Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 101398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
I inspect the edges and the center, and I run my fingers across a part where I know the paint has yet to dry. Indentations that mirror the size and shape of my thumb and index finger imprint themselves into the wet paint, serving as a signature that I was here.
Three weeks of work, finally done.
My sister Breezy will want to sell it to the highest bidder. I kind of want to burn it.
My oldest brother Logan used to call my destructive impulse with my creations “madness.” But he’d also light the match and watch it burn with me. Looking back, that’s probably a good metaphor for why our relationship ended up the way it has.
I turn my back on the canvas and head over to the sink to wash my hands. When I turn around, it’s still there, staring back at me, a talisman of my demons.
Maybe a bonfire is a good idea tonight.
Disgusted with my own predictability, I shut off the music and head out of my studio and back into the main house to distract myself with coffee.
Unfortunately, my cell phone rings before I can even make it inside. There are only a handful of people who utilize this number—who even have this number—and I already know who the caller will be before I answer. I finished a painting and, somehow, she knows it. I swear she’s got to have a hidden camera in my studio at this point.
“What do you want, Breezy?” I question the instant I put the phone to my ear.
“A simple hello, how are you, sis, would be nice, you know?” She lets out a sarcastic laugh. “But I guess I should just be thankful you at least answered your damn phone.”
“To what do I owe the pleasure of this call, sis?” I ask, cutting to the chase. I may be an asshole who doesn’t answer, but Breezy doesn’t call without business.
“You know, I read the most interesting article today in a small-town newspaper. It showcased a hero of sorts. A hero who apparently punched some guy in the face and ended up in handcuffs a few days ago.”
Fucking Eileen Martin. Clay made sure he stopped by my place the day the article came out in the Red Bridge newspaper. Although only first names of the people involved were published, Eileen made sure she got a good photo of me in the back of Sheriff Peeler’s car.
“Sounds like an interesting read,” I comment as I step into the kitchen. Cold coffee from this morning still in the pot, I grab a mug from the cabinet beside the sink, fill it up, and pop it into the microwave while she’s talking.
“Oh, it was very interesting,” she agrees, and the snippy tone of her voice does not hide her anger. “Bennett, what in the hell happened?”
Beatrice Bishop—aka my sister Breezy—is three years older than me and a total shark when it comes to business. Nothing gets by her. And when I say nothing, I truly mean nothing.
“I think the bigger question here is how did you get a Red Bridge newspaper?”
I know for a fact that Eileen Martin still hasn’t managed to get it online. Apparently, it’s something she’s been working on for a few years now with no success, and because the woman is a stubborn old mule, she refuses help from anyone, even if that means her precious newspaper is stuck in the Stone Ages of delivery.
“Nope,” she refutes. “That is definitely not the bigger question. Seriously. What happened, Ben?”
“Don’t stress,” I tell her as the microwave beeps. “I’m not in any legal trouble. No criminal charges. My record is still squeaky clean in Red Bridge.”
“I’d like to remind you that you moved to Red Bridge to stay out of trouble.”
“And I am.” Mostly. I’ve sworn myself away from CAFFEINE and anything else that could have anything to do with Norah Ellis for the foreseeable future, so I don’t see any reason why I’d find myself in trouble again.
“You promise this isn’t anything I should be concerned about?”
“Breeze, I stepped in to help a woman out of an ugly situation. That’s it.”
Anyone else, and I would tell them to fuck off. But Breezy was the one person I was able to count on during the roughest part of my life, and I know she doesn’t want me to hit rock bottom again—knows I can’t afford to. For that, I’ll be forever grateful to her, even though most days she is a total pain in my ass.
“All right. But just know I get the paper mailed to me, so I’ll know if there are any more crime-ridden heroics.”
I snort.
“Now, for the real reason I called.”
“Oh boy. Here it comes…”
“You need to get an assistant.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t need an assistant, Breeze.”
“Yes. You. Do,” she states firmly. “Trust me, Bennett, I love being your agent and I’ll always be your agent, but my real job is to run our family’s galleries. And if you recall, that’s quite a big task. So, I need you to get an assistant because I can no longer do all of your dirty work.”