On the Brink (Vol. 1) (The On the Brink Series) (10 page)

Chapter
Seventeen

When
I awoke the next morning, it took a minute to process my unfamiliar
surroundings. Images from the previous day flashed through my mind. Our
conversation. The intense connection I felt with him. The searing kiss on the
beach, followed by mind-blowing sex. I closed my eyes, rubbed them with both
fists, then opened them again.

Looking
around, I realized that Craig wasn’t there. I spotted a note, pinned to the
bedside table with a rough, egg-shaped granite stone, and read the strong,
spiky writing.

Gone for a run. Back by 9am.
Coffee in the kitchen, painting stuff in the second floor front room.

I
threw on my robe and padded downstairs to the kitchen. Craig had put the coffee
in a thermal carafe, so it was piping hot. I drank one cup quickly, then sipped
a second. As the caffeine reached my synapses, I began to feel like myself
again, albeit with a bad case of bed head. Even without facing a mirror, I knew
that my hair must resemble a shrub in desperate need of pruning. Deciding that
a long, luxurious shower was next on the morning agenda, I finished my second
cup of coffee and headed for the bathroom.

The
shower, like the one in Craig’s suite in Manning Tower, was a walk-in. I smiled
to myself wickedly, imagining myself surprising him there, hot spray coursing
over his golden, muscled body.

But
as I lathered my hair under the hot spray, reality set in. Last night had been
amazing, and Craig and I had reached heights of intensity that I hadn’t known
existed. He made me feel complete as a woman, to an extent that I hadn’t
thought possible.

Still,
our relationship was new, and only time would tell if we were right for each
other. As I rinsed my hair, soapy water flowing over my body, I resolved with
all my strength that regardless of what happened, whatever became of us, I
would never forget the beauty of this weekend together and the deep intimacy
I’d felt when we made love.

I
toweled my body and hair, and then dressed quickly in a black tank top and
denim shorts: my preferred painting uniform. Realizing that Craig would be back
soon, I decided to check out the room where he’d said I could paint.

I
followed the second floor hallway from back to front, and opened the French
doors at the end of the hall. Entering, I looked around, and could hardly
believe what I saw.

Several
easels held blank canvases of varying sizes. Additional canvases rested against
the wall, next to a wicker couch and accompanying low table. A large assortment
of brushes in all sizes and shapes were laid out neatly on a long, wood-topped
counter next to the bag of supplies that I had brought. Opening the drawers
beneath the counter revealed a full set of paint colors. A drawer of oils, and
a separate drawer of acrylics. An assortment of painting mediums.

Then
there was the room itself. Spanning the entire front of the house, it had
windows on three sides. Adjustable blinds permitted complete control of the
light. It couldn’t have been more perfect.

Stepping
to the windows, I looked out over the beach, to the ocean beyond. Not for the
first time, I struggled to reconcile my impressions of Craig. On the one hand,
he was all alpha male, pursuing whatever he wanted single-mindedly and without
hesitation. On the other, he could be thoughtful. Sensitive. Tender, even.
Serious, but with a quirky sense of humor.

As
I pondered the unusual mix of qualities I observed in Craig Manning, the
subject of my thoughts entered the room.

“Good
morning, Juliana,” he said. “I hope you have everything you need to work here.”

“And
then some. Craig, you didn’t have to do all this.”

“I
just wanted to make sure that you would have what you need. Is the studio okay?
I’m told most painters prefer natural light.”

“The
studio’s more than okay. It’s fabulous. It’s perfect.” Rising onto my toes, I
kissed him lightly on the lips, brushing against his attractively stubbled
chin.

“I
warn you, Juliana. If you start something, I may end up finishing it.” His eyes
swept appreciatively over my body. “Clearly, where you’re concerned, my margin
of self-control is a little thin. And we need to talk, as well. Things got a
little out of hand last night.”

I
immediately jumped to the conclusion that he was looking for a way out.
Stepping back from the events of last night. “Look, Craig, if you don’t
want...”

He
interrupted me, dropping gracefully to the couch and patting the cushion next
to him. “Don’t jump ahead of me. Let me finish. I just wanted to say that if
we’re going to pursue this any further, we need to discuss a few ground rules.
We’ve been seeing each other for a month now. I’d like sexual exclusivity, on
both sides.”

