Chapter 25
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FIVE
Why couldn’t any of her roommates have an easy path to love?
Madison stormed around the kitchen after Kyle’s SOS text about Doc, Pierre and her staff eyeing her warily.
She hated to be a distraction, but knowing Sawyer, he’d be all life is a horrible conundrum of existential dread as he had an anxiety attack, bemoaning never painting or finding love again. Argh!
And Doc wanted her to take the plunge into locura with Kyle? For maybe a split second—okay, longer—she’d thought about it. But now? Forget it!
Her roommates’ track record with love proved it was full of drama and bullshit. And none of them had even close to the complications she had with Kyle.
Sure, there had been the career conundrums with Thea over staying here in Paris or going back home.
Then Dean and Jacqueline had gotten tangled up over her family’s feud related to their wine cave, and the snafu between Brooke and Axel had prompted Madison to march over to the Nordic giant with her cleaver and tell him what’s what.
Now Sawyer and Phoebe’s number had been called.
Was it any wonder she didn’t think she and Kyle had a shot? She cleaved a duck breast in half. Look at the freaking odds, people.
But Doc’s love life wasn’t going down without a fight.
Not on her watch. Phoebe was going to hear what’s what and then get her head out of her ass.
But first she had to get into her apartment because Kyle said Phoebe had hung out of the window and yelled at Sawyer.
She admired a woman who could shout down at the street and make a scene, but still…
Phoebe wouldn’t be opening the door all Nordic civilized like Axel had when she’d appeared on his doorstep. She needed a plan.
“?a va?” Pierre called, flying after her as she washed her hands and went into the cooler, landing on her shoulder.
“I’m fine, Pierre.” She grabbed the stainless steel container of enhanced chicken stock and headed back out to the main kitchen. “Sawyer’s having women problems, and I’m going in like the cavalry.”
Dishing the stock into a small plastic container and throwing in some cooked rice, she closed the lid and dropped it in a paper bag along with a fresh baguette.
Grabbing her coat, she kissed Pierre on the beak and glanced at her staff, who were surreptitiously watching her movements.
“I need to step out for a little bit. Fabian, you’re in charge. ”
The wind was cold when she let herself out. God, it was New Year’s Eve tomorrow night. She was glad she was working—always made sure she did—because it was the second saddest day to be single after your birthday. Especially when you wanted something you couldn’t have.
The short walk to Phoebe’s apartment didn’t take her but a few minutes since she was stomping down the sidewalk all the way. Pedestrians gave her a wide berth.
Unfortunately, the usual dog shit that riddled Paris’ streets wasn’t as smart, but she enjoyed cursing merde under her breath every time she stepped around it. She’d taken to playing that silly game instead of cursing the idiots who didn’t pick up after their pets.
She waited outside the building’s exterior door where she’d seen Phoebe exit on the night of their sleuthing, taking the time to get into character. Someone was going to come along—this was Paris—and people didn’t stay inside nonstop.
Sure enough, an older woman came shuffling down the street to Phoebe’s apartment building.
Perfect. Phoebe was too social not to know her neighbors, especially an older French woman.
She had a hunched, tortured gait and could barely hold her small market bag.
God, Madison was never going to be that old.
If she couldn’t work anymore, she’d have to throw herself into a large wine vat in Burgundy or something.
Seemed like drowning in good wine would be a great way to go if you had to choose.
“Bonjour,” she called in French. “My dear friend, Phoebe, just got back from the States, and she’s sick. Too sick to get up and punch the call button, it seems. I brought her bread and soup. Would you be able to let me in?”
The woman immediately responded Bien s?r and went even farther.
She knocked on the landlady’s door and told her Madison needed help getting into Phoebe’s apartment because she was too sick to answer the door.
God, she loved trusting people. Thank heavens serial killers didn’t go for old ladies or hang out in Paris. Now Miami…
You’d better watch yourself.
She pretended to be the compassionate friend, showing them the soup she’d made—all true—and before she knew it, the landlady was opening the door for her. She gave her a warm smile before walking inside and closing the door quietly.
