Something Tattered (Joel Bishop Book 1) Read online

  Probably too late for that.

  Still, I took a deep breath and summoned up a nervous smile. "I, uh, think we've seen enough." I forced some brightness into my voice and added, "So, should we call it a day?"

  For a long, awkward moment, no one said anything. Finally, it was Andy who broke the silence by saying, "Actually, we haven't seen anything yet."

  Right. And I didn't want to, especially with Derek sitting next to me, shaking in silent laughter.

  I looked toward him and hissed, "Just shut up, okay? It's not funny."

  Still shaking, he replied under his breath, "That's what you think."

  Idiot.

  I looked back to the stranger and said, "Sorry, it's not you. It's me. My schedule. I um, have another meeting, so…" With a growing sense of panic, I looked toward the door.

  If I bolted now, what exactly would happen? Would the show go on without me?

  Doubtful.

  After all, I was the birthday girl. Probably, he'd chase me down and strut his stuff on the front lawn. Cripes, it wouldn't be the first time.

  Lucky me.

  Hoping to end this now, I looked back to the stranger and said, "It's okay. You can go. I'll make sure you're uh, compensated, if you haven't been already."

  But the guy didn't go. Instead, he looked toward Derek, who I suddenly realized was no longer laughing. When I looked, I felt my brow wrinkle in confusion.

  Derek was leaning back in his chair, with his hands clasped behind his head. He was staring straight at the stranger, and smirking like he knew something the stranger didn't.

  My gaze shifted from Derek to the stranger and back again. I felt like I was missing something. But what? Had Derek hired the guy?

  Before I could make any sense of it, Derek called out to the stranger, "Aw c'mon, don't be shy. Show us your stuff."

  What the hell? I turned to glare at him. "Seriously, stop it, okay?"

  I gave a nervous glance around the room. If the others were in on the joke, they were doing a pretty good job of hiding it. They looked as clueless as I felt.

  Near the front, Andy cleared his throat. He consulted his paperwork and said to the guy, "It says here that you're a painter?"

  In a tight voice, the guy said, "That's right."

  My mouth fell open. Oh, my God. So he wasn't a stripper?

  It was official. I was the biggest idiot on the planet. And here I was, still standing.

  Crap.

  Next to me, Derek gave a self-satisfied snicker. Mortified, I looked behind me and spotted my chair a few feet away. I yanked it back toward the table and plopped my butt back down, wishing I could magically disappear.

  Derek leaned close and whispered, "Oh man, you should see your face."

  "You jerk," I hissed. "That wasn't funny."

  "You kidding?" he whispered back. "It was hilarious."

  It wasn't hilarious to me. I looked to the front of the room, where the guy was still standing. His mouth was tight, and he was staring straight at us.

  Of course he was. We were being incredibly rude, and not only because of that awful misunderstanding. I gave him an apologetic smile. "Sorry."

  With a slow shake of his head, he looked away. Apology not accepted.

  Well, that wasn't humiliating or anything.

  Andy looked to the guy and said, "If you'd like to show us your portfolio, we'll get started."

  The stranger said, "What portfolio?"

  Andy hesitated. "Surely, you brought one?"

  Before the guy could answer, Derek spoke up. "What'd you think? That you'd just waltz in and get painting?"

  The stranger gave Derek a hard look. "Pretty much. You got a problem with that?"

  Derek laughed. "What, you want us to supply the paint, too?"

  The stranger's gaze drifted over the room. "That was the deal, right?"

  Derek called out across the table. "Hey, Andy, you see any paint around here?"

  Watching this, I was utterly horrified. Unless the stranger was a total idiot – and it was pretty apparent that he wasn't – he'd obviously been misinformed.

  This had to be our mistake. And what was Derek doing? Mocking him for it.

  All of this was so wrong. Before I knew it, I was on my feet again. "It's okay," I assured the guy. "We can reschedule."

  Next to me, Derek called out, "But it's gonna cost you."

  I whirled to face him. Through gritted teeth, I said, "No. It's not going to cost him, because obviously, there's been a mistake."

