Chapter 15 #2
Jace looks at both of us, crossing his arms, in full COO mode.
“You’re here because as much as we know he’s an asshole, you are CEO of Park Industries now.
Him and his cronies are still on the board.
So you are going to have to put aside the recluse energy and deal.
I’m here because my wife-to-be wants me to play nice with daddy dearest. She thinks he has some past trauma he hasn’t healed from or some shit.
” Jace turns to me. “You’re here to talk about your gallery.
It’s going to be amazing. Let’s eat and pretend we don’t want to stab him in the eye. ”
With that, he and Adam headed to the dining room, leaving me alone.
Jace’s words remind me of the conversation I had with my father on my 18th birthday.
I never told either of my brothers. They don’t know why he treats me with even more disdain than either of them.
The way he kept Adam and Jace around, never sending them away, but me?
I was placed out of sight, out of mind. Even now, as angry as he is toward Adam and Jace, there is an underlying respect and approval.
He is not as gracious with me because Tae Park blames me for my mother’s death.
“I didn’t want to have you. She had health problems with Jace, but she got pregnant anyway, lying to me, refusing to take the precautions the doctor told her. You were a mistake as far as I’m concerned and she paid for it with her life.”
It was at that moment that I realized my father cared for my mother. I’m not sure if he loved her, but there was pain in his eyes. It was why he hated any form of rebellion or resistance. My birth was an act of rebellion; one he has never forgiven me for.
“Why do you have Stone’s jacket?”
I look up from my phone and stare at my brother across the console between us. He doesn’t glance at me, but the muscle in his jaw saws back and forth. He’s pissed. Fuck, I knew he wouldn’t miss it.
“It’s not his jacket,” I insist, desperate to not discuss why I have the jacket of his friend and wear it often. His ring feels hot against my skin, scorching me for the deception.
“Don’t fuck with me, Camryn. I know it’s his.” He glances at me. “I can smell his cigarette smoke.”
Me too. That’s why I like it. I turn away and look out the window, snuggling into the very jacket that is now the topic of conversation.
He has no idea about the nights I wrap it around my naked body and fuck myself while wearing Stone’s ring.
I can’t describe the way the metal feels pressed against my clit or when I slide it on my middle finger and push it deep inside, pretending it’s him.
I can only hope Kingsley hasn’t heard me screaming his name while I’m staying in her guest room.
“You’re not involved with him are you?”
Jace’s question makes me jackknife in the seat. “What? No! He let me borrow it the night you beat up Keith and you and Sophia got into that fight.”
He frowns. “Why did you need to borrow it?”
“It was cold, okay!” The expression on his face tells me he doesn’t believe me.
“Then why not return it?”
I cross my arms, not knowing what to tell Jace.
Because, as far as I can tell, it was a nice gesture, gentlemanly concern, but then there was that moment that didn’t feel innocent.
That moment when he touched my face before Lara interrupted.
If I close my eyes, I swear I can still feel his calloused finger dragging down my face.
That crackling, electrical feeling that ignited my whole body.
The worry and sadness about Jace and Sophia evaporated in that moment.
His touch made me feel safer than I’ve felt in a long time.
“It was a nice gesture and I don’t know why you’re giving me the third degree.
He’s your friend! You invited him to the wedding! ”
“As a friend! Not as someone for you to fuck around with! He’s not the type of man you should get caught up with!”
“Why, Jace?” Something flashes in Jace’s eyes. Something haunted. Why is he warning me away from a man that he seems to trust?
Soon, he pulls up to King’s building and parks. I’m ready to get the hell out, but he continues, and I want to know why he’s so against me and his friend, because at this point, I don’t know if my obsession with him will go away.
He crosses his arms, his position mirroring mine. “Just trust me, okay?”
“Trust you. How can I when you’re being so fucking cryptic?”
“I get it. Sophia can’t stop telling me he’s some sort of Sex god bullshit, but he’s—”
“He’s what?” I press, wanting to know more about the man I can’t stop thinking about.
“Just not someone you should be messing around with.”
“Why? Because he’s not rich?”
“Jesus Christ, Camryn, don’t start that shit. That’s not the reason and you know it. The life he leads is dangerous, and he’s not the type of man who does relationships.”
“How do you know I want a relationship? Maybe I just want to fuck!” I challenge hating that he’s essentially telling me to stay away from his friend.
He cringes and grips the steering wheel. “Please, Camryn.”
“What? Horrified that your sister has sex!? That she enjoys getting off like the rest of the female population?”
“You’re pissing me off.” He glares, watching me.
“So? I don’t care if I’m pissing you off right now. So you were allowed to be a playboy and sleep around when you were my age, but I can’t? How many times did I hear about your ‘Parking Lot’ when I was a teenager?”
He rolls his eyes. “I’m not saying you can’t date and yes, fu—,” He clears his throat, “have sex with whoever you want, but not him.”
“Because he’s your friend?”
“Yes, dammit! Because if you— because you don’t know what you’re getting into with him!”
“I’m a grown ass woman you know.” I cross my arms and glower.
Jace scrubs his hands over his face. “I know you are, Cam. I know that, and I’m not trying to control your life, Tae does enough of that for all of us, but I don’t want you to get hurt. You’re just getting your life together and I don’t want you to mess it up.”
“You mean you don’t want to have to rescue me.”
He looks even more pissed. “Fuck sake’s, Camryn, that’s not what I meant!”
