On The Dotted Line (13 page)

“By
the way, have you heard from Willow?” He blew out his breath slowly, and
ignored Argyle, instead choosing to look around and appear nonchalant.

Slate’s
laughter joined Argyle’s. “No wonder you’re not all sad about your money, I
always had a feeling she would be amazing, take someone to the stars. She must
have given you some birthday present.”

He
stared off into nothing and vowed not to beat Slate for mentioning his wife in
such a manner or Argyle for being Argyle. When they stood at that chapel in
Vegas, his only concern was to get everything done by the book in the time
required. The last few days had been a whirlwind and his work was all
encompassing. It took until today for him to even think about what he needed to
do for Willow. However, there was something indefinable, about arriving home
and finding her and the dog, if one wanted to call it a dog, waiting for him. It
was nice to have someone to make a little small talk with before she drifted off
to sleep curled up next to him, someone who asked him how his day was without
wanting to know about the accounts he worked on. “She made my day.”

“Apparently,”
Argyle muttered.

Slate’s
cellphone went off and he lifted his phone. “Hey listen guys, Jade wants me
home and since this meeting wasn’t planned, I better go make her happy.”

He
wanted to ask Slate if he knew if his wife paid the rent, preferably he wanted
his friend to tell him where she was and answer with something other than a sex
comment. “Hey…” He tried to be casual and with his hand still in his pocket,
leaned back on his heels. “…speaking of Willow, have you seen her tonight?”

Both
Slate and Argyle shook their heads.

If
he asked again, he would risk sounding like a psychopath. Though he longed to keep
asking, he simply held up his hand. “Well, I’ll walk you out and get going.”

He
and Argyle followed Slate as he walked around the gallery setting locks and
alarms. “You never did tell me what you thought about that phantom artist I
showed you with the murals.”

“The
mural man.” Argyle clicked his tongue. “He’s an interesting man.”

“I
think it’s probably a big publicity stunt by a corporation and a lot of garbage
like you showed me in your storeroom.” He took a breath and followed the other
men out the front. “Let me do some more research on your idea. I need to think
about it. We’ll set up a meeting soon.”

“Sounds
good.” Slate saluted him. “Later.”

Argyle
bowed.

He
watched the men leave and took a walk down the block and stopped in front of
Willow’s store. “Willow’s Wonders.” He read the sign in the window.

Again,
every possibility ran through his mind as to where she went. What did he know? He
didn’t know her. Whenever he asked about her past, she never answered. He
couldn’t find anything on the Internet about her and he had sources. He slid
his phone out of his pocket and dialed the house.

“The
Van Ayers residence.” Dimitri answered.

“This
is Randolph, but don’t tell anyone I’m calling. I need you to answer the
following questions with a yes or no. Do you understand?” He needed to collect
some data.

“Yes.”
Dimitri’s punctuated tone at least told Randolph he attempted to comply.

“Is
my wife home yet?” He paced back and forth in front of the store.

“No,
sir.”

“Don’t
call me sir.” He shut his eyes with his next question. “Is Nanette in the
house?”

“No.”

He
stopped his pacing. Everything he suspected always came true. “Do you know
where she is?”

“Yes.”
Dimitri answered without a pause.

“Where
is she?” He squeezed the phone.

Dimitri
didn’t speak.

He
kicked the sidewalk. “You can say more than yes or no. Tell me now.”

“She’s
out on the grounds with the animal.”

“Can
you see her?”

“Yes.”

He
breathed. “Call me if either Nanette leaves or my wife comes home, please.”

“Yes,
sir.”

He
hung up and walked down to the corner and returned to the back alley, a place
much better suited for parking his car, not proposals. While the back passage
was familiar and safe, the image of Willow walking through here after dark chilled
him. Yet the night he proposed, she showed no fear where most women wouldn’t
have dared go off alone.

Once
again he counted off the possibilities of where she could have gone. With no
car, Nan at home and the evening darkening the world, he tensed, adding another
entry to his list of horrors. What if she were hurt?

At
the back door of her store, he looked up. Yes, the alley was only good for
parking his car and maybe one other thing. Maybe he needed to take a lesson
from Argyle and create some art. He stepped back, taking in the building, plain
beige worn stucco, a perfect blank canvas. For the first time in his life he
had nowhere to go.

* * * *

The
stars in the sky appeared, little light bulbs turning on one by one, and
Randolph stared up in an effort to recreate what he saw. The next time Willow
walked down the alley in the daylight he wanted her to feel like the stars were
sparkling for her and her alone.

A
long time ago, too many years to count, he learned to paint fast, quick brush
strokes and splashes of color, realism was not his style. While collecting art
was a worthwhile pursuit for a Van Ayers, creating art was most definitely not
on his list of goals.

While
most children had their art hung on refrigerators, he hid his creations on
papers tucked away in hidden spots.

The
painting, the risk, the creating all gave him a high unlike any other and his
works became bigger, and even though he didn’t seek it or claim it, he enjoyed
the notoriety his art received.

However,
for the first time, he painted for someone. A person who, if she showed before
midnight, gave him back his future. For her, he created a star-scape complete
with her astrological sign, a couple of mystical planets and a comet for good
measure.

He
finished putting the final touch on the last star.

“I
knew you were hiding something.”

At
his wayward wife’s voice, he turned. For years he hadn’t been caught.

