15 Everleigh Wolves of Worry—Chance Peña #2
“Sorry.” He rolls his eyes in exasperation. “I have better things to do than give you a running commentary of town gossip.”
“Fucking useless.”
“Hey! Watch your attitude!”
“Or what?” She glares back. “You’ve already spent the morning chewing my ear off about getting my act together.”
“Honestly, Piper . . .”
“Be right back,” I mumble.
Their bickering fades as I walk deeper into the store, leaving Maverick to handle his sister. The building extends into a narrow galley, proudly boasting finished artwork on every available surface.
Canvases vary in size, but the detailed watercolour style is all the same. Studying each piece grants me the chance to take several deep breaths. It’s the same ritual I performed when stepping into a performance for Christopher’s wealthy friends or champagne-drunk ex-clients.
I pretended before, and I can do it again.
Detach. Dissociate. Survive.
By the time I’ve circled the collection, that newspaper article is caged in a distant part of my psyche. Maverick’s sister is outside smoking now, despite her brother’s caustic glare burning a hole into the back of her head.
“Everything okay?” I pat Maverick’s shoulder.
“We’re working through some stuff,” he grunts. “Piper’s complicated.”
“She seems nice.”
“You mean sarcastic, confrontational, and too damn smart for her own good?”
“I think you just described every twenty-year-old girl with a speck of intelligence. It’ll serve her well in the big bad world.”
He chuffs to himself. “She’s always been a straight shooter, but these college kids have changed her. I don’t know what’s crawled up her ass recently, but I’ll get to the bottom of it.”
“Maybe go easy on her, Mav.”
“It’s my job to look out for her whether she likes it or not.” He shrugs. “I don’t want her to fuck up her life like I did. The kid’s got too much potential.”
“You didn’t fuck up your life,” I scold him.
“I also didn’t attend a big university or have the entire world resting at my feet.” Maverick sighs wearily. “She could do anything she desires, and I just want the best for her.”
For such a stern, tattooed grump, he sure does have a big heart hidden in there. It’s endearing.
“You’re her brother, Mav. She knows where you are if she needs your help. Trust her to reach out when that time comes.”
“Or when she just fancies a bit of ball-breaking,” he gripes. “Kid needs to learn some manners and find a filter.”
“Nah.” I smile to myself. “I like a girl who speaks her mind.”
“Is that kid smoking again?” an older voice calls out.
“Yep,” Maverick drawls.
“I’m gonna bend her ear!”
Emerging from a discreet door fitted beneath the industrial, metal-and-glass staircase leading to a mezzanine level, a broad set of shoulders brush the edges of the frame. Silver haired and as tattooed as Maverick, an ageing man who looks distinctively like him scowls outside.
A prickle builds in the base of my skull. Maverick’s uncle, Elias, is obvious from his paint-splattered overalls and stained hands, surrounded by the decadent landscapes he’s plucked from reality and translated into watercolour.
“I am not paying her allowance just for her to blow it on drink and smokes,” he booms, all rough and world weary. “Did you talk to her?”
“Tried to.” Maverick rubs his beard.
“And?”
“No-ball. She’s got an answer for everything.”
Stomping over to us, amber-streaked slices of glass rake over me and cause Elias to abruptly halt. His weathered face creases into a look of confusion.
“You,” he blurts.
Tension seizes my entire form. “Uh, me?”
“I know you.”
Heart fluttering, I avoid Maverick’s stare. “I don’t think so.”
“Yes.” Elias shakes his head. “From that asshole’s charity gala last year. You’re Ever—”
Shit. No!
“Eden Coles,” I interject, head tilted so Maverick can’t see my eyes widen. “Of course. It’s nice to see you again, Elias.”
The anxiety I felt staring at his coastal landscapes crystallises. It’s a similar piece to the artwork Christopher purchased from the very man standing in front of me. He hung it above the leather sofa at the back of his office.
“What gala?” Maverick butts in.
An unspoken plea passes between us. Elias scrutinises me, his lips hanging open on another revelation, but I mouth a single word.
Please.
“Eden.” Elias loudly clears his throat. “Of course.”
“How have you been?”
Ruffling his chin-length silver hair, he forces his posture to soften. “Good.”
“Your gallery is beautiful.”
“Thank you, but I couldn’t have done it without Maverick’s help. He spent many weekends and late nights helping me get it set up over the last few years.”
“And you have a new collection launching?”
“I’ve been working on some reimaginings of Hawkthorpe before the modern era. Our librarian discovered a box of interesting reports and some antiquated pencil sketches . . .”
“Can we go back to how you two know each other?” Maverick refuses to be distracted.
“We met at an event,” I rush to explain.
“Right.” Elias nods in understanding.
“How is that possible?”
“It was in London,” he explains. “You remember the charity gala I donated to last year in aid of funding a new private rehabilitation centre?”
“Sure,” Maverick says slowly. “Why were you there, Eden?”
“It was hosted by an old friend.”
“Huh, weird. Small world.”
Schooling his expression, Elias doesn’t pick me up on the blatant lie. He knows full well that my husband organised that event to give back to the community, as he called it. More like augment his image by winning over a room full of the rich and famous.
“How are you enjoying Sailor’s Peak?” Elias redirects, his tone crisp and professional. “I was glad to see that piece go to a good home.”