I swallow back the rest of the bourbon and get up to pour another shot. I shouldn’t drink so much, but since I have nobody to answer to, I enjoy the numbing sensation that trickles through me after a few doubles of amber liquid.
Numb.
That’s what I am.
It’s a phantom ache in my chest that hasn’t left, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to ease it away. Grabbing the bottle, I make my way back to the comfortable armchair, which I’ve positioned facing the empty canvas, and flop onto the cushions.
Setting the glass and bottle down beside me, I pick up the remote and turn on the stereo. The speakers surrounding the room fill the space with the melancholic sound of Lucas King, and I close my eyes, getting lost in the darkness.
A loud banging on the front door rouses me from a dreamless sleep. I’m not sure who the fuck is at my house this early in the morning, but I pray to all that’s holy they leave. The incessant sound stops, and I sigh a breath of relief, but not long after, it starts back up.
Shoving myself from the sofa where I passed out last night, I call out to whoever it is to “Hold the fuck on.” With a quick glance in the mirror, I make sure I look halfway presentable before I pad over to the door. When I pull it open, there on my porch is a woman who looks far too bright and cheery for this ungodly hour.
“What?” I bite out, noticing her smile fall as she takes me in. The girl must be about five-four because I have to look down at her. She can’t be more than twenty. With her long, dark hair that’s got strange purple streaks and large, brown eyes the color of warm chocolate, she regards me with shock.
What the fuck?
I don’t notice shit like this unless I’m taking her home for the night, and that’s definitely not happening with her. She’s too young, and there’s far too much hope in her pretty face. Jesus, I need another drink.
“I-I . . . Uhm . . . I’m Nea Kinley,” she stutters at me in a soft, melodic voice, wincing when I growl and step back to allow her inside.
“You’re early.” My voice comes out gruff, and I have to clear my throat to stop her effect on me from showing. “I don’t like tardiness, but being too early can also be frustrating since I live onsite,” I bite out, releasing the door handle and leaving her to shut the door behind herself.
“I’m sorry.” I hear her from behind me, but I don’t turn to look at her. With my hangover pounding in my skull, I can only handle so much light at once, and this girl, even dressed all in black, is far too bright.
In the kitchen, I grab a mug and shove it under the Keurig, then turn to regard the waif of a woman. She’s dressed in long, black pants and a long-sleeved blouse, and even though I’m sure she’s trying to hide her tattoos, I can see them through the flimsy material.
“You have a lovely home,” she tells me. A small, shy smile dances on her full, pink lips, and I can’t stop myself from being entranced by them.
“Do you drink coffee?” I ask her, not commenting on her observation.
“Yes, Mr. Elliot.”
Nodding, I place a second mug under the drip and wait for it to fill. Once it’s done, I take them over to where she’s nervously standing at the breakfast counter. She’s shifting from one foot to the other, and her hands tremble when I hand her a coffee. For a split second, her fingers brush along mine, causing my body to jolt from the gentle touch of her skin.
I don’t think this is a good idea. She can’t work for me. It’s been a while since a woman has caused me to react to her so much, and having her here on a daily basis may prove to be too distracting.
“Tell me about you.” I settle on a stool, gesturing for her to join me. My gaze lingers on hers for a long while before she sits.
“What would you like to know?”
“Why did you decide to come to New Orleans? There are plenty of galleries in cities like New York, Chicago—”
“This city has a special place in my heart. My mom grew up here, but she wasn’t around long enough to bring me to see it.” Her voice cracks on her words, which intrigues me. She’s obviously still affected by the loss of her mother from the glassy emotion that sparkles in her eyes.
“I have a specific person in mind for the role. Someone who won’t be partying every night and coming in with a hangover. I want a responsible hostess to run the gallery.” My gaze travels over her, noticing the small diamond pierced through her nose and the multitude of silver rings in her ears— three on each side.
Her gaze shoots up from the mug at my words. I can’t pretend to be her friend if I’m going to hire her. And even though I’m sure this is a mistake, I can’t bring myself to tell her to leave. Not yet.
“It’s a two-month probationary period. One month if I don’t like your work.”
“I promise you, I’m—”
“I don’t need promises, Ms. Kinley. I want to see what you can do.” I’m curt, cold, and aloof, but I can’t have her thinking I’m a pushover.
“Mr. Elliot, I am responsible. I’ve spent a year on my own, working for an art gallery in Rome. I’ve brought along my references.” She pulls out some pages from her bag, but I don’t make a move to take them. Anyone can write words on a piece of paper. It’s actions I want to see.
“That won’t be necessary.” I rise and head to the coffee machine once more. Keeping my back to her, I close my eyes and focus on the throbbing in my head. I shouldn’t have drunk so much last night.
“Mr. Elliot.” Her voice filters through the pain that’s currently got a tight hold on my chest, easing it somewhat, and I turn to regard her standing in my kitchen looking like a kitten that’s just turned into a tigress.
Chapter 4
Nea
When he turns to me, I focus on his scowl rather than on how handsome he is. Even in his disheveled state, the man is an Adonis with sharp features and an angular jaw that looks like it’s been carved from granite. His dark hair is messy, and those eyes that are the deepest green pierce me.
His lips are full, and the stubble that looks a day old makes my fingers itch to touch it. Broad shoulders are encased in a black T-shirt, and the sweatpants he’s wearing hang low on his hips, illegally low.
Shaking off the desire that’s taken hold of me, I look into his eyes. “I may be young, but I’m not a party animal. I’m responsible, I love what I do, and I don’t appreciate you acting like I’m an errant child you can admonish when I haven’t given you a reason to do so.”
I grow silent for a moment, watching him. His eyes darken to a forest color, and I wonder if I’ve angered him. Honestly, I don’t care right now because I want him to see me as an equal. Even though I’m only twenty-two, I’m more mature than he gives me credit for. When he doesn’t respond, I continue.
“I would be honored to run your gallery for you, and I can prove to you that if you hire me, I’m worth more than the money you’re offering, and I intend to show you that.”
He picks up his mug from the Keurig machine, lifts it to his lips, and I can’t help but stare at him as he sips the hot liquid. Silence hangs heavily around us, and I’m sure I’ve fucked this up with my big mouth and sassy attitude, but then he smiles. And if I thought he was handsome before, I’m definitely sure I hadn’t really gotten the full Julian Elliot effect. The man is breathtaking.