The Exhibition (An Executive Decision Trilogy) (13 page)

From her bedroom, Zoe was repeating the same gibberish over and over again like a mantra, like a hypnotic spell. And whenever she remembered that night, Stacie felt as though she might well have been hypnotized or drugged or maybe temporarily insane. Or maybe, she’d hoped against hope, maybe she had only dreamed it.

All of it, the noise, the smell, the fevered touch of his body, of his mouth pushing at her until, at some point in an eternity that couldn’t possibly have taken more than minutes, Stacie kissed him back. At some point, she curled her fingers in her hair and cried out in frustration, in confusion, in fear, pushing back, clawing and gripping at him where he still held her hand to his cock. And then he shuddered against her and she felt the warm stickiness of his semen erupt over the tight grip of her fingers, and still he held her. Zoe’s high-pitched mantra became mere background noise as he stroked feverishly between Stacie’s legs and dug thick fingers between her raw folds, grunting to gain his breath, cursing and shoving at her.

‘I keep waiting for you and you keep running from me, making excuses,’ he gasped against her ear. ‘So I’ll take what I can get. For now. But I won’t wait much longer. I always get what I want. Always. You should know by now, those are the rules.’ With a nearly painful rub of his thumb, she came in a trapped animal cry that drowned out the high-pitched rhythm of Zoe’s mantra as it clawed its way through her lungs and out of her throat. Then he stepped back, his chest rising and falling spastically, his eyes locked on hers, and that was the first time she ever remembered his eyes joining in the emotions of his face. It was hunger that stared back at her, like he would devour her whole, like she was prey and he had already taken her before she even knew what had happened. He jerked her hand from his boxers and wiped it on the hem of her skirt. With a little kitten cry, she shoved him away and ran out the door.

It was ages before she came back to herself. ‘New World Gallery, lady,’ the cabbie was saying. ‘This is where you wanna go, ain’t it?’

She paid him and stumbled up to her flat. Hours later, she woke in the middle of the night, trembling and goose fleshed and, at the same time, aching with arousal. In her dreams she had revisited Zoe’s flat and relived the experience. This time, Jamison had fucked her against the wall, bruising her insides with each thrust, raking her raw even as he wrung orgasm after orgasm from her wounded flesh. It was only after she had masturbated, masturbated in great, gasping sobs that felt like they would gut her, that she remembered exactly what Zoe had been saying that night. “Don’t hurt her, don’t hurt her! Terrance, don’t hurt her!” Over and over again she’d said it, begged it, pleaded it. Stacie had not been able to go back to sleep. 

Chapter Sixteen

Stacie shook her head as though that would somehow dislodge the memory she didn’t want and most definitely didn’t need under the circumstances. With Jamison it had never been just hate. That would have been so much easier. Somehow, with Jamison, hate co-existed with all-consuming lust, and he was able to fan the flames of both, a fact that made the agony of those early years in New York more horrendous and more riddled with guilt.

She stared out the window of the limo as they crossed the Willamatte River. Her mind was made up. She wouldn’t drag Harris Walker into this mess. And she wouldn’t allow him to matter to her any more than any other artist she had ever worked with. She wouldn’t. She straightened in her seat and focused, focused all of her energy on meeting Jamison. She couldn’t dare go to him unprepared. Not this time.

When the limo pulled up in front of the Hotel Monaco, Stacie got the message. He was meeting her in a hotel, as he would a prostitute. It was one of the subtle ways he would devalue her and demoralize her to remind her of her place in their relationship. She rode the elevator to Jamison’s grand suite on the top floor, once again looking down on Stacie Emerson from outside herself, once again distancing herself from what was to come. It didn’t matter what he did to her. She would endure what she had to. She knew that going in.

She barely finished knocking before he threw open the door in a grand gesture, as if he was welcoming a long-lost friend. But then he simply planted himself in the doorway, looking her over. She stood with her shoulders squared, allowing the inspection she knew she had no say in, as he took her in with a gaze that felt somehow invasive and yet totally polite. No one who saw them together would ever catch the subtext and yet she did, as he knew she would.

He was like he always was: perfect. He couldn’t have been more so if he had showered and dressed only minutes before. His eyes were sparkling blue ice. His white-blond hair was perfectly cut and styled. His charcoal suit accentuated his slender build, hinting at hard-muscled, broad shoulders beneath tailored lines. It was understated enough to say
expensive
without taking any attention from the man who wore it. He was tall enough to look down on her, but not so tall that he stood out in a crowd. He didn’t need the extra height to stand out in a crowd. He was stunning. Frighteningly so. He was a master in human behavior, in negotiating strategy, leaving her standing in the hallway under his intense gaze just a second too long for comfort before he took her hand and led her over the threshold, bowing to brush a cool kiss across her knuckles. As the door closed quietly behind them, he captured her other hand as well and stood gazing into her eyes with a look that could almost be mistaken for adoration but for the hard-metal edge to it that she had only learned to recognize after it was too late.

