Chapter 16 #2
He turns to me, a questioning expression on his face. “The Art of War? Why on everything that is Star Falls does teaching assistant-slash-very talented artist Juniper French need to have read The Art of War?”
I place my hand on his leg. “Oh, Fisher, do you only read books you need to read? I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything so heartbreaking.
I read sometimes just because I want to, or because someone told me it would make me laugh.
And sometimes, I read because the cover is the perfect shade of azure blue, or because when I pull it off the library shelf, it seems to fit perfectly between my thumb and index finger.
There are many reasons to read a book, Fisher. Need is only one of them.”
He holds my gaze, a small smile on his lips. “You are quite something, Juniper French.”
I want him. Really want him. In my bed. In my arms. Over me, looking down, as he fucks me. I want to wake up tomorrow morning and eat croissants and orange juice on the deck with him while Riley insists we play only Vivian Cross songs from the kitchen and then inhales two croissants.
I want him. But I can’t have him. Not like that anyway.
“So, tell me what I’ve been missing from The Art of War.”
“If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle.”
“Thank you, Sun Tzu,” he says.
“Honestly, the good thing about Star Falls is also the bad thing about Star Falls. Everyone knows everyone. Some more than others. You only have to meet Donna, who works at Galaxy Grill, once, and you’ll know who she is instantly through and through.
It’s the same with her sister-in-law, Marge, who owns Snail Trail, the outdoor-wear store.
And then there’s Mrs. Gale, my next-door neighbor.
Riley and I have lived here since Riley was born, and I know Mrs. Gale doesn’t like cats, but does like daffodils.
And she keeps to herself. Generally, you spend enough time with someone over enough years, and they’re going to show you who they are. ”
“Planning to go into battle with Mrs. Gale?”
“Not on my list for this year. Who knows what next year might bring? My point is, you’ve been in Gerry Banks’ orbit for a while now, and you know he’s your enemy. And you think he’s your intentional enemy. But you don’t know where he went to college?”
“You think maybe he hates me because of the college he went to?”
“Now, if you keep teasing me, I’m going to throw your ass off this porch.
And that would be a shame because I’d like a few more of those perfect kisses you’re giving out.
” I give him a stern don’t fuck with me look that only people who’ve actually wrestled with a two-year-old and a leaky diaper can know.
“You need to know him. Figure out what makes him tick. Don’t fixate on him fixating on you. Fixate on him.”
He pulls in a breath, and I can’t help but glance at his stomach as it moves under his shirt. I’ve seen those abs. I know how dangerous they are. I focus back on his face, and he smiles. He caught me checking him out.
“We need another date—soon,” he says.
I nod. “Don’t try and change the subject.” I pull out my phone. “What did you say his name was? Gerry Banks? And he’s at Re Records, you say?”
I start an internet search. His LinkedIn profile pops up first. His photograph is perfectly curated. It’s clearly a professional photograph, but he looks relaxed and friendly. His bio is very pared down, with only job titles and time spent in each role. I scroll down to Education.
“Where did you go to college?”
“Penn State. Why?” he asks. “Did he go there?”
I shake my head. “He doesn’t have a college listed, but his school… hang on. Let me check something.” I copy and paste the name of his high school and do a search. “Yeah, he went to school in Pennsylvania.”
Fisher chuckles. “You think he’s been stalking me since kindergarten?”
“No, but it’s worth filing away in your brain. Where did you grow up?”
“Pennsylvania.”
“So, you both grew up in the same state. That’s worth knowing.”
“Is it?” he asks.
He clearly thinks I’m losing my mind.
“I’m just saying, you should do a bit of research. If nothing else, it might give you some insight into what he’s doing so you know how to protect yourself.”
“You’re right,” he says. “Oh, and while we’re on the subject of our professional lives, I think Grace Astor is going to be coming to the Colorado Club.”
My entire body turns to jelly, and if I wasn’t sitting down, I’m sure I’d fall down.
“Why?” I snap.
She can’t be coming to see me. I can’t have some lady who knows about art coming all the way across the country to see my work.
