She's Got It Bad (17 page)

“Arrogant, overbearing, pigheaded son of a bitch,” Zoe said.

She was already turning on her heel, heading for the door before the last words were out of her mouth.

“I think that was for Liam, not you,” she heard Jane explaining to her brother.

“Hell, yes, it is,” Zoe said over her shoulder. “Where does he get off, trying to rearrange my life behind my back? I’m not a kid anymore. When is he going to get that through his thick skull?”

The front door slammed behind her as she strode toward her car.

Unbelievable. Liam Masters had apparently mistaken her for the kind of woman who liked having her life ordered for her. He was about to get a rude awakening—in the shape of her size-eight biker boot up his butt.

Deep inside, humiliation burned. She’d bared her soul to him yesterday and the first thing he’d done was take steps to give poor little Zoe a helping hand.

She didn’t need anything from him. She didn’t need anything from anyone. The sooner he got that straight, the better.

LIAM GOT THE CALL from Tom when he was ten minutes from his house. He figured he had a twenty-minute start on Zoe, so when he got home he went ahead with his original plan and carried the seven canvases into his dining room. He’d already decided that the bare floor and white walls were the perfect foil for Zoe’s work, the next best thing to his own gallery. He worked quickly and steadily to position seven picture hooks around the room. He was sliding the last canvas into place when he heard the screech of tires in his driveway.

Only Zoe could keep up a head of steam through a half-hour drive. Right on cue she thumped on his front door.

“I want my paintings back,” she said when he opened the door. She pushed past him into the house. “And I quit. I don’t want anything to do with you and your bloody overbearing do-gooderism. I am not your freaking charity project, Liam Masters.”

She stood with her hands on her hips, shoulders proud.

“Zoe,” he said.

She made a low, growling noise.

“Don’t even bother. I don’t give a shit what patronizing, reasonable, generous explanation you have all worked out. This is my life you’re rearranging to suit yourself. It’s my life and my art.

Who the hell do you think you are, sneaking behind my back to show it to some gallery owner?”

“Would you have let me if I told you what I wanted to do?”

“No. No way. I don’t need your charity,” she said.

“It’s not charity to help out a friend.”

“A friend,” she said scathingly. “Is that what we are now? Friends?”

“It’s what I’m trying to be, although you make it pretty damn hard.”

Zoe was suddenly in his face, her fists thumping into his chest, the weight of her attack sending him staggering back a step.

“I don’t want you to try to do or be anything for me. Just leave me alone.”

He grabbed her fists. She was strong, despite her slim build, and he had to exert himself to hold her still.

“Calm down,” he said.

She twisted her arms, trying to escape. He hauled her so close they were breathing into each other’s faces. He could see the anger in her eyes, but he could also see the pride and, beneath that, the fear.

Suddenly he understood.

“It’s not because I feel sorry for you, Zoe,” he said quietly.

She froze, then she gave one last, hard yank on her wrists and he let her go. She stepped away from him and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Why, then? Why are you so gosh-darned fired up to help poor old Zoe?”

“I like you.”

She stared at him. “That’s it?”

“Yeah. Do I need a better reason? I’ve got a million, but none of them are as good. I owe your parents. I hurt you in the past. I think you’re bloody talented.”

Zoe stared at him. Her hands were shaking when she raised them to push her hair away from her face.

“Damn you, Liam.”

She turned her back on him and walked into his living room. He followed, stopping within arm’s reach.

“Why do you always make it so hard?” she asked, her back still to him.

“What’s so hard about me liking you?”

She looked at him over her shoulder.

“Because it’s dangerous. And you know it. It takes us both to a place we don’t want to go.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, because it was true.

Silence stretched between them. Zoe broke it by taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

Then she scrubbed her face with her hands and turned to face him.

“Where are my paintings?” she asked.

For a moment he hesitated, weighing the merits of trying once again to talk her around. She held his eye, her gaze steely. He shrugged and led her to the dining room without saying another word.

Her eyes widened as she saw how he had hung her work, how the empty room and white walls allowed her art to speak for itself.

“They look good, don’t they?” he said. “Kind of like they would if they were hanging in a gallery.”

