Close Up (8 page)

Kristine made a small sound of horror and scuttled to the right, away from him.

“Oh, excuse me,” the new arrival said, giving him a total up-and-down assessment in about ten seconds. “Kristine, who is this?” she asked, even though she was still staring at him.

“I’m Sean Maddock,” he said, sticking his hand out. “My firm is doing security for the opening event Friday night, but it’s come to my attention that there has already been a security issue.”

Clearly, it wasn’t what she had been expecting him to say, and for a second she appeared flummoxed, before quickly recovering. “Excellent. I’m glad Kristine called you. The artist has just arrived. Can you go brief him on the situation while I speak to Kristine? Thanks.”

Then she in essence dismissed him, turning to Kristine. Sean saw the grimace Kristine gave before she greeted her boss. Not wanting to make the situation any more stressful for her, Sean left the back room. In the front gallery, he saw the cops talking to a man he assumed was the photographer.

He walked over and waited for the opportunity to introduce himself. Surprisingly, Ian Bainbridge didn’t look particularly upset.

“I’m Sean Maddock,” he told him as the police wrapped up their report. He held out his hand to Ian. “I own Maddock Security. I stopped in today to see what particular security problems the venue presents, and apparently, it presents quite a few.”

“Nice to meet you. Ian Bainbridge.” The photographer shook his hand firmly. “I’m getting used to this kind of disruption, believe it or not. I’m just glad it happened today and not opening night.”

“You’re used to it?” Sean asked him curiously.

“Unfortunately, yes. I’ve had everything from a personal stalker to morality committees to artists’ coalitions protesting me and my work.”

“It sucks to be popular, huh?” Sean grinned.

“You could say that.” Ian shook his head. “I never set out to be controversial.” Then he smirked. “Wait a minute. Yes, I did.”

“I’m going to post a guard at the front door between now and the opening. With the gallery staff occasionally going into the back room, the front room in unattended and we run the risk of another incident like this.”

“It all seems a bit ridiculous, but I understand.” Ian sighed. “Skivvies spray painted on nude models. Give me a break.”

“Speaking of that, I want to show you something,” Sean said. “I mentioned it to the police, but they didn’t seem to think it was a big deal. They thought it was a coincidence.” Sean knew it wasn’t a coincidence. It was absurd to think the vandal had randomly chosen the same person to paint in each photo.

“What is it?” Ian asked. The photographer wore jeans and a sweatshirt, looking as if he’d rather be in his hotel room watching TV. But he obediently followed Sean.

“The person who was covered in each photo is the same woman. You can see that her hair is darker in a few, and in one she’s wearing glasses, but it’s definitely the same woman.”

Ian studied the photos one at a time, moving down the gallery wall. “Jesus, you’re right. What the hell?”

“I don’t know if this woman is the one who left the note or if someone who just knows her did, but either way, there is clearly a message being sent whether we understand it or not.”

“Curious, isn’t it?” Ian glanced over at the police. “Somehow I don’t imagine they’re going to jump all over this, are they?”

“No. Not a chance.”

“Does your firm do any investigating along with security?”

“That’s not really our area, but I can recommend someone.” Sean had never wanted to get into investigative work because anyone he knew who offered that service spent a great deal of time working with angry married couples who were either getting divorced or were suspicious that cheating was occurring. It wasn’t anything he particularly wanted to deal with on a regular basis.

He had spent ten years ignoring his own failed marriage; he didn’t want to muck around in other peoples’.

“All right then. Guess I should go say something to the event coordinator,” Ian commented. “She looks like she’s about to burst into tears any second now.”

Sean spun around to check on Kristine.

He knew immediately Ian was wrong. He knew Kristine. She wasn’t about to cry.

She was trying not to laugh.

In awkward situations, Kristine got the giggles. It was a nervous tic she’d always had. During their brief fifteen-minute wedding ceremony, she had giggled the entire time, leading the justice of the peace to suspect she was drunk and ask repeatedly if she was sure she really wanted to get married.

Now the telltale wide eyes, wrinkling of her nose, and shifting of her lips back and forth indicated she was about to burst out with a completely inappropriate laugh.

