Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 41577 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 208(@200wpm)___ 166(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41577 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 208(@200wpm)___ 166(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
But, more than that, I wanted a chance to discover what Maddox knew.
It had been a while since I’d given thought to my father’s reasons for leaving me. Probably because he was so present, the past didn’t seem to matter. However, as deep as our connection ran, there was clearly something keeping him at arm’s length. Something he was determined to step over and around, rather than face. I was used to this kind of avoidance from my mother. That he would perpetuate it had me questioning if this thing between us had something to do with her.
If Maddox had known my father before I was born, then perhaps he’d met my mother. If they were as close as my father had said—close enough to be considered family—then it was possible that my father had confided in Maddox his reasons for abandoning me.
My father’s electric razor buzzed from the bathroom. He would be looking to get dressed soon. Quickly, I secreted his phone into the walk-in closet and thumbed a reply text to Kristin with the name of the restaurant and a time shortly after we were set to arrive. He would not be happy once he realized what I’d done, but it was a risk I had to take.
I tossed the phone on the bed and returned to the closet to finish getting ready. I had managed to convince my father to continue his work on the painting, regardless of whether he intended to show it. After a few sessions, he’d presented me with a debit card with my name on it and said, “Modeling for me is work. You deserve to be compensated.”
I went out and bought myself clothes. Mostly gauzy shirts and backless dresses, things I could wear to parties and gallery openings. I wanted to feel his skin against mine as he led me through crowded rooms.
Tonight, it was paramount that I look sexy and grown-up. Kristin would be there, and so would Maddox. I needed to make an impression—preferably a large one in the vicinity of Maddox’s trousers. I opted for a slinky, loose-fitted violet dress with an asymmetrical hem. Black lace-trimmed panties, no bra.
Standing at the full-length mirror, I knew I’d made the right choice when my father’s hands came around to softly pinch my nipples through the fabric. Our eyes met in the glass, his gaze hot enough to warm my cheeks.
“If I haven’t ripped this dress off you by dessert, it’ll be a miracle.”
Chapter Twelve
The city was our playground.
As soon as I’d settled into my crazy new life, my father had taken it upon himself to show me the sights. He took me to Broadway shows and concerts at the New York Philharmonic. Gallery openings and parties at his friends’ summer homes, where he introduced me to other artists and collectors. Always with a hand pressed to my back or an arm around my shoulders. He brought me to hole-in-the-wall bistros and fed me morsels off his plate, dabbed my mouth with white linen between bites and whispered, “You’re the love of my life, sweetheart.”
I’d missed this. For six long years, I had ached for the touch of his hands, for the glide of his fingers through my hair, the whisper of his lips across my cheek, my forehead. Caresses that in isolation would seem perfectly innocuous to anyone watching.
He squeezed my knee in the back of the taxi as we pulled up to the restaurant. Once inside, I recognized his agent, Michelle, and her husband, seated at a large leather-lined booth beside a couple of women artists I recalled meeting my first week in New York.
My father apologized for our tardiness as we slid into the booth. He kissed Michelle’s naturally bronzed cheek and shook hands with her husband, Jeff.
“Paige, you’re looking beautiful this evening.” Jeff stared at my nipples and reached across the table to grasp my hand. I could feel the tension rolling off my father like distant thunder.
“And what a gorgeous dress,” Michelle added.
I smiled at her. “Thank you.”
“Henry,” she said, “as soon as this one has something worth showing, I want you to call me. Any time, day or night.”
“She means in case your talent is hereditary,” teased Jeff.
“Don’t make fun.” She slapped his arm. “I’ve been in this business long enough to know that talent is just as much nature as it is nurture. And it would be a tragedy to see even an ounce of that talent wasted on pointless school assignments.”
My father beamed proudly and curved his arm around me. I leaned my head against his chest. He motioned for the waiter and placed a generous order of wine for the table and an array of dishes, everything from oysters on the half-shell to duck confit poutine.
About an hour into the meal, I was beginning to worry that Kristin and Maddox weren’t going to show. The small part of me that felt guilty for going behind my father’s back thought it might be for the best if they didn’t, while the rest of me was growing impatient.