Casey's Choice Page 20

  “I’m sorry.” Max’s face was earnest. “He’s a good man, Casey, even if it doesn’t seem like it right now. He has a very hard time trusting people. I think he’s lonely, and he—he became infatuated with you. Now that he feels you broke his trust, it’s hard for him to accept that he didn’t see the truth. And it’s hard for him to forgive, I guess.”

  “You forgave me.” Her voice was accusing. “Why couldn’t he? Why is he so harsh?”

  Max ran his hands through his hair. “Look, it was clear to me that you made a snap decision to impersonate Sofia, that it’s not part of your overall character, and that you were sorry. I mean, that’s just obvious from spending one single second in your company.” His voice was fierce. “You’re sweet and smart and sexy and so talented, God!”—he broke off to gesture at her painting.

  “You really think those things about me?” Her voice was low, and she met his eyes, shy. “That I’m sweet and smart and sexy?” She wasn’t the kind of person to fish for compliments, but right now her soul needed to hear this.

  “Fuck, yes.” His voice was low and gravelly. “And so would any sane person who meets you for one goddamn minute.” His eyes, when they met hers, burned with something she hadn’t seen there before. “Because you are amazing.”

  “Max.” She caught her breath. Every time she looked into his face, she started to get lost in his expression. It made her uneasy, because Hunter was the one she cared for—she had no business burning for Max. Yes, she’d wanted him during the punishment, but surely that was just the whole atmosphere. She probably would have wanted to fuck anyone who was spanking her right then.

  He broke the gaze. “So don’t you ever let anyone convince you otherwise.”

  “Do you think he’ll forgive me?”

  Max took a breath. “Yes. But he’s proud and stubborn. It may take time.” He took her hand. “I’ll be here to help, in the meantime.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Casey, I’m putting you in charge of the gallery for the next month.” Monica’s voice was firm. “You’ll take the lead on meeting with clients, acquiring new works, recruiting new clients, and marketing outreach. Blake will be your assistant.”

  Casey blinked rapidly. “What?”

  “Are you asking because you’re temporarily aurally impaired, or because you’re simply surprised? If it’s the former, I suggest you see a specialist. If it’s the latter, I suggest you work to temper that kind of response. Clients don’t respond well to slack-jawed disbelief from their gallery host.”

  “Yes, Monica, it was surprise. And yes, I will work on inhibiting my true personal responses, if you truly feel that your clients prefer a partially euthanized fully sedated art curator.” Casey felt like she was getting a handle on Monica. If you met sarcasm with sarcasm, Monica seemed to appreciate it. If you fawned ingratiatingly, she skewered you. Over the past few weeks, Casey had done a complete one-eighty, impressing Monica and herself with her commitment and dedication to clients, far beyond anything she’d done to that point. In return, Monica had given her not only more responsibility, but also more respect, more leeway in her attitude.

  “I will be out of the gallery for the next few weeks, so things will fall on your shoulders. Try to Atlas up, Casey.”

  “Are you going on vacation?” Did Monica know such things existed?

  “No.” Monica touched her side. “I’m going somewhere else.”

  “Oh. Well… where?”

  “To the Mayo Clinic in Scottsdale, Arizona.” Monica looked past Casey, out the window, and her posture was stiff.

  “Are—Monica? Are you ok?” Casey sucked in her breath.

  “No. I’m not.” And for the first time, Casey heard uncertainty and even a quiver in her boss’ voice. “I have a kind of… cancer. It’s called pancreatic adenocarcinoma. They say it’s entirely removable, and that I’m one of the rare, lucky—and that I have. I have an excellent chance of. I have.” She broke off and sat down abruptly in Casey’s rolling chair, and to Casey’s horror, began to cry.

  “Monica? It’s okay. You’re going to be fine.” Casey put her arms around Monica, being careful not to get too close, so she wouldn’t smudge makeup or mess up hair, or invade personal space too far, then let go when Monica pulled away. “You said a good chance of recovery? That’s what you meant?”