“Yes it is. You and Adam look at me like I’m helpless. You’re no better than Father.”
“Don’t compare me to him, ever. Do you understand? I’m nothing like him.”
His anger is visceral, and in the past, I would have kowtowed to him. But not anymore. I’m sick of constantly bending. “Aren’t you though? Right now you’re telling me what to do and trying to control me! Yes, I’ve made mistakes, Jace. Yes, I fuck up sometimes, but I’m not helpless or an idiot.”
“That’s not—”
“And for your information, your good friend doesn’t want me, so you can rest your fears!”
I get out of his car, slamming the door before I run through the glass front doors to the elevator in King’s building. I wave quickly to the doorman, who calls my name. Tears start to leak down my face as I frantically press the elevator button. I can’t break down until I get upstairs.
The doors swoosh open, and I walk inside, resting against the interior wall.
I stare at the ceiling and let the tears come.
Shit. The numbers move slowly up to Kingsley’s penthouse.
Sighing, I swipe at the tears. I can’t even manage to find a place to live.
My thumbs dig into my eye sockets, stemming more tears from leaking out.
I wish I could stem the feelings of failure the same way, but they barrel through me, making my stomach clench.
Maybe I should have just stayed in medical school.
Maybe my father wouldn’t hate me as much, and I wouldn’t feel so lost. I’d hate it, but at least it wouldn’t be a mark against me.
Once I get inside Kingsley’s apartment, I head to my guest room and slam the door, growling out my frustration, hating that Jace and I argued. Hating that a part of me feels like he’s right. What the fuck am I doing going after Stone? The man doesn’t want me. Reed didn’t. My father doesn’t.
As soon as I open the door, I head to my bedroom, stopping short when I see a huge box resting in the middle of my bed.
It’s all black, with a gorgeous blood-red ribbon cascading down the sides like a waterfall.
I move closer and reach out to touch the ribbon.
It’s a luscious velvet that feels deliciously soft against my fingers.
The box itself has no markings. I check around it and see a simple black tag that says my name written in a slashing handwriting.
That’s it. Just my name. I flop down on the bed and open my phone quickly, texting King.
Me: You got me a gift?
I see that her notifications are silenced, and then I remember that she’s at a brunch event for her father’s campaign and is probably smiling pretty for the cameras in a swanky hotel, hating every minute of it.
Slowly, I pull the red ribbon apart and lift the top off the box.
Leaning over, I look inside and see two more boxes inside, also tied with a red velvet ribbon.
I reach inside and lift out the longest one, placing it on my lap, smiling when I think about what King could have bought me.
The last time she got me a gift, it was a huge collection of glow-in-the-dark condoms. It was a gag gift, and now I wonder if today’s gift will be equally ridiculous, but I’m shocked when I open the top, and inside are five irregularly shaped charcoal sticks, beautifully tucked into a red velvet lining.
I pick one up, holding it between my fingers.
It is unlike anything I’ve ever seen, oddly shaped with a thinner shaft and two bulbous areas at the top and bottom.
They are also smaller than I’ve seen or used before.
I set them aside and pick the other box, unwrapping the same style of ribbon.
I open it up and see three handmade paintbrushes.
I roll the bone colored hand between my fingers, I trace my fingers up to the metal, and then the smooth brown bristles.
Horsehair? The handle must be ivory. “Wow,” I whisper to myself, stroking the smooth, polished surface.
There are small carvings on every section.
I lift one, squinting, inspecting the intricate details.
Flowers are etched into the ivory, as well as tiny birds.
I’ve never seen anything like it. It must have taken the artist a considerable amount of time to create.
They could be vintage and touch my chest in awe of the gift.
Kingsley has been with me on my journey to become an artist from the beginning, and tears come to my eyes thinking about her thoughtfulness.
Carefully placing them back in the box, I take out the last box and suck in a breath at the sight of a collection of varying shades of black paint.
The gradient ranges from the darkest blacks to brown blacks and gray blacks.
The range is incredible. With it, there is a wooden paint palette, the wood grain sanded down until it’s as smooth as silk.
I hold it to my nose and breathe in the fresh pine smell that I can still detect even though it’s been sealed with some sort of wax.
Who the hell made these? They are works of art.
I search the long flat box looking for the maker, but just like the others, I can’t find who makes them.
Knowing Kingsley, she probably had them custom-made.
This must have cost her an arm and a leg.
I replace everything inside the box, promising myself that I will use them for a portrait soon.
I wipe the tears and text her again, but my text goes unanswered.
My phone beeps, and I look down, thinking that it must be Kingsley, but I sniff when I see the text from Jace.
Jace: I’m an asshole. I don’t want you hurt, whether you believe it or not. Love you.
I stare at his text. Damn him. I’m already emotional. Frankly, I’m not sure what to say. Do I forgive him? Of course I do, but I hate that he held up a mirror to my face and revealed something I wasn’t ready to face. Another text comes in, and a reluctant laugh comes out.
Sophia: You wanna talk? Jace told me you two got into it. I’ll deny him sex if you want.
Me: Jesus, Sophia. TMI. No. I’m okay. Rub the belly for me.
As much as I love her, I don’t want to talk about it with her either. I flop on the bed and curl into a ball. After the stony silences my father gave me at brunch, I feel like I just got off a rollercoaster, sick to my stomach and regretting my choices.