“I’m sure you could find ways of curing his depression.” She winks playfully.
“No, this is my career. Stop bringing sex into it.” I roll my eyes, but I have to laugh as well. Phee is one of those girls who takes chances, who enjoys risks, and I’ve always been one to overthink situations. Sometimes, I wish I were as carefree as she is. “And besides, I don’t even know what he looks like,” I tease. I haven’t found any information online, which, in a way, I wish I had.
“You know, it’s been a while. You’d be less of a bitch if you get laid.” With another clink to my now-empty glass, my best friend laughs.
“I’m not a bitch. I just . . . well . . . men are assholes. They don’t stick around for very long, so what’s the point of falling in love?” I mimic her sugary-sweet tone.
“Nea, honey, don’t let that asshole you were dating put you off finding a good man. They are out there. Somewhere. Not all men are like your father, either.”
“Uh-huh, sure they aren’t. Can we drink wine and not talk about men?”
She nods, grabbing the bottle and topping up our glasses. Today was one of those days that took its toll. I’m tired, being on my feet from early morning to late evening, and even though I should be sleeping, my mind is racing a million miles a minute.
“So, what are you supposed to do if this guy is a mean boss? I mean, if he’s as bad as you say, surely he’s not going to be nice to you just because you work for him?”
Shrugging, I take a long gulp of the fruity red wine, then lift my gaze to Phee. “I’m supposed to go in there and convince him to hire me. I think he’s probably just not very trusting of people. From what I read about him, the property is meant to be exquisite, and I don’t see it as being overly difficult to make people visit. Also, he inherited the plantation house from his father—”
“He inherited it?”
I nod.
“Then perhaps he’ll be happy when it does well. I mean, maybe he’s just an asshole when he does reviews. Who knows?”
“Maybe there’s another story that we don’t know about. I mean, everyone has their secrets.” I’m almost certain there’s heartbreak in this man’s life. Knowing he inherited the gallery from his father is an indication that his folks may no longer be around. And I know how much that can hurt. It’s not something you get over after a few months or even years. It’s a lifetime of sorrow that only dulls, but it’s still present.
“Perhaps. If I know anything, Nea, you’ll get under his skin, and he won’t be able to refuse you. You’ll get the job, and you may even make him learn how to be nice.” Phee winks playfully as she sips her wine.
She’s right. If I land this, I’ll have an amazing job. I’ll be living in one of my favorite cities in the world, and I’ll gain experience so one day I can open my own gallery.
“I’ll drink to that.”
Chapter 2
Nea
Groaning as I roll over, I try to hide my face from the bright, golden sunlight streaming through the window. Sunday mornings are my favorite because I’ll lounge around the apartment, eat junk food, and just be a slob. It’s the one decadence I’ve given myself.
After my mother passed away, I drove myself into a depression so dark and so scary I almost admitted myself to an institution. Phoebe was the one to pull me out. To slap me back to life. She was right; my mother wouldn’t have wanted me to close myself off, to hurt myself because I was sad.
My mother, Patricia, was strong. She fought that fucker called cancer for months, and even in the end—when she knew her time was up—she didn’t waver.
Thinking about her always makes me sad. Remembering how she’d always know how to cheer me. She was there through every milestone of my life—playing both mother and father.
I was nine when my father walked out. At the time, I didn’t know what had happened. I waited for him to come home, to walk in from a long day at work or from a holiday he decided to take, but it never happened. After I’d turned fourteen, I finally had enough and forced my mother to tell me what happened.
The asshole up and left to live with another woman. When mom fell ill, he didn’t even bother calling me. Even if he did, I would have informed him that if he ever set foot in my life again, I’d get a restraining order. I didn’t hate him, not anymore. I was merely guarding myself from the pain.
The heartache of losing someone you love, someone you believed loved you. Nothing can prepare you for that kind of agony. It started with my father, and each boyfriend I had since I started dating, when I turned sixteen, had been the same.
Men are creatures of habit. They surge into your life like a hot summer breeze, whip you around in their storm, and spit you out like the remnants of a tornado, leaving you just a shell of what they found.
That’s why I’ve vowed off the male species. And even my best friend can’t sway me. If I grow old with fifty cats, then so be it, but I’ll never allow myself to have my heart broken again.
I need to focus on