Fisher frowns. “She wants to see your work, but actually, it’s a great business opportunity for her as well. The marketing team is going to introduce her to some members of the Club they think would benefit from her expertise.”
My body slowly regains its strength as he talks.
“So, she’s not coming all this way just for me?”
“I’m getting the feeling you want me to say no when, if the answer was yes, that would be a huge compliment, so I’m completely confused.”
I swallow. “Yeah. It’s… I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but it’s just little ole me in my studio, painting weirdo abstract landscapes, as my dad likes to describe my art.
And I love that you like my painting, but I don’t expect some lady from New York who owns galleries and stuff to like my work. ”
“Well, news flash: some lady from New York does like your work. Don’t think I had anything to do with her interest in you other than sending her the link to your website.
She called me. I haven’t pursued her. And anyway, this is Grace Astor.
She doesn’t owe me anything. And even if she did, she wouldn’t gamble her reputation on anything. If she likes you, she likes you.”
“I looked her up,” I say. “She’s a pretty big deal in New York. Well, all over the US.”
“You’re right. She is. All the more reason she’s not going to fly out to Colorado and waste her time just as a favor to me.”
“Are you sure you sent her the right website?”
“Juniper…” His tone is a warning, like I’m being ridiculous. But it’s not me who’s being ridiculous. It’s this entire situation.
“I’ve been painting a long time,” I say. “I love it. But I don’t expect other people to. It was a shock when Byron’s designer bought almost every piece I had.”
“And you know Byron didn’t do that as a favor, don’t you?”
I don’t know that. “There’s no question that he did me a favor.”
“Then you don’t know Byron very well. If you asked him to buy a piece of your art, he definitely would.
I’m not saying he’s not generous. But he just wouldn’t have been proactive about it.
I can almost guarantee you that he gave your details to his designer and then forgot about it.
He’s not micromanaging the artwork at the Club. ”
I pull in a breath, trying to process what he’s telling me. It makes sense that Byron wouldn’t have wanted to micromanage the art buying.
“But I bet he told his designer to buy something.”
“How many paintings did they buy?”
“Eighteen. She didn’t like five that I have. Said they were a little bit dark. And one was too small.”
“Right. So, he wouldn’t have said, Go buy eighteen paintings.”
“He might have. He might have given her a budget.”
He shakes his head and pulls out his phone. “We’ll settle this.”
He’s going to call Byron. I’m mortified.
“What are you going to say?” I ask.
He doesn’t respond. He sets the phone on speaker. “Hey,” he says when Byron answers. “I wanted to ask you something. You know the paintings you bought from Juniper? Did you give your designer a steer on how much to spend?”
“There was an art budget, if that’s what you mean,” he replies.
My stomach dips a little. It’s not that I didn’t know he did me a favor. Of course he did. But hearing it? It hurts more than I expected.
“A budget for Juniper’s art?”
“For art generally.”
“So, not specifically for Juniper’s work?”
“No. We didn’t know we were going to buy Juniper’s work until Rosalind, my designer, saw it.”
“I guess I’m just asking if you bought Juniper’s work as a favor to her.”
I wish I could transport myself off this porch. I don’t want to hear about Byron’s pity purchase. I close my eyes and brace myself.
“Her stuff is all over the Club. There’s no way Rosalind would let me compromise the work we put into the Club just to make Juniper happy. I’d rather have written Juniper a check. Rosalind liked the work, and it fit into her vision or aesthetic or something. Why are you asking me all this?”
My body relaxes, and I’m not sure I can quite believe what I just heard. Tentatively, I open my eyes, and Fisher gives me an I told you so look.
“Just getting clarity,” Fisher says.
“Clarity for who? Grace?”
“No, just peace of mind. That’s all. Gotta go.” He hangs up before Byron can question him further. “Believe me now?” he asks.
I take in a deep breath. “Kinda.”
“It would have been easier to write you a check if he wanted to do you a favor. Juniper, until you believe in yourself, I’m going to believe in you twice as hard to make up for it.”