  Derek laughed like I'd just said something hysterical. He turned back to the guy and called out, "Speaking of mistakes, wanna hear something funny?"

  The guy's muscles were corded into visible knots. "I dunno. Do I?"

  "Oh yeah," Derek said. "Get this. When you came in, she–" He flicked his head toward me. "–thought you were a stripper."

  Chapter 4

  At Derek's announcement, I heard myself gasp, and I wasn't the only one.

  Behind me, one of the girls whispered to the other, "Hey, can I borrow ten bucks?"

  "What for?"

  "Oh c'mon." She giggled. "You know. Just in case."

  "Oh, rats," the other one said. "All I have is quarters. You know, for the snack machine."

  Listening, I wanted to scream. We didn't have a snack machine. And if they started tucking quarters into the guy's pants, a chair to the shin would be the least of their problems.

  The stranger gave me a perplexed look. "A stripper?"

  "Yeah," Derek called back. "The kind who shakes his thing and dances for money."

  Thunderstruck, I didn't know what to say. But I did know one thing. If the floor opened up right now and swallowed me whole, I'd consider it a huge favor.

  But unfortunately, the estate's foundation was one of the few things that wasn't falling apart.

  Stupidly, I tried to explain. "No, I didn't. Well, I mean, I did. But that's only because of my aunt, and she's not here." I shoved a hand through my hair. "Anyway, I'm so sorry. I feel really awful, so…"

  "So," Derek called over me, "if you wanna make some extra cash, go ahead. We'll make it worth your while."

  It was then that the stranger made his move – but not toward me, toward Derek.

  In the blink of an eye, the guy was halfway around the table. Derek jumped to his feet, sending his own chair flying backward. By the time it slammed into the back wall, the stranger and Derek were standing chest-to-chest – and Derek hadn't even moved.

  I felt myself swallow. The stranger was fast. Scary fast.

  His muscles were bulging, and his fists were tight. He looked like he wanted to mangle something – Derek, in particular.

  I couldn't exactly blame him. I wanted to mangle Derek, too.

  Desperate to smooth things over, I leaned around Derek and told the guy, "He was only joking." My voice hardened. "And he's sorry, too." I gave Derek a not-so-friendly tap to the shoulder. "Right?"

  I couldn't see Derek's face, but I could see his posture just fine. He was anything but contrite. Sure enough, no apology came.

  Well, that was helpful.

  Around us, the room had fallen utterly silent. I glanced around. No one made a move – not to intervene, not to break the tension, not even to call for help.

  As for the two interns, they were eying the stranger like he was the sexiest morsel they'd ever seen. The nearest one licked her lips and leaned forward, as if wanting a closer look.

  Oh, for God's sake.

  I spoke up. "Alrighty then." I forced a smile. "Let's just reschedule, okay? We'll give it another shot."

  From the corner of my eye, I caught one of the interns pulling out her cell phone. She held it out, as if preparing to take a picture – of the guy, apparently.

  I tried not to notice. "And next time," I continued, "we'll make sure it's a smaller group."

  With no drooling interns. And definitely no Derek.

  Again, I looked to the stranger. When our gazes met, I sucked in a quiet breath.<
br />
  Wow. If I wasn't careful, those eyes – dark and intense beyond description – would be my undoing. In spite of everything else, I felt my lips part and my knees go weak.

  Cripes. If I didn't get a grip, I'd be mopping up my own drool, too.

  Hoping not to show it, I said, "So anyway, thanks for coming. But for now, I think you'd better go."

  "Yeah," Derek said. "You heard her. Grab your shit, and get out."

  What the hell? I wanted to scream in frustration. So much for a friendly resolution.

  The guy gave Derek a long cold look. "Didn't you hear?" the stranger said. "I didn't bring any 'shit.'"

  Something about that look made Derek take a small step backward. His voice rose. "I said this meeting's over."

  "Uh-huh." The stranger edged closer. "You're the one who got me here, right? So come on." He held up his hands. "Make me leave."

  I felt my eyebrows furrow. What?

  Over his shoulder, Derek said, "Call security."