Thoroughly
surprised, I asked, “Isn’t that assumed?”

“I
don’t live my life based on assumptions. Clarity is best for both of us,
Juliana. And I don’t mean to sound judgmental, but I hope you know that not all
men are like your father. I’m no angel, but I’ve never cheated on a woman. If
we’re going to keep seeing each other, I need to know that we’re on the same
page.”

I
looked him in the eye. “We are.”

“We
should also talk about visibility.”

“What
do you mean by visibility?”

His
expression became serious. “I’m talking about visibility as in media
visibility. As in the media pouncing on you if they discover we’re an item. It’s
only fair to tell you up front that being with me means you’ll land in the
public eye eventually. And that eye is all too often unfair, even cruel. I
don’t want to frighten you away—very much the contrary—but in
fairness to you, we need to talk about it.”

I
thought for a moment. He had a point. The thought of that kind of attention was
more than a little scary because it meant stepping out of my comfort zone. “Is
there a way that we could continue seeing each other, but keep it discreet? At
least for awhile?”

“We
can try, but you may not like the simplest solution.”

“Try
me.”

“Well,
I can continue going to business and philanthropic events with other women. You
would have to trust that there’s nothing going on beyond friendship.”

“What
about their feelings? What if they want more?”

“The
women with whom I go to events are trusted friends. Successful actresses and
businesswomen. Already in the public eye, and accustomed to the pressure. None
are attracted to me, or me to them; it’s just a convenient arrangement that
benefits both parties.”

I
had difficulty imagining that none of these women were attracted to him. “Why
can’t you go stag? Why do you need a date?”

He
sighed. “Wealthy, single men like me are targets. Targets for every ambitious
gold-digger, washed-up actress, and budding ingénue. The simplest way to avoid
unwanted attention is to have a woman on my arm.” He paused, looking me in the
eye. “What we have together is real, and I’m not about to fuck it up by tossing
you into the media spotlight. At least not without your understanding and
agreement.”

It
was all happening too fast. “I’m going to need some time to process this,
Craig. While I don’t think of myself as the jealous type, I’m not really
comfortable with the idea of being your secret girlfriend, or with living under
a media spotlight.”

“Just
think about what’s best for you, and we’ll continue the conversation over
lunch.” He rose from the couch. “As for right now, I promised you painting
time, and I’m going to keep that promise. Lunch around 1?”

“Okay.”
As he left the studio, my eyes lingered on the long, lean body that I had so
thoroughly enjoyed just hours before. Nothing in my previous experience had
prepared me for Craig. For the unanticipated intensity of my desire for him.
And now I had to decide what path to take from a range of choices, none of
which felt comfortable to me. I wanted to be with Craig, and would have liked
nothing better than the time and space to pursue a normal relationship with
him, but that didn’t appear to be an option.

Grabbing
several tubes of paint and a couple brushes, I chose a medium-sized horizontal
canvas, placed it on an easel, and began painting. Painting had always been a
retreat, a respite from the ceaseless demands of life. After applying broad
washes of color for sea and sky, I reached for a fan-shaped brush and began
blending and stippling touches of white paint, aiming for a place somewhere
between representation and abstraction.

Time
flew as I worked, accompanied only by the rhythm of the waves crashing against
the sand, and punctuated by the occasional cries of seagulls.

At
1 o’clock, Craig entered the studio carrying a tray with a large salad of mixed
greens and two glasses of sparkling water, which he set on the table.

“Ready
to eat? I’ll be back in a minute with the rest of our lunch,” he called,
leaving the room and jogging down the stairs. I put my brushes in water and
went to wash my paint-smeared hands. Fortunately, I’d chosen to work with
acrylics, so cleanup was easy.

He
returned with plates, cutlery, and sandwiches, and we settled on the couch to
begin eating.

“I
like what you’ve done,” he said between bites, gazing at my morning’s work. “It
verges on abstraction, but with a strong sense of place. Is it finished?”

“It’s
just a sketch. I like to start by trying to capture the feeling of a landscape.
Details can wait until later versions. After barely painting this fall, it’s
just fantastic to paint again, regardless of results.”