She forced herself to stand still, detached from past nightmares and future hopes, as she looked Terrance Jamison right in the eyes and smiled.

At last he spoke. ‘I don’t know how it’s possible, Stacie, but you look even more stunning than you did the last time we were together in a hotel room.’

She felt as though he had just punched her in the stomach; she felt as though he had found the thread that held her together, the one that would unravel the last ten years of her life and leave her cowering in the corner as he had left her back then. But she was no longer that woman, she told herself. That woman was dead. ‘I look much better when I’m not bleeding,’ she said.

The look he gave was one of deepest repentance. ‘Stacie, have I not tried over and over to apologize for that unfortunate incident? I was provoked. You know that. I never wanted anything but the best for you, my darling, always the very best. I was wounded to the core that you took that little incident so personally.’

That was it. That was the whole of his response. He was provoked – meaning of course, that it was her fault. He was provoked! He was fucking provoked! Good! A little anger in her belly was what she needed right now. As he folded her arm over his, she felt as though molten steel had just replaced her backbone and she could feel it hardening even as it burned like acid.

He led her to the dining table in the sitting room, which was already laid with a feast. ‘I hope you don’t mind. I took the liberty of ordering us the smoked chicken salad. I seem to recall that was one of your favorites, am I right?’

He knew he was. He never forgot a detail about her, and never missed an opportunity to use those details against her. But that was then.

‘I’m not hungry, Terrance,’ she said. ‘You didn’t stay on the line long enough for me to tell you I’d already eaten.’

‘And so I didn’t.’ There wasn’t the slightest hint of irritation in his voice. That was never very reassuring once she’d discovered just how quickly his moods could change. ‘But then how can you blame me, my darling? I couldn’t run the risk of you turning me down, now could I?’ Ignoring the beautifully laid table, he nodded to the sofa. ‘Come, sit with me then, and let’s talk. We have so much catching up to do. Can I at least offer you a coffee? Water, perhaps?’ Without waiting for her response, he took a bottle of sparkling water from the fridge and poured them both a glass. Then he sat down next to her on the plush sofa, watching her expectantly.

She decided not to wait for it. She took a sip of her water and began. ‘I can’t take your money, Terrance, you know that.’

‘No, I don’t know that. I don’t know that at all. I was crushed when you left like you did. Crushed. You never gave me the chance to apologize. You never gave me the chance to make it right, and I would have, Stacie. I would have made it right.’

‘Terrance, you make it sound like I walked out on a relationship. I got out of your debt, that’s what happened. I got out of your debt on my own power.’

His mouth twitched slightly and he straightened his jacket with a brisk tug. ‘I’ll be the first to admit it, darling, you’ve proven yourself over and over again as a businesswoman. I’ll give you that. And believe me, no one has been more impressed with the way you’ve turned New World Gallery around than I have. It’s very clear that I underestimated you.’

‘Terrance, I –’

He held up a hand and stopped her. ‘I know you’ve been taking money from your savings to finance New World Gallery West, Stacie, and I know that you paid for the art auction from your savings. And really, darling, I’ve seen the hovel you live in right now. It’s embarrassing for a woman of your caliber to be living in such squalor. It’s so beneath you.’

‘Where I choose to live and how I pay for what belongs to me is none of your business,’ she said, with way more conviction that she felt.

‘Your savings won’t last forever. We both know that. There are so many … unexpected expenses, as I’m sure you’ve seen. Goodness me, Stacie, a little paint spattered by misbehaving teenagers is a small thing to fix compared to what could happen. I shudder to think. You can’t do this without help, and with a vision like yours, it would be such a tragedy for you not be able to bring it all to full fruition.’

‘I haven’t asked you to worry about my vision and how I bring it to fruition. The responsibility is mine, and I don’t want your help.’

He sipped his water and studied her over the top of the cut crystal glass. ‘No one else knows what kind of financial trouble you’re in, do they?’ He looked at her as though he was the parent and she was a child who simply didn’t understand. ‘Of course not, or they’d be offering you more help than you’d know what to do with. They’d never have let you resort to spending your savings, and all you’d ever have to do is ask. But you didn’t, did you? You haven’t asked anyone, have you, Stacie?’

‘And I haven’t asked you either,’ she replied. She hadn’t realized it until that instant, but all the while she had been easing herself closer and closer to the end of the sofa, farther and farther away from him.

‘Ah, but you don’t have to ask me, my darling. I know what you need even before you do, just like I always have. I know how to give you all that’s best for you. But you just don’t know how to accept it and let me help you. That’s always been your problem, Stacie. You’ve never been able to relax and let me help you, let me do what I know’s best.’ He scooted closer to her on the sofa until she was pressed to the edge with no place to go. Then he ran a cool hand along her cheek, sliding the pad of his thumb across her lips, and she felt everything in her flutter in an impossible mix of desire and horror. This was not unexpected, she reminded herself. This was exactly what she knew would happen, exactly what she had prepared herself for, and still she felt like she was being undone one cell at a time.