  Monica nodded. “Yes. They caught it early and it hasn’t spread. They think they can get it all out.” She pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed her eyes. “I’m sorry to be so emotional. It’s overwhelming. Problems are meant to be solved, and this one is just… out of my immediate control. It’s frightening.”

  “I’m sure.” Casey debated another hug, but since Monica hadn’t seemed to enjoy the first one, she held back. “I’m so sorry. Mayo has the best surgeons in the world, right?” This was one of those times when she wanted her words to be healers, and because of that, she needed to summon up all the healthiest, happiest ones she could find, even if they bordered on being obscene in their cheeriness. “They have the very best doctors in the world. World class. Phenomenal. Everyone knows that. They’ll take good care of you. And you’re so strong, and so fierce. You’ll beat this if anyone can.”

  “Well, I’ll do my best.” Monica sniffed. “You’ve really been stepping things up since we had our chat. I’m impressed with how you’ve handled clients. You’re ready for this. In fact, once I come back, I’d like to discuss next steps with you. Showing your art here, and changing your job role and title. There will be a salary increase as well.”

  “Oh, my God! Thank you. Monica? Thank you.” Flustered and overwhelmed, Casey didn’t know what to say. But Monica moved on.

  “That’s later. Today and the rest of this week, I’ll brief you on all of my current workload and get you set up. And next week, Monday, is my—procedure. After which I’ll need several weeks to recover and assess and possibly have more therapies, chemo.” She took a deep breath. “And there’s a lot to cover, so let’s get started. The most important client on the radar is the owner of Castlebright Investments. He wants expensive, tasteful, interesting, modern. Nothing excessive, vulgar, too expensive.”

  “That sounds exciting. But tell me, about the surgery? Is it long? Do you, will you have someone with you?” Casey felt like they were going into a strange overdrive, speeding past the cancer until it was just a fleeting image in the rearview mirror of their conversation. Surely she should say something more about the surgery, the recovery. Ask questions, offer more.

  Monica’s words came fast and plentiful, a barrage of verbal hail that stopped any other conversations from sprouting. “I do have things set up, and everything is organized and ready to go. Right now, though, it’s better for me to just focus on my work.”

  “All right. So, Castlebright. I will do such a good job that even his pets will be impressed with my research and my observational skills.”

  “Yes.” Monica’s voice was dry. “And if you don’t offer to race him in the office chair, I feel you’ll be perfectly set.”

  “Monica. I told you, we stopped doing that thing, with the chairs.”

  “It was a joke.”

  “Aha.”

  “I know, I never make jokes.” Monica nodded. “I thought it was something I might try. You and Blake seem to enjoy it.”

  “Oh, it was a good one! Very good job, Monica. I just, you know, didn’t expect it.” Casey nodded vigorously.

  Monica made a sort of a face, but it seemed on the more affectionate side of the eye roll distribution, and Casey stifled a small smile. “Well, can you tell me more about the Castlebright client? I want to make sure we do this perfectly from start to finish.”

  * * *

  “Max?” Casey applied blush with one hand, holding her cell in the other. “Do you think I should come Friday?”

  “Do you want to come Friday?” he countered, his voice deep and rich, even through the earpiece.

  They’d been having conversations like this for a few
weeks, now; Max was always there when she needed to talk or to be cheered up over lunch. Casey had come to rely on his kind strength, his sense of humor, and his positive attitude. They’d talked for hours, added up—about his family and hers, about her art classes and the things she liked to cook. She’d learned about his job, how he sometimes defended poor clients pro bono, and that he secretly liked country music. She’d told him about how thrilling and scary it was to have her artwork up in the studio, and when the first offer came in on the painting, he took her to dinner to celebrate.

  She liked Max a lot, and sometimes wanted to let herself feel more for him, but Hunter filled her mind. She still kept thinking that maybe Max could help her unravel the mystery of Hunter, the way to get Hunter to forgive her and start over. So far she and Hunter had exchanged a few brief texts, mostly her apologizing, but he hadn’t expressed interest in seeing her—yet. And she’d been avoiding the club, unwilling to see him there if he was with someone else.