“I
never would have guessed you were the one making art for nothing but the thrill
of making art.” Her gauze dress fluttered in the wind and she seemed to float
toward him. She looked up at her building. “It’s beautiful. Why do you hide?”

He
tossed the last of his supplies into his bag. “Where have you been?”

“Walking.”
She held out her hand, his ring catching the moonlight. “I wish I could have
watched you.”

With
no resistance he took her hand, pulled her closer. “Who were you with?”

She
shook her head. “Just my two feet and ten toes.”

“Why
didn’t you call?” The anxiety from her absence and the adrenaline from his
painting waned, leaving him exhausted.

“I
needed to think.”

“Tell
me.” At her soft demeanor he intertwined their fingers.

She
shrugged and continued to gaze up at his creation. “I just had to think.”

“I
was worried about you.” He put his other hand on her hip.

“I
would have made it home by midnight.” She ran her finger down his tie.

“How?”
He focused on his questions rather than the way his body reacted to her. Somehow
he needed to get inside her head. They were miles and miles away from Bel Air.

“I
would have gotten there.”

“You
can’t walk around at night by yourself, it’s not safe.” He leaned down to try
to catch her gaze.

“I’ve
always taken care of myself.” She continued to study his tie.

He
hooked his fingers under her chin and tilted her face up to his. “But I’m here
now.” “Nothing is going to happen.”

“How
do you know?” Part of him wished he could have the faith she possessed.

She
didn’t answer.

“Is
that why you didn’t get insurance?”

She
took a step back and shook her head. “It was an error, but it’s my life and my
business.”

“You
can’t walk through Hollywood at night thinking nothing will happen, you can’t
not have insurance praying no one slips and falls in your store, you still need
permits no matter how badly you don’t want the inspectors there.” He needed to make
her understand.

“Why
did you have to break the spell? I don’t know what I expected. Can’t you be the
artist?” She went to her door and opened it without using a key and walked
inside.

“You
didn’t lock the door!” He ran after her. “This whole time your store was
completely open!”

She
stopped short and spun toward him. At the movement, the chimes throughout the
space clinked out their supposedly soothing sounds. “It’s my store.”

Before
colliding with her, he caught her by the shoulders. “Then act like you care
about it.”

With
a huff, she pushed him aside and walked toward the front of her store.

He
dragged his supplies inside, shut and locked the back door and sprinted to join
her. Exactly like any other deal, once his opponent got riled he would win. “Willow!”

Rather
than yelling, she held her palm up, closed her eyes and took a breath. Once she
opened her eyes she turned, picked up a candle and with slow steps headed
toward the stairs.

“Where
are you going? We need to go home.” He dashed ahead of her, blocking her way.

“We
only need to be together by midnight.” She swept her hand around the room. “Well,
here we are, and if you want to keep to the contract, here you will remain. You
can watch the paint dry.”

He
refused to allow her to dismiss him like one of their house staff and stared right
at her as he put his arm across the passageway, blocking her way.

Her
eyes widened and she pressed her lips together. He stood up straighter, tightening
his grip on the wood trim.

The
color in her perfectly pink lips and her surreal blue eyes stood out against
her pale complexion, but she didn’t move. In fact, she remained absolutely
still.

He
ground his teeth together. “I said we can’t stay here.”

“Why
not?” she whispered. “If we couldn’t stay in a different place, we would have
been in breach of our contract the very first night.”

Something
had to make her react, break her calm and centered façade. “If you want to go
to a hotel, I am more than happy to accommodate.” He cleared his throat. “We
can’t stay here. If the place burns down, we don’t have any insurance if we get
hurt.”

“How
is this possible?” She threw the candle down.

At
last she cracked and he fought a smile. “How is what possible?”

She
hit her fist into her leg. “How is it possible that a man who is as passionate,
creative and gorgeous as you, be you!” The second the words left her mouth she
turned away.

“I
suppose the same way a woman as utterly breathtaking and ethereal as you is
you.” He closed the distance between them and took her shoulders. “I know what
my problem is.”

Her
muscles tensed against his hold, but she didn’t back away. Instead, she glanced
at him. “What?”

“I
spend the better part of my existence thinking about how bad I want you.” He
inched their faces close together, slid the strap of her dress down and kissed
her on the junction between her neck and shoulder. “The whole time I painted I
was thinking about you.”

She
gasped.

No
way would he let up. While his tongue trailed over her skin, lapping up her
sweet taste, he pulled the other strap down.

Her
breath quickened and she braced herself on the wall.

He
nipped at her collarbone and down over her shoulder. With both hands, he
kneaded her breasts, her already hard nipples scraping against his palms.

“Damn
it!” She twisted her hand in his hair.

He
reached behind her and pulled down the zipper to her dress. With no straps to
support the garment, it pooled at her feet between them. The site of his wife’s
nude body caused his erection to throb. “Something wrong?” In an attempt to
show her how everything would go down, he unknotted his tie.

She
jutted her jaw out, took hold of his shirt and pulled. The buttons popping off
starting from the center and working their way up to his collar and down to his
belt. “Is something wrong with you?” She snuck her fingers inside his shirt,
scratching her nails across his chest.

“Nothing
we can’t fix.” He pushed her hand down to the front of his pants.

She
stared into his eyes and gave him quite a squeeze. “I thought you didn’t want
to stay here.” Keeping her hold she slid her hand down his erection.