? I wasn’t the one who stole the ducky.”
“No, you were just the one who wanted to be an ass and not tell the security guard that I didn’t steal it. What happened to you? I thought you were the nice Beaumont brother—the one who always does the right thing.”
He had always done the right thing. Whether it was getting good grades in school or eating all his peas, he did what was expected of him and never complained. When you were being raised by two headstrong older brothers, compliance was the easiest route. So he had kept his mouth shut and gone along. If something had bothered him and he needed an outlet, he would go to his room and sketch or paint. Through his art he learned to express all the emotions that he couldn’t express in a household filled with men. His paintings were his release…or at least they had been. Now he couldn’t even paint an apple.