Following the sounds of the TV, she headed down the short hallway to find Phoebe binging on some period piece where women dressed up in nonsense contraptions and men sniffed the perfume on their wrists.
Thank God she hadn’t lived in that time.
She would have grabbed the guy’s sword—the other one—and ran him through for being so tedious.
“You look cozy.”
Phoebe jumped and cried out, “What the fuck!”
Made her day. “Nice to see you again too. So, I hear you have this crazy notion that Doc knew his agent was going to cut your knees out from under you and give his show to your mom. Please. I didn’t take you for an idiot.”
Phoebe clutched a fuchsia pillow to her chest, her face a comical mask of shock that had Madison’s lips twitching. “Hey! How the hell did you get in here?”
“I used to pick locks in Miami growing up to put bread on the table.”
Phoebe’s mouth parted. God, had she bought that horseshit? She shook her head. “I told them you were my friend and that I was bringing you soup because you were sick. Technically you are sick in the head if you could ever think what you did about Sawyer.”
Phoebe threw the pillow aside and stood, so angry she stomped for effect. “I know! I came to that conclusion some time ago, but I’m still not over being furious. Not at him— Dammit! At my mother! At Beverly! At—”
“Every damn person you can be mad at,” Madison finished for her, setting the bag down on the coffee table strewn with art magazines. “I get it. Your mother must really be a bitch to cut you like this.”
Hurt and anger burned behind Phoebe’s eyes as she glanced away.
“She is. The truth is, she wouldn’t have even agreed to have Sawyer’s show if Beverly hadn’t called her.
When I told her I wanted him after the Le Monde piece, she gave me her whole You can’t run a successful gallery showing an untested artist with no portfolio, Phoebe.
We at the Anderson Gallery have a higher bar speech.
I hung up after she said I won’t have you showing this Sawyer person’s work. ”
Madison sank onto the turquoise couch and kicked out her feet. “That makes me like you more, Phoebe, and willing to forgo sharpening my cleaver when I get back to the restaurant.”
“Funny,” she grumbled dryly but plopped down in the purple chair adjacent to the sofa.
“Do you mind if I turn down the British drama of bitches and britches? If you watched it at a lower volume, you would have heard the door opening.”
She flounced back into her chair and grabbed the remote. “I was trying to cover up the sound of me crying my eyes out since I thought Sawyer had betrayed me.”
“Oh.” She frowned before nodding toward the bag she’d brought. “Didn’t he text you to tell you his side—”
“I turned off my phone.”
Of course she had.
“I didn’t want to talk to anyone.”
Yeah. Madison got that. Why talk to people when they sucked and let you down? “Well, now you know that’s bullshit. Have some soup. You don’t want to get dehydrated. There’s also bread, which people assure me is comfort food.”
“Thank you,” she said with the same tight voice.
“Well, I’ve done my part for Operation Sawyer and learned you’ve got some things you need to tell Sawyer.
One last question. If your mother hears about you and Sawyer being together—because you’d better be doing your part to patch that up soon—do you think she’d sabotage Sawyer’s gallery show when she finds out he’s your boyfriend? ”
Phoebe picked up a magazine and opened it to the front and ripped a few pages out.
“Does this woman look like she’d fuck anything up?
No, she’s a professional through and through.
Which only pisses me off more because she doesn’t extend that professionalism to her own daughter and business associate.
She should have told me she’d talked to Beverly, especially since I’m the one who left my card, but it wouldn’t have dawned on her to tell me.
I’m not an equal partner in the business, and now I know I never will be.
My dad warned me this would happen. I should have listened. ”
Madison took the proffered pages, staring down at the older woman standing in a tony gallery surrounded by large paintings.
Phoebe had her green eyes and sweetheart-shaped face, but beyond that, Madison couldn’t see a resemblance.
This woman reminded her of those fancy movers and shakers who wore New York black, dripped jewels, and looked like they would stab someone in an antique store for something of value.
She wasn’t a pretty face. She was a player, and just looking at her, you knew she knew her shit.
“No, she seems stone-cold serious,” Madison agreed. “I thought if she went all personal because of you, we’d have an angle to have you do the show and not her, but that’s not going to fly.”