“I
bet Simmons in New York would love your work. Do you know his gallery?”

I
nearly choked on my food. “Simmons? Everyone knows his gallery. It’s one of the
best in New York, but he mostly shows blue-chip artists. Gallerists like
Simmons don’t show emerging artists.”

“That’s
mostly true, but Simmons likes to take a chance once in awhile. Not often. When
he does, it’s usually on someone new and fresh to the art scene. Someone like
you. That way, if the work takes off, he can claim credit for discovering you.
Anyway, think about it. I could drop him an email with a few JPEGs attached.”

His
offer felt surreal. Like most artists, I’d done my share of gallery
submissions. Once in a while, I even received a canned response.
Thank you for submitting your work, we
regret at this time blah blah blah.
I realized that what was next to impossible
for me would be easy for him.

But
I couldn’t accept. Not while things between us were so unresolved. Craig’s
offer had the potential to take my painting career to a completely different
level, but I wasn’t ready to create additional strings between us. I needed
time to think, time to sort things out.

“Maybe
in the spring,” I replied. “I’m too busy to add anything else to my plate at
the moment, but thank you for the offer. It’s incredibly generous of you.”

“My
pleasure. Your work is amazing. More people should have the opportunity to see
it.”

We
finished the meal in silence, weighed down by the unsettled questions between
us. After we were done, Craig got up and began stacking dishes on the tray. We
carried everything back to the kitchen together, and put the leftovers away.
When we were done, Craig turned to me.

“How
would you like to spend the afternoon?” he asked. “You can continue painting,
of course, or we could take a walk. It’s a beautiful day.”

“A
walk sounds great,” I replied. “Give me a minute to put on a sweater, and find
my sandals.”

We
left the house together, emerging into the crisp air and clear light of the
lovely October day. As we walked toward the ocean, I reached for his hand. His
fingers tightened around mine.

“I
do trust you, Craig,” I said. “And I want to be with you. Just give me a little
time to sort out how I’m going to cope with dating a business celebrity.”

“You’d
have plenty of support. My public relations team handles everything from press
releases and answering routine questions on my behalf, to wardrobe, hair, and
makeup. Then there’s the security team, of course.”

“So
someone else chooses your clothes for you?”

“In
a way, yes. Samantha Day, my wardrobe consultant, knows what I like. She shops
for me, and suggests combinations that work, like which ties go well with which
shirts. Not that Sam manages to get me into a tie all that often.” He grinned.
“Perk of being the boss, you know.”

Wardrobe
consultant. Security team. It all made my head spin. Every time I thought that
I’d grasped Craig’s world, something like this would remind me that I really
hadn’t.

Trusting
him had been an enormous step for me, and while I had no regrets about that,
being with Craig was obviously going to change my life in ways that I couldn’t
predict, let alone control.
 

Chapter
Eighteen

That
evening, we flew back to Bedford where Craig’s driver picked us up and drove us
to Davis Square. I watched the landscape go by, absorbed in my thoughts, while
Craig caught up on email. When we reached my apartment, I took his hand and
leaned in for a kiss.

“Thanks
for a beautiful weekend. I promise I’ll be in touch soon.”

He
squeezed my hand. “Let’s catch up tomorrow. Maybe a drink together after you
finish work?”

“Sounds
good. I’ll be in touch.”

I
trudged up the stairs to the apartment. Unlocking and opening the door, I saw
Duncan was home, sprawled on the living room couch with his iPad.

“Jules!
How was the big weekend?” Then he saw my downcast expression.

“Are
you okay? Did–”

I
interrupted, cutting off the question. “I’m okay, and the weekend was fabulous,
but it’s complicated. Craig’s complicated. Life is complicated, I guess.” I
dropped my bags by the door and plopped myself on the couch next to Duncan.

“I’m
here if you feel like talking. Want to tell me all about it over a cup of tea?”

“You’re
the best, Dunc.”

While
Duncan made tea, I put my bags in my room. Remembering the lucky rock that
Craig had given me on the beach, I dug it out of my bag and turned it in my
hands, caressing its surface.