“I’ll speak to her,” he told Ian. “I think she just needs some reassurance.”

The truth was, he had no idea what Kristine needed, but he knew all the things he’d like to give her.

* * *

K
RISTINE HATED THAT
she got the giggles at the worst moments. She was the person who became so emotionally overwhelmed that it spilled out as laughter in situations where it was totally offensive to other people. If a giggle escaped now, June would think she was not taking the vandalism seriously. But she couldn’t help it. It was all so ludicrous.

When June had mentioned the vandal’s graffiti art was akin to a third grader’s, it had seemed so beside the point that Kristine had felt laughter burbling up inside. She was pretty darn sure the intention had not been to display any particular sort of artistic skill.

Sean approached them right as she was sure she was going to lose the good fight and giggle.

“I’m confident we won’t have any breaches in security Friday night,” he assured June. “I’ll have a guard here at the gallery between now and the end of the event.”

“Excellent.” June gave him an assessing sweep. “You’re the owner?”

“Yes.”

Kristine was grateful her boss’s eyes were off her, and amused they seemed to have fixed on Sean with an interest more personal than professional. She couldn’t blame June for drinking in the sight of Sean. He worked his suit like nobody’s business, and his air was confident, in control. She was certainly impressed with him, the way he never seemed to doubt himself and had no feelings of guilt or unworthiness.

She felt like she was always leading with an apology.

It was something she was working on, and to that end, she shouldn’t let Sean rescue her with June, because that’s clearly what he was doing. Take charge—that’s what she needed to do.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, June?” she asked. “I think I’ll head out for tonight. I’ll be here tomorrow early if you need any help refitting the frames with new glass.”

It was her right to go home. Her role was done. The goal was to sound confident. Yet immediately she worried she came off as a slacker. At least she no longer felt the urge to laugh.

“That’s fine, thank you, Kristine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Sean said. “That back lot is dark.”

“Oh! Thanks.” So he wasn’t going to let her off the hook for the night. He was going to insist she go for a drink with him.

She had to admit, she wanted him to insist.

Yes, she was exhausted and stressed, but that look he’d given her right before June walked in the back room... Her panties still felt warm.

Sean didn’t touch her as she grabbed her purse and they exited through the back door, but she was still acutely aware of him. Her footsteps sounded loud on the parking lot’s crumbling asphalt, as they walked in what she felt was an awkward silence. She didn’t know what to say. Where did they start?

At her car, which had seen better days, she stuck the key in the door and manually unlocked it. The automatic locks had stopped working at least two years earlier. She turned back to Sean. “Thanks.”

“Meet me at the wine bar on the next block in ten minutes,” he demanded.

“Oh, well...” She had no excuse. She’d already said yes. “As long as we don’t stay late. I have to be at the gallery early.”

“You’ll get your eight hours,” he said. “Just give me one.”

“Of course. Sure.” She owed him after inadvertently blindsiding him with divorce papers. Hell, she owed him a whole lot more than that, but the parking lot wasn’t the place to dig up old dirt.

Maybe a wine bar wasn’t, either, but at least the setting was pleasant. Sean wasn’t even ten minutes. Kristine had barely sat down in the reception area when he was pulling open the door and striding in, giving her a smile. God, he was so hot. He’d been good-looking at twenty-one, with a naughty smile and a rumpled and disheveled sexiness. Now he was just commanding. It was insane that no woman had managed to snag him yet. She was sure those who had tried would equal a cast of thousands.

Every woman with blood in her veins would want a piece of him.

“The last time I saw you, you weren’t even legally able to order a drink,” he said, shaking his head. “Damn, we were young.”

“Young and stupid and in love. What a fabulous combination,” she said ruefully as they followed the hostess to a table tucked into a corner. The uplighting in the room was red, and the booths were covered in dark velvet. It exuded a bordello feeling. Intimate. Romantic.

If she expected Sean to agree with her, she was wrong. He shrugged. “I don’t know. There were a lot of things that worked about it. We had no expectations. No financial needs. We were just into each other. What’s so stupid about that?”