“I appreciate your looking for solutions, but Beverly would never go for that. She told me at her party that she’d loved hearing I’d reached out to Sawyer.
I have such a good eye, you see, like my mother—gag—and she was sure my new branch in Paris would be successful if I built it smartly and worked hard for like fifteen or twenty years. ”
Ouch. “I hope she doesn’t volunteer for a suicide hotline.”
A harsh snort escaped Phoebe before she said, “My mother says the same thing about my path to success, which really pisses me off because they don’t listen when I tell them I don’t want to do things like them.
All stuffy people who only come to shows to be seen or for tax purposes.
I’m not them and never have been. I mean, look at me.
I dress like an artist. My dad loves saying that. ”
“He sounds like he missed the mega-bitch gene from his parents, unlike your mother.”
Her face softened. “Oh, he’s got an ego, but he’s also got a soul.
You can’t paint like he does and be dead inside.
That’s why he and my mother didn’t work.
” Phoebe took back the pages of the article Madison had set aside.
“To start this new year off right, I’m going to rip up this article on how great my mother is and burn it until it’s nothing but ashes, which I’ll flush down my toilet afterward.
Because after this, we are so done. I’m calling her today and telling her that I’m not running the Paris branch, which means I need to close it down or she’ll take all my dad’s drawings, which are mine. ”
Madison leaned forward as her inner outrage meter rose. “Do you want help taking them down?”
“I can manage but thank you.” She swallowed thickly and ran a hand through her tangled mass of hair. “I hate that we ended up here, even though I knew it could happen. This was my last chance at a relationship with my mom. It’s the only reason I agreed to do the branch.”
Her mother had set her up? Did she know?
“I’ll have to start all over again,” she said in a hoarse voice.
“Maybe ask my dad for some help networking, although I’ve been trying to do this on my own.
I used my own money for start-up costs and to pay the lease, despite it being in my mother’s name, which she insisted on.
I know it’s stupid since I come from a privileged background, but I want people to see me as a professional and a damn good one.
Not some slacker trust-fund baby who skates on their parents’ fame. ”
“Commendable.”
“Dammit, I hate that she’s won.” She clenched her fist and knocked it against her thigh. “I don’t care if that makes me a bad person.”
Her mother had gotten in the way of her success, but Madison wasn’t sure she should point that out.
God, the whole mother thing could screw you up like nothing else.
She didn’t think of her mother much anymore except to thank God every day she’d left.
Because if she hadn’t, Madison would have had to cook and clean and wrangle two losers instead of one.
“I like your style on the burn thing. Cathartic. You and Sawyer have that whole cutting ties off with family thing going on too.”
“Yeah, we do.”
God, was that a sniff? Madison didn’t like feeling weird about Phoebe looking so sad and defeated. When had she become such a softy? “Look, here’s how I see it. You have a great guy who loves you.”
“I love him too,” Phoebe said, her voice breaking.
Yeah, that was definitely a sniff. Madison shoved a tissue box her way.
“Great. So burn pics of your mother and flush those ashes down into the Paris sewer. Scream into a pillow with your historic drama turned up if you have to. Maybe put some cucumber slices on your red eyes so you won’t look so psycho.
Brush your hair. You know… Then figure out a way to make up with him and get over this stuff.
Don’t let your mom win here. Because Doc is the grand prize. ”
God, listen to her go on! The guys in the kitchen would laugh themselves silly hearing her giving love advice.
“I appreciate you coming over and breaking into my apartment.” Phoebe picked up a gold letter opener on the coffee table next to a stack of mail and thrust it out. “Just don’t do it again.”
Madison gave a full belly laugh. “I love that you think you could take me, Phoebe. Now, I’m so outta here.”
Phoebe didn’t move. “I assume you can find your way out.”
“Always.”
With that, she turned around and headed out with a smile.
Damn, but she was good at laying down the law.
Now she needed to figure out how to do that with Kyle, and what tack she wanted to take so she wouldn’t be the one sniffling on the couch and watching her version of the whole britches and bitches program—Fast and Furious movies—crying over some guy.
Except he wasn’t just any guy, and she knew it.