  I gave a confused shake of my head. "What security?"

  "The police," he said. "Whatever."

  I frowned. I didn't want to call the police. For one thing, the guy hadn't even touched him. For another, Derek had been a total jerk. If the guy slugged him, Derek would have no one to blame but himself.

  I felt like slugging Derek, and I wasn't even the violent type.

  My gaze shifted to the stranger. Was he the violent type? His muscles were taught, and his eyes were hard. Something about his stance told me he wasn't a stranger to physical conflict.

  And now, Derek was panicking. Should I panic, too? Obviously, Derek knew way more than he was saying.

  I said, "Derek, what's going on?"

  When he said nothing, I looked back to the stranger. Our gazes locked, and for some weird reason, I couldn’t look away – at least, not until a flash of light broke the spell.

  I turned and spotted one of the interns, shoving a cell phone back into her purse. It was the same girl I'd accidentally hit with my chair. When she saw me looking, she gave a little wave. "Sorry."

  What could I say? I heard myself murmur, "That's, um, okay?" It was, after all, the same thing she'd said to me. Probably, she hadn't been any more sincere than I was.

  Politeness – it could be really confusing sometimes.

  The stranger gave a humorless laugh. "Screw this. I'm outta here."

  I turned just in time to see him reach into the front pocket of his jeans and pull out a tightly folded slip of paper. He tossed it onto the floor and turned away, striding toward the open doorway.

  And then, he was gone.

  A split-second later, the two interns were scrambling after him. As they moved, one of them called back to the rest of us. "Be back in a minute!"

  "Uh, yeah," the other one said. "We're just gonna hit the snack machine."

  Silently, I stared after them. Snack machine, my ass.

  Chapter 5

  Next to me, Derek was laughing. "Oh man, did you see his face?"

  I did see his face. It was ungodly beautiful, but that was hardly the point. I whirled toward Derek and demanded, "What was that about?"

  Ignoring me, Derek announced, "Alright everyone, let's call it a day."

  Around the table itself, no one budged. But behind us, the remaining interns stood and began filing out the door. That was fine by me. The way I saw it, the fewer witnesses the better.

  After all, I still might have to strangle him.

  When the room was empty of students, I turned to Derek and said, "Now seriously, tell me what just happened."

  "Nothing," Derek said.

  I turned to Andy. "Do you know?"

  Andy shrugged. "Sorry. No idea."

  "Oh, come on." I gave him a pleading look. "Obviously, something went wrong. It was like he didn't get the instructions or something. He was on the list, right?"

  Andy looked down at his paperwork. "Yeah. Number twenty-two. A late addition."

  "But what was his name?"

  Andy looked up. "I wouldn’t have his name. Remember?"

  Belatedly, it hit me that of course, he was right. This was all supposed to be anonymous, which had always struck me as incredibly stupid, considering that we met the candidates in person.

  Sure, I got the logic and all. It was meant to keep the process free of "undue influence," as Claude liked to put it. But it had always seemed to me that if we wanted to keep it truly honest, we'd just view the art by itself, without meeting the candidates at all.

  A couple of years ago, I'd actually asked Claude about it, since he was the guy who made the final selections. His response had been typical Claude. "We're not just choosing the art. We're choosing the artists."

  I knew what he meant. Sure, an artist's work was the most important thing, but the artists themselves could play a huge role in their popularity – or lack thereof.

  Desperately, I looked to Claude, hoping for some insight. But already, he'd gathered up his stuff and was heading for the door.

  I called after him. "Wait. We need to find out what happened."

  "Good idea," he said over his shoulder. "When you find out, let me know."

  I stared after him. What part of "we" didn't he understand? But already, he was gone, along with everyone else, except for Derek, who had fallen back into his chair and was now scrolling through his cell phone.

  I stared down at him. "You're a real ass, you know that?"

  He didn’t even look up. "Hey, I wasn't the one who thought he was a stripper."

  At the memory, heat flooded my face. "Yeah, because you made me think that."

  Derek snickered. "I know. Funny, right?"