He moved closer and brushed a kiss across her lips that, even in its unassuming way, felt as though it demanded everything from her and would settle for nothing less. She laid a hand on his chest to keep him from doing more.

‘I don’t want your help,’ she managed, still feeling his insistent breath against her lips.

He pulled away and folded his hands in his lap almost as though he was about to pray. For a second, he held her in an unreadable gaze, then his lips curled into the slightest hint of a smile, and he threw her by changing the subject.

‘What do you think of the Monaco? It’s nice, isn’t it? Nice rooms. Bed’s comfortable. Excellent service. I’ve never stayed here before. I have little need to, actually. As you know, I have a lovely flat here and a ranch near Redmond if I need a little country fix. But I don’t like doing business in my home, especially not certain kinds of business.’

If he was waiting for her to ask, she didn’t. ‘The hotel’s fine, Terrance, but unnecessary for me.’

He pulled her hand into his lap and began to massage her fingers. ‘Oh, it’s not for you, my darling. I’m just trying it out, really. And I’ve decided it’ll be perfect for my meeting with the lovely Ingrid Watson, the perfect place to tell her about the three exhibitions I’ve lined up for her.’

Stacie felt the fire in her belly turn to ice as his grip on her hand tightened and he continued. ‘Ms. Watson is ever so grateful for my help, Stacie. And she’s quite good at showing her gratitude, unlike you were.’ Even his soft chuckle hinted at accusation, at disappointment. He ran a nearly painful thumb over the back of her knuckles. ‘In fact, if she continues to show her gratitude so exquisitely, I think I could very easily be persuaded to purchase the dear girl her own gallery and studio.’

When Stacie said nothing, he continued. ‘Granted she’s still very young and not very skilled in pleasing her benefactor, but with a little discipline and a little effort, she can be taught. I rather like the idea of the lovely Ms. Watson being in my debt, Stacie. What do you think of that?’

Stacie should have kept her mouth shut but she couldn’t. ‘I think you should leave her alone. I think you should let the woman’s talent speak for itself; let her make her own way. She’s way too gifted for you to –’

‘For me to what, Stacie?’ he interrupted. ‘Does it bother you that I might choose to bestow my kindness on someone other than you? Are you jealous?’

‘I want you to leave her alone, Terrance. She doesn’t need your help.’

He offered her a pout and held her hand still tighter. ‘I doubt she’d agree with you on that point.’

Before Stacie could respond, he continued. ‘Never mind Ms. Watson. She’s not why I invited you here, and since you’re being your usual obstinate self, we’ll approach the topic from a different direction, Stacie dear.’ His massaging of her hand became solicitous. ‘Your dear friends, the Thorne brothers and that old fart, Marston, none of them know about our shared history, do they?’ He gave a dismissive shrug. ‘Well, Marston may have guessed a little of it, but he thinks the sun rises and sets in you now, doesn’t he? He has no idea the depths to which you would sink in order to get what you want, does he?’

She jerked her hand away and stood to leave, fighting back a wave of nausea, but Jamison pulled her back down onto the sofa; not violently, but with a strong enough grip that his message was clear. He hadn’t dismissed her yet, and she wasn’t free to go until he did. She forced herself to remain calm, forced the panic down with the nausea, careful to hold her head high and shoulders squared. She was prepared for this, she reminded herself. And even with all of her preparation, she had warned herself that it would be worse than she had imagined. And it was. It was.

‘I don’t want your money,’ she repeated when she was once again sure her voice wouldn’t shake.

He still held her hand and stroked it as if he was the most adoring of lovers. ‘But you’ll take it, won’t you, Stacie?’ He reached inside his jacket and took a folded envelope from the breast pocket of his crisp white shirt, an envelope on which she recognized her own handwriting; the one in which she had returned his check. When he was certain she knew exactly what it was, he stuck it into the pocket of her blazer. ‘You’ll take it because you won’t want your dear friends to know you’ve bitten off more than you can chew; you don’t want them to know you can’t afford to open this new gallery; you don’t want them to know you can barely afford to keep the doors to the old one open. You’ll take it because you don’t want them to know what you had to do to keep the first gallery open.

‘Oh there, there, darling.’ He kissed her forehead and smoothed her hair again, like she was a frightened child. ‘It won’t be like it was last time. I’ve waited all these years to make it up to you, to be back in partnership with you once again, and I assure you I won’t make the mistakes I made the last time.’

And in those words, the words that should mean repentance and contrition, she heard the clear threat. She knew only too well that, in his eyes, the mistake was letting her find a way out.

‘It’ll be so much better this time, I promise you. There’ll be only the two of us, and no ugly scenes with Zoe. I’ll give you carte blanche to do with the gallery whatever you want. After all, with the unlimited funding I can provide, the sky’s the limit, Stacie. The sky’s the limit. This time we’ll do it together. This time you won’t leave before we can achieve our dreams. And it’ll be something to behold, darling. It’ll be something to behold. Something we’ll proudly share with the world.’ He leaned in, settling another kiss against her lips. ‘There. You see how easy that was.’