Smooth,
dark gray, and interrupted by a circle of rougher white stone, the rock’s
unusual contrast seemed symbolic in that moment. Craig was the white circle.
Beautiful, unexpected—but a radical interruption in my life. An
interruption with which I wasn’t certain I could cope. I placed the rock on my
bedside table gently, and returned to the living room.

Duncan
and I settled onto the couch, sipping steaming cups of hot tea. I described the
past two days, concluding with my indecision about my relationship with Craig.

“He’s
amazing. Over the top wonderful, and I feel fabulous with him, but I’m
terrified of ending up in over my head. Of risking not only my heart, but also
my life as I know it. I’m not sure if I can be part of his life without losing
my own, and I’m really not sure I’m ready to step that far out of my comfort
zone. You know how I am, Duncan—I’m shy.”

Duncan
nodded thoughtfully. “I get where you’re coming from. I really do. But there’s
another perspective you need to consider.”

“What’s
that?”

He
looked me in the eye. “Breaking things off with Craig will protect your current
life. Life as you know it. But can you live with not knowing what might have
been? The hardest regrets to live with aren’t the mistakes we make. The worst
are the what-ifs. What might have happened if you had taken the leap, if you
had given Craig a chance?

Duncan’s
words cast a ray of clarity into my mind, pushing aside the confusion that had
hung over me like a dark cloud. If I backed away now, fearful of imagined
consequences, I would forever wonder what might have been. Could I live with
that? Craig was unforgettable. His beauty, his tenderness, the way he made me
feel. I wasn’t sure that I could make myself forget him. Even total failure
might be better than not knowing.

I
took a deep breath. “Thanks, Dunc. I needed to hear that.”

“Anytime.
You’re my go-to girl for brutal honesty too, you know.”

“So
if I keep seeing Craig, and the media catches on, what should I expect? I have
my ideas of what to expect, but I’d like to hear what you think.”

“I’m
no expert, but at a minimum you should expect to lose a certain amount of
privacy. Photos of you with Craig will be posted online, and it’s very likely
that articles about you will be posted online, too. Much of it will be neutral
and more or less accurate, but some will be inaccurate or unkind. You may have
to deal with some gossip at work. You don’t have to worry about it hurting your
painting career though—the art world is nothing if not rabid for the
slightest tinge of celebrity. Kind of like blood in the water to sharks.” He
grinned. “You’ll need to invest in a pair of big, dark sunglasses. Like Jackie
O. Maybe Chanel. Or Dior. I promise to assist you in finding the perfect pair.”

“Hang
on,” I protested, laughing. “I haven’t made any decisions yet, and you’re
already shopping for designer sunglasses.”

“Someone
has to think ahead. And I know you, Jules. You hesitate. You chew things over
in your head, second-guessing yourself. But in the end, you go for what you
want. And it’s obvious that you want Craig.”

“Well,
thanks for listening.”

“I’ll
always be there for you, Jules. Just like you are for me.”

Once
again, I felt lucky to have Duncan as my best friend. His own less-than-idyllic
life had given him a strong sense of perspective, and talking things through
with him always provided new insights.

As
I prepared to go to bed, a thought occurred to me: I had been so busy over the
past few weeks, I hadn’t even done a Google search on Craig. I couldn’t believe
that I hadn’t thought of it before. Google would tell me much, if not all, of
what I needed to know. I sat at the desk in my bedroom and opened my laptop.

Two
hours later, I checked the time. It was just after midnight. Googling Craig had
produced a dizzying array of search results. Interviews with Craig the business
genius offering advice to young entrepreneurs. Craig the philanthropist and
Craig the movie producer, photographed at red carpet events, surrounded by
familiar names and faces, invariably with a beautiful woman on his arm. Or two.

One
woman appeared more frequently than the others. Alessandra d’Acosta. Tall,
dark, and classically beautiful with a lush, hourglass figure, she reminded me
of the famous Italian actress, Anna Magnani. Alessandra’s name was often
romantically linked with Craig’s. Googling her name revealed that she was an
actress whose career was on the rise.

Deciding
I’d seen enough, I closed the laptop, got into bed, pulled the covers up to my
ears, and snuggled into the warm blankets. More exhausted than I had realized,
I soon drifted into sleep, unwanted images of Alessandra and Craig flickering
in my head.