  “I don’t know for sure.” Casey walked to the window and looked out. The bathroom window was small and grimy, the glass thick and unwashed, and unlikely to be washed anytime soon; the space between her building and the next was small and tight and unamenable to window cleaning, especially for such a dismal view. Maybe the owner assumed that a thick layer of grime actually improved the scenery.

  “Casey? Are you still there?”

  “Oh, I am. I was distracted.”

  “By what?” She heard a horn, traffic, then a sudden silence. He must have entered a building.

  “I was thinking about a circus performer,” she said. “How maybe the dirt on my window has been there for decades, and how sad that is. It blocks the sun, I think.”

  “How does the circus come into play?” He sounded amused.

  “My building is so close to the one next door, that if you stretched out a two by four, you could walk between them. Like a tightrope walker, but the training wheels edition. Although it is pretty high. And there’s cement down there.”

  “If you wear one of those skimpy spangled leotards, I’ll come watch and buy you a popcorn for good measure,” he teased, and Casey laughed. “And,” he added, “don’t forget your safety harness like the guys who work on high-rise buildings.”

  “That wouldn’t be sexy.”

  “Well, neither are splattered brains on pavement.”

  “Speaking of that, have you ever eaten brains?” Casey transferred the phone so she could blush the other cheek. “I hear they’re a delicacy in some places.”

  “I did, in Israel, on a business trip. Breaded and fried. The texture put me off, but the taste was ordinary, I suppose.”

  “I watched a documentary once about a tribe where they ate the brains of recently dead relatives as a sign of respect for the living, but in doing so, they kept inadvertently passing on a deadly brain virus that killed more of them, one by one.”

  “Well, if that isn’t the most ironic catch-22 I’ve ever heard,” said Max, with a short laugh. “So I’ll shoo the neighbors away from your brain when they fall so the neighborhood doesn’t turn into the zombie apocalypse.”

  “You’re my hero,” said Casey in a sugary voice. “But you didn’t answer my question. Come Friday? Or not come?”

  “If that’s the choice, I’d vote for you to come,” said Max, his voice low and teasing, and without warning, Casey felt a rush of adrenaline and butterflies in her stomach. Her mind flashed with images of her naked body writhing on his lap, begging for his touch. She suddenly craved his strong thighs under her ass, his warm hands on her body, demanding, ordering, and watching the whole time to eventually acquiesce to her needs. He hadn’t asked her for anything since the night with Hunter, but his eyes told her of his interest, each time they met. And she wanted him too.

  “I don’t know.” She remembered his hands, strong and wide, the skin soft despite his strength. His palm had been so hard on her ass, but it had felt good too. She shifted her thighs, feeling arousal start to build. “Are you going to be there?” She’d been thinking about him this way a lot, lately, nearly every time they talked, and even in between. Sometimes at the gallery, his face would appear in her mind, his smile. It was disconcerting, and she tried to focus on the words.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you going to scene with Cassia?” She wasn’t sure why that idea was distasteful. But thinking of him and Cassia? It made her furious. She didn’t even like that he saw Cassia professionally; he’d disclosed that Cassia was a lawyer, too, and they sometimes argued cases as opposing counsel. She crushed a tiny chunk of pink powder that had fallen in a clump. “Have you… um, scened with her recently?”

  “No. We only do that on occasion. She’s working a big case now, and she won’t want to disrupt that by getting sore. She and Alexa do other things instead. Why do you ask?”

  “I don’t know. Curious, I guess.” There was a silence, then she asked, her voice casual, “So, if not Cassia, are you going to play with someone else? Like, maybe Abby? Or, someone?” Her voice trailed off. She drew with the powder on the surface of the counter, making a heart, but ran out of material before she finished, so it looked like a deformed McDonald’s M.

  “I don’t really know, yet.” His voice was even. “I take it as it comes.”

  “You told me once, in the beginning, that you were waiting for the right woman. How does that work with the—scening?” She didn’t know why, but his answer was important to her.

  “I am waiting. And when I find her, I won’t want to play with anyone else.” His voice was firm. “Unless she does. I enjoy this, but I don’t need this, Casey. I guess I just use it to fill space. That sounds terrible.”