She shot him an unreadable look. Slowly she did a circuit of the room, her whole body radiating tension.

“Who is this gallery person, anyway?” she finally asked.

He knew exactly how much it had cost her to ask the question.

“Her name’s Jacinta Hartman. She has a gallery in Toorak.”

Zoe rolled her eyes. “Are you kidding? There’s no way some rich bitch from Toorak is going to be interested in my stuff.”

“I think she will be. I think you have no idea how good your stuff is.”

“And you’re an art expert now, are you?”

“I’ve seen enough over the years to know that people will eat up your work up with a spoon,” he said.

Zoe made a rude noise.

“Don’t believe me? Jacinta will be here in an hour,” he said. “Hang around and hear what she says for yourself.”

Zoe shifted her weight. He could see her brain ticking over, could feel her uncertainty warring with her desire to believe.

“What have you got to lose?” he asked.

She glared at him. “God, I don’t know. Pride? Confidence? Nothing important.”

“So if she doesn’t like your work you’ll never pick up a paintbrush again, is that it?”

Her lip curled in instant rejection of the idea. He smiled.

“So, tell me again, what have you got to lose?” he asked.

She opened her mouth to say something but instead huffed out an exasperated breath.

“You are a pushy pain in the ass, you know that?” she said.

Crossing to her, he hooked an arm around her neck and kissed her once, very firmly, on the mouth.

“Smart decision. You want a beer while we wait?”

She used her elbow to push him away, but she followed him into the kitchen.

Neither of them said a word as he got two beers from the fridge and slid one of them across the counter toward her. She twisted the top off and took a pull. Then she put the beer down, wiped her hands down the front of her jeans, lifted the beer again and began picking at the label. She frowned intently, as though the small task required all her concentration.

He leaned against the counter and watched her, touched and annoyed by her stubborn self-containment. Zoe would rather chew glass than admit she was nervous, now that she’d agreed to let a stranger assess her art. She hated letting anyone know she cared about anything.

“What’s she like, this Jacinta woman?” Zoe asked after a few minutes.

“Smart. Savvy. She’s been dealing art for nearly fifteen years. The gallery is a family business.”

“How do you know her?” Her glance was penetrating, searching.

“We’re friends. I met her at a client’s Christmas party a few years ago.”

She returned to picking at the beer label. He decided to take pity on her.

“Want to watch some TV while we wait? Or there’s a pool table out back?”

“Pool sounds good.”

They played two games in near silence. He breathed a sigh of relief when the doorbell rang. She was so tense, she was making him nervous. He headed for the door, but Zoe hung back. He called to her as he crossed the living room.

“Don’t be shy. You’ll like Jacinta,” he said.

“I’m not shy,” Zoe said.

It was enough to draw her after him and she was standing behind him when he opened the door.

“I’m early. Hope you don’t mind,” Jacinta said.

She stepped forward in a cloud of perfume and kissed his cheek. As usual she was dressed sleekly and stylishly in black, her skirt pencil slim, her shoes high and elegant.

“Now, where’s this art you’re going to dazzle me with?” she asked.

Then she registered Zoe hovering in the background.

“This is Zoe Ford, the dazzler,” Liam said. “Zoe, this is Jacinta Hartman.”

Zoe gave him an angry look before shaking Jacinta’s hand.

“Don’t listen to him. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Zoe said.

She was about to start talking herself down, making excuses so that the rejection she anticipated wouldn’t sting quite so much. It infuriated him that she had so little faith in herself. It also made him want to kick something. Once upon a time, Zoe had never been afraid of anything.

He leveled a finger at her.

“Shut up,” he said. “Not another word, okay?”

Jacinta threw him a startled look. Zoe flushed red and opened her mouth to blast him.

He placed a hand in the small of Jacinta’s back and urged her toward the dining room. He heard Zoe’s breath hiss out, then the determined sound of her footsteps dogging him.

“That was a little uncalled-for, don’t you think?” Jacinta asked him quietly as they stepped into the dining room.

“When you know Zoe a little better, you’ll understand,” he said.