I don’t think anyone has ever said anything so nice to me. I press my palm to his cheek and lean over and kiss him.
It’s a thank you.
It’s an I like you.
It’s a how did you appear in my life outta nowhere, giving me everything I need right now.
He groans as our tongues meet and each hair on my body stands to attention.
Every molecule of my body wants him. Wants all of him.
I push my hands into his hair and he pulls me onto his lap, my knees on either side so I’m sitting astride him.
His hands roam over my back and ass and tuck me against him.
His hardness presses against my clit. His denim against the cotton of my leggings.
We’re so close, but there’s too much distance between us. I want him hard and bare and heavy against me. I want to feel his heat, trailing up and down my folds. I want to strip naked and feel him naked against me. I want more of him. I want all of him.
Instinctively, our bodies rub together and Fisher’s kiss becomes more demanding, deeper, rougher, less controlled. My breaths come quicker, and I can feel the coil inside of me winding tighter and tighter. We’re fully clothed and just kissing, but I’m vibrating. I’m needy. I’m dizzy with wanting.
“Juniper,” he hisses, “Juniper.” He says it like a warning, like we’re about to cross a threshold or open a door to something, and he’s trying to resist. Or trying to stop me. I can’t decide.
I push against him, grinding on his thick cock, beneath the layers of fabric between us. But it’s not enough.
I want more.
I reach a hand between us, my fingers fumbling for his zipper.
His hand clasps around my wrist. “Juniper. Riley is inside.”
His sharp tone snaps me back to reality.
“It’s fine,” I say, my words come out like I’m panting. “She never wakes up so long as she’s not sick.” I’m not making excuses, it’s true. The kid sleeps like a rock. But I get it. He doesn’t want to risk it, and I don’t want to make him feel uncomfortable.
I lift my hands to his shoulders and grind against him, my hips swaying and circling.
He gasps and his head falls back. “Juniper, you’re going to make me come in my pants.”
I grin and press a kiss against his neck, rough with the stubble of his beard. “I want you to,” I whisper against his skin. “I want you to want me so bad, your dick doesn’t need to be inside me.”
He groans and grips my waist tightly, pulling my body against his.
My clit is throbbing through the now soaked cotton of my leggings.
My sharp nipples scrape against the cups of my bra and I moan, desperate for him to touch me.
I just want to feel his fingers against my wetness, his shaft against my folds, his skin against mine.
It would only take a second to push me off the edge.
“You’re so beautiful, Juniper,” he says.
I pull back slightly and gaze at him, lit up in the moonlight. I give him a small smile and press a kiss to the corner of his lips. He slips his hands to my hips and starts to rock me against him, over and over, small movements that feel tortuous. Why are we doing this to each other?
I whimper as the seam of his jeans connects to my clit, and I arch my back.
“Remember the rules, Juniper.”
I groan at the growl in his voice, at his serious, demanding tone. “Tell me,” I gasp out.
“You don’t come unless you have permission.”
Wetness renews between my legs at his words. I’m so close. My legs are trembling. My breaths are short and sharp. I’m almost there and he knows it.
He stills his hands, and I frown and try to move, but he’s holding me tightly.
“Please,” I whisper.
He lifts his chin in a request for more.
“Please,” I say again. I lean forward, my mouth against his ear. “Please let me come for you.”
He groans, and his hands rock me against him, over and over, hard and relentless, and panic starts to rise. I don’t know if I’m going to be able to stop it. I can feel it like the rumble of clouds thundering through the sky. I don’t know if I can—
I look at him in horror, but he sees my expression and takes pity on me.
“Come for me,” he says on a growl.
That’s all it takes for my orgasm to engulf me. I cry his name and he holds me tight against him and he groans out too, and I realize he’s right there with me. Coming together, both fully clothed, so desperate for each other we’ll take anything and everything we can get.
“Juniper French, I haven’t come in my pants since I was a teenager. What are you doing to me?”
I wrap my arms around his neck, pressing our chests together, wanting to hold him tight, hold him so close he won’t ever be able to leave.