  “No, not terrible.” She rushed to defend him, especially since his answer made her feel warm and fuzzy inside. “What’s wrong with enjoying your leisure time in ways that make your brain explode with feel-good chemicals, especially if you’re making other people feel the same way? I don’t think it’s bad. In a way, aren’t we all just filling our space up?”

  He gave a short laugh. “The brutal truth about life.”

  “Yeah, right? I mean, in a way, we’re all just providing ourselves with busy-work to distract ourselves from the fact that death is coming, whether it’s work or skydiving or knitting. But really, there’s something poetic about people who like BDSM and crazy sex. What better way to say ‘fuck you’ to death than to celebrate the life force with such dramatic presence? I mean, what I watched—people screaming in visceral emotion, getting in touch with the ragged edges of their sensations, their emotions. Those are people wringing every last drop of what they can out of life while they can. Suck it, death. Fuck you.” Her voice was harsh.

  “Wow.”

  “You don’t agree?”

  “I do agree. I’ve just never met anyone who said it that way, before, so blunt. So raw.” His voice was low. “Do not go gentle, Casey. I like it.”

  “That’s my specialty.” Her voice was sarcastic, but she was smiling. “Raw. Call me a vegan for the soul.”

  He laughed. “I love—” he hesitated, “the things you say. You always make me smile.”

  She sucked in a breath. “I love—talking to you, too. You make me smile, too.” It was true. She was smiling now. There was a short silence.

  “If you do come Friday, you find me, all right?” He hesitated. “Look, I don’t need—I’d be happy to just stay with you, if you want someone at your side. I don’t need to scene with anyone, Case. I can be there for you.”

  “Oh, I don’t want to hold you back, though.” She thought of him, handsome in his tux, like she’d seen him that first night, and remembered running her hand over his stubbly cheek. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.” His hand on her naked ass. The way he’d whispered “bad girl” to her. She felt arousal and shifted her thighs, restless.

  “You didn’t. I offered.” She could hear him smile. “I actually haven’t been in the mood to scene with anyone recently, anyway, so it’s not a big
deal.”

  “So you’re not playing with others at the club?” Her voice rose in surprise and she felt a rush of relief flow through her, supplanting the jealousy that came when she thought about him with another woman.

  “I guess not right now. So if you want to come? Let me know if you change your mind.”

  * * *

  In the end, she didn’t go. She texted Max to let him know, then texted Hunter as well. “I’m not coming tonight. Still sorry for everything.” He didn’t reply, and she felt the same combination of frustration, guilt, and anger that ate at her with every dismissed text.

  When Echo asked her to go out for drinks, she jumped at it, pulling on a sexy skirt and top with force, shoving her feet into her sexy-but-won’t-give-blisters-too-quickly heels. “Let’s go. Where are we going?” She pulled Echo’s hand. “I want to get silly and happy and forget about jerks.”

  “Well, but if we’re going to Rush Street that’s going to be hard, because as you know, many of the handsome boys in bars are, in fact, jerks,” Echo reminded her, curvy and luscious in her own skirt and heels, her purple curls tumbling down her back, her red lipstick a startling complement to her pale skin.

  “But at least they call, sometimes.”

  “Yeah, when they want to hook up.”

  “Mine’s not even doing that.” She tried to smile but it wobbled.

  Echo took her hand. “Oh, Case. I’m sorry.” She squeezed.

  “Like I am. And he still doesn’t care.”

  Echo frowned. “At some point, you have to stop saying it. He heard it the first time, and if it’s not taking, you need to give up.”

  “But I can’t. I’m so into him.”

  “Tell me why, again?”

  “There’s just something about him. When he looks at me, I get butterflies. The sex was incredible. And my God, the art in his home! He’s intense. So incredibly intense. It’s like someone distilled all the power in the world and put it into his eyes, and I feel it burning out at me when I look at him. He wants something fierce, and he has the world in his hands, and when I’m with him, I feel that way, too. And like I can get it! I don’t even know the right words. But being with him is a complete, total rush. Mind blown.”