Jacinta raised an eyebrow and turned her attention to the paintings.

“Could I have a word with you, Liam?” Zoe asked from the doorway.

She was furious—again. He ignored her. He was busy watching Jacinta’s face, noting the way her eyes narrowed briefly before her expression became smooth and unreadable.

Her business face. Which mean she liked Zoe’s art. She liked it a lot, if he was any judge of her mannerisms. His shoulders relaxed. His gamble hadn’t been for nothing, then.

“What do you think?” he asked.

Jacinta leaned forward to study Zoe’s largest painting more closely. Zoe remained in the doorway, radiating resentment and anger.

“You mostly work with an airbrush?” Jacinta asked, glancing at Zoe.

Zoe blinked, surprised at the direct question. Liam hid a smile as he watched her try to work out how to respond. Rudely, and jeopardize the opportunity? Politely, and risk losing all her righteous indignation? Or something in between the two extremes?

“Yes. I use brushes, too, sometimes. Mostly I work with acrylics,” Zoe said.

“You got any more like these?” Jacinta asked.

Zoe stood a little straighter.

“Yes,” she said. Then she hesitated. “Why?”

“I like your work,” Jacinta said boldly. “I can think of half a dozen of my clients who would kill to have something like this in their homes or offices. Especially with the kind of pedigree they come with.”

Zoe frowned. “Pedigree? I don’t know what Liam’s told you, but I don’t have any formal training or anything like that.”

Jacinta crossed to stand in front of Zoe, her gaze scanning the other woman from top to toe.

“You’re young, sexy, beautiful and edgy. That tattoo on your neck alone is enough to give you cred. Trust me, people are going to want to buy a little piece of you, Zoe.”

Zoe blinked. Again he could see uncertainty warring with hope inside her. She wanted so much to believe in this good news, but life had taught her to be undemanding in her expectations.

“I have some more canvases under my bed at my apartment,” she said slowly.

Jacinta laughed. “Perfect. We’ll put that in the advertising copy. Please tell me you’re living in a grungy garret somewhere?”

“It’s a studio apartment,” Zoe said. She sounded a little dazed.

Jacinta clapped her hands together, delighted.

“This tattoo on your neck—are there more?”

Zoe turned and lifted her T-shirt to display her back.

“Fantastic! Definitely a backless dress for the opening. Something a bit feral and sexy from one of the young designers in Fitzroy or Northcote.” Jacinta started fumbling in her handbag. “Damn.

I left my organizer at the gallery.”

She closed her eyes and tapped her forefinger on her pursed lips.

“I think I have a week open in August. That would give you time to work on some more pieces, yes?” Jacinta asked.

“I guess.” Zoe was pale, and he noted that her hands were shaking again. Not from anger this time, he guessed.

Jacinta nodded decisively. “I need to confirm dates, but I’ll get back to you. In fact, why don’t we all do dinner tomorrow night? I’ll introduce you to Frederick, my PR guy. We can come up with a bit of a strategy.”

“Um, okay. Sure. That sounds good,” Zoe said.

Jacinta turned to Liam.

“Well, I was sure you were wasting my time, but I’m glad I came. Who would have thought?

Liam Masters has an eye for art.”

“I know what I like,” he said.

Jacinta bounced a look between him and Zoe. “So I see. Well, there go the rest of my plans for the evening. C’est la vie.”

She crossed to Zoe’s side and leaned in to kiss her.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night,” she said.

Liam escorted her to the front door, very aware of Zoe’s gaze on his back as he left the room.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Jacinta said when they reached the front door. He’d never seen her so animated. “Do you have any idea how much money your friend is going to make me?”

“I’m more interested in what you can do for her, actually,” he said dryly.

“Of course you are. I saw that the moment I walked in the door.”

Jacinta cocked her head and studied him.

“I always wondered what it would take to really rev your engine. Now I know.”

He frowned. “Zoe and I are friends. Period.”

Jacinta patted his cheek. “Whatever.”

Liam tensed. Was it that obvious that he wanted Zoe? Had Tom and Jane picked up on the same vibes at their house this afternoon? Was that why Zoe had said that him liking her was dangerous?