  "It wasn't funny to me," I told him. "And I don’t think he was all that amused either."

  "Not my fault if the guy can't take a joke."

  "A joke?" I sputtered. It was one thing for Derek to humiliate me. But did he have to involve an innocent bystander? "You know, you were totally awful to him."

  When Derek kept on scrolling, I reached out and ripped the phone from his hands. "Stop ignoring me," I said. "This is serious."

  With a sigh, Derek leaned back his chair and said, "Alright. You wanna lecture me?" He made a forwarding motion with his hand. "Go ahead. Get it over with."

  "I don't want to 'lecture' you. I want to know what happened." I studied his face. "You obviously know more than you're saying."

  "So?" he said. "Maybe it's a surprise."

  Already, the day had been full of surprises, and not in a good way. With more than a little dread, I asked, "What kind of surprise?"

  "Well, it is your birthday."

  "Forget that," I said. "I just want to know what's going on."

  "And you will," he said, "as soon as I come up with a Plan B."

  "A Plan B?" I made a sound of frustration. "I don't even know what 'Plan A' was."

  When Derek made no response, I said, "Did you know that guy?"

  "I might've seen him around."

  Derek was a lawyer, but just barely, time-wise. He'd graduated from law school just last year and had only recently passed the bar exam. As expected, he'd continued to work for his dad's firm – the same one that had been managing my family's estate for as long as I'd been alive.

  I tried to think. "Did you go to school with him or something?"

  "As in college?" Derek snorted. "That guy? You're kidding, right?"

  What an ass.

  I was still thinking. This wasn't a big town. Maybe they'd run into each other at a restaurant or something?

  Derek made a sound of annoyance. "Can I have my phone back now?"

  "No."

  Derek gave me a look I knew all too well. It was the why-are-you-being-such-a-brat look.

  Nice try. Derek was only five years older than me. If that look hadn't worked in grade school, why would he expect it to work now?

  Derek was still eyeing his phone. "You know, I could just take that from you."

  No doubt, he could. Derek might not play a l
ot of sports, but he was no slouch. Still, I held onto the phone and waited.

  "Fine," Derek said, getting to his feet. "You really wanna know?" He glanced toward the front of the boardroom, where the stranger had been standing just a few minutes earlier. "That guy? I hired him to paint something for you."

  I did a double-take. "What?"

  "Yeah. As a surprise." Derek's mouth tightened. "You happy now?"

  I wasn't happy. I was confused. "So, it was like what, a birthday present?"

  "That was the plan. But now, I've got to find another painter." He looked to his cell phone. "So, are you gonna return that or what?"

  No. Not yet. I still felt like I was missing something. "So let me get this straight. You hired one of the endowment candidates to do a painting for me?"

  Derek laughed. "That guy? Hell no. Are you serious?"

  "I don't know," I snapped. "Am I?"

  "Oh man, you are, aren't you?"

  I was so tired of the games. Through gritted teeth, I said, "Just tell me already. Did you, or did you not, hire that guy to do a painting?"

  "Sure, I hired him, but not to paint a painting."

  "To do what, then?"

  Derek gave a little smirk. "To paint the boardroom."

  Suddenly, I felt sick to my stomach. "Oh, my God." I glanced around, taking in the pale green walls. It was true that I'd always hated the color, but that was beside the point. "So that guy wasn't even a candidate?"

  "For the endowment?" Derek laughed. "Hell no. He was just some painter guy."

  Just some painter guy. I let that phrase rattle around in my brain. The more it rattled, the less I liked it. That was just like Derek, dismissing someone because they had a regular job.

  What did he know about regular jobs, or regular people for that matter?

  Nothing, that's what.

  Derek had come from three generations of wealth. But with me, it wasn't like that.

  Sure, I had all the trappings of wealth, and was often called an heiress. But before my dad hit it big, he'd come from a long line of factory workers, not that anyone liked to remember that, now.

  I was still looking at Derek. What a jerk.

  At something in my gaze, he shifted in his seat. "Hey, you're always griping about the color." He glanced away. "And it wasn't just the boardroom. It was the guest house, too."