For some reason, her heart squeezed. “Being in love wasn’t stupid. But I was immature. I ran away instead of dealing with our problems.”

“Yeah, about that. So, what was our last fight about again, exactly? Because all I seem to remember was you irrationally accusing me of cheating, me defending myself, then you taking off. End of marriage.”

Well, that was the past pulled out of his pocket and dropped on the table between them. Geez. But while it made her uncomfortable, Kristine knew he had every right to ask. “Honestly, Sean, it’s hard for me to explain it at twenty-nine. I was so insecure. I couldn’t believe that you would really want me. Sure, maybe for the short term. But the long haul? No way.” She sipped at the water the waitress had deposited in front of her. “I was convinced you had to be cheating because, well, why wouldn’t you?”

“I wasn’t cheating.”

“I know that now. But at the time...” She shrugged. “You know how I was raised. My father ditched. My mother had a string of passions, some of them men, some of them causes. I never had stability or security. I wanted those so desperately that I knew I would be devastated if you took them away. So I pushed it away first before you could hurt me.”

His expression was unreadable. Kristine didn’t know this Sean. He had acquired a poker face over the past decade.

She didn’t know what else to say. It was the truth. It wasn’t pretty, and it was embarrassing to admit she had been so needy, but it was important to be honest with both herself and with him.

Finally, he asked, “Could I have done anything differently? That’s weighed on me, that I should have been a better husband.”

Kristine shook her head. “I suppose in retrospect if I had communicated better, then you could have been better informed. But the very thing I wanted from you was the thing I resented.”

Her wording didn’t sound right to her own ears, and he immediately frowned. “You resented me?”

“I wanted you to take care of me, provide me with stability, a safety net. But then I hated that you owned all of those things. You know what I mean? I felt worthless. It fed my insecurity, which made me lash out at you.”

“I never thought of you as worthless. The total opposite.”

“I know.” He was either going to understand or he wasn’t. It had never been about him or his actions. It had been about her. “I would like a glass of Pinot Noir. Where is the waitress?”

Sean flagged her down and they both ordered a glass of red. Then without warning, he pulled an envelope out of his suit pocket. “Our divorce papers.” He tossed them on the table.

Awkward. “Yes.” She cleared her throat. “I hope you’re agreeable to the terms. There wasn’t much to put in there since we don’t have shared assets.”

“You’re entitled to spousal support, fifty percent of my assets and a portion of my retirement. Why didn’t you ask for any of that?”

Kristine gaped at him. “Why would I do that? Jesus. We were married for six months and neither of us had a pot to pee in at the time.” That he even brought it up made her face feel hot. Was that what he thought of her? “The past ten years have been a technicality. Whatever you have is yours and yours alone.”

He gave one short nod. “Okay. Thank you.”

The waitress brought their wine, and Kristine took a sip, not sure where to go next. She set the glass back down. “So you’ll sign the papers?”

He didn’t seem to be contesting anything. There was nothing to contest other than the divorce itself. “How much is this costing?” he asked.

“Don’t worry about that.” But she couldn’t help but dart her gaze away from his. She couldn’t afford this divorce, but she knew in order to move forward on her own, truly, she had to cut herself off from the past, and the safety net Sean had provided.

“Kristine.” His voice was gentle, but almost patronizing. “I should pay half, at the very least.”

“Why? I’m the one who left. I’m the one who fell off the face of the earth for a decade.” That was a little melodramatic, but she wanted to drive the point home. She didn’t want his help or his charity anymore. She needed to figure her stuff out, once and for all.

His hand rested on his glass, but he wasn’t drinking his wine. Finally, after a pause that felt only slightly shorter than the Jurassic period, he nodded. “Fine. I’ll sign the papers. I’ll even consent to you paying, on one condition.”

Oh, Lord. This wasn’t going to be good. “What condition is that?”

“You spend this weekend at the lake with me.”

Her jaw dropped. She felt it literally unhinge and descend somewhere into the vicinity of her breasts as the shock of what he had just said hit her full force.
“What?”