Play My Game: A 100 Series Standalone Romance Read online

Eve raises her glass to me. “Here’s to getting your MBA. You did it, girlfriend.”

  I smile as we clink our iced teas in a toast. Although the full-time accounting job will help pay the bills the way none of my other work could, I’m not as excited about it as I should be.

  At one time, landing a safe, long-term position with a stable company was all I wanted. Now, I can’t think about it without hearing Jared’s advice to aim higher, do something more challenging, more rewarding to me personally.

  Someday, maybe I will. And someday, maybe I’ll make it through an entire day without looking back in regret or yearning on our brief time together, too.

  I hope that day comes soon, because so far it feels like a hurt that will never fade.

  Eve swallows a bite of her sandwich, looking at me as if she can tell I’ve drifted back into difficult waters. “How’s your mom doing, Mel?”

  I smile with genuine joy. “She’s doing great. She’s keeping active, walking every day. I haven’t told you yet, but she and Katie talked me into getting a dog a couple of days ago.”

  “What?” Eve gapes. “Oh, let me guess. Something adorable, right? A cute little lap warmer that you can carry in your purse?”

  I laugh and shake my head. “Actually, that’s what they both wanted, but when we got to the shelter we all fell in love with a sweet pit bull mix named Sadie who’d been surrendered when her owner passed away. She’s a bit big and rambunctious for our small house, but we’re making it work. Between the daily walks to the park and the tail-wagging affection, Sadie’s already doing wonders for Mom’s heart.”

  “How’s your heart holding up?”

  I sigh. “Not so good. I’m trying to keep myself busy so I don’t think about him. I miss Jared something terrible, Eve.”

  “You’re still in love with him,” she gently points out.

  “Will this awful ache ever go away?”

  My friend’s smile is tender with sympathy. “I’m the wrong person to ask. I’d never been in love until Gabe. Since we met, my feelings for him have only gotten stronger. I don’t think I could turn it off even if we weren’t together.”

  I groan, miserable to consider this may be my new normal. I’ve wanted to call Jared so many times. I’ve yearned to see him, but I’m afraid of getting hurt again. I’m terrified to think this pain could go any deeper.

  “I can’t excuse what he did,” I murmur. “But there’s a part of me that can’t hate him for it, because if he hadn’t exposed Daniel, how long would it have taken me to unravel Daniel’s lies and secrets on my own?”

  Eve nods, her expression grim. “I’m not sure it even occurred to Daniel that his gambling problems and the debts he racked up in Las Vegas could’ve put you in jeopardy, too.”

  “I’m not sure he cared about that,” I admit. “Daniel’s top priority is himself.”

  “Any sign of that loser since his drunken spectacle at Muse?”

  I shake my head and glance up at my friend. “I went by his apartment in Midtown the day I interviewed for the accounting job. His landlady was on her way out of the building as I arrived. She asked me if I’d heard from him recently, said his rent was overdue and she had no way of reaching him since he’d left for Europe a few weeks ago to look after his sick mother.”

  Eve snorts. “His mother who’s been dead for more than a decade?”

  I nod. “He’s long gone and never coming back.”

  “Good riddance,” Eve says, her tone effectively closing the chapter on Daniel Hathaway. She stares at me for a long moment, a look of question in her pale green eyes. “Aren’t you going to ask me about Jared? Gabe and I have invitations to his exhibit later tonight at Dominion. It’s the talk of the town.”

  I’m well aware of Jared’s heralded return to the art world stage. I’m genuinely happy for him, too. The city has been buzzing all week with excitement for his new show, anticipation at a stratospheric level for him to reveal his first paintings in two years.

  His career reboot is guaranteed to be even more successful than he’d been originally. It’s been in the headlines everywhere that Jared Rush is painting with a renewed passion for his work, creating in his Hamptons studio like there’s no tomorrow.

  There’s been no public mention of the disease that’s got its hooks in him. Evidently, it’s a secret he intends to keep. I’ve honored the faith he showed me in telling me what he was going through. No matter what else has happened between us, I’ll never be the one to betray his trust.

  After all this time, I’m not certain he feels likewise when it comes to me. I can’t help thinking about the erotic painting he made of me that day in his studio. While our agreement forbade him from revealing my identity in his finished work, that contract was no longer in play when I gave him all of me, both on his canvas and in his arms.

  He’s under no obligation to honor any of our terms now, not even the compensation, so I have no choice but to wait like the rest of the public for word on what the master reveals at his exhibit tonight.

  As much as I dread he might take out some measure of revenge on me by putting my body on full display at Dominic Baine’s gallery, I’m even more loath to imagine Jared in his studio with any other woman.

  “You should join us, Mel.” Eve smiles up at the server as he leaves our bill on the edge of the table. “Gabe’s got extra tickets. I think you should come.”

  “No.” I push my empty plate away, panic beating in my breast. “No way. I can’t see him again.”

  As much as I might hope to see him again someday, I’m not ready yet. I don’t want to be swayed when I’m still picking up the pieces of my broken heart.

  “Gabe and Nick both say he’s miserable without you.” She stares at me as if considering how much to divulge. “Did you know he sold Muse?”

  I shake my head. “When?”

  “The day after you and he broke up. He sold all of his clubs, Melanie. The Lenox Hill mansion is up for sale, too. He’s moving to the Hamptons permanently next week.”

  I draw in a breath. Why does hearing he’ll be moving out of the city make me feel as if my heart is being ripped out all over again?

  Because I know if he leaves, the chances of bumping into each other one day when it might not hurt so bad will be next to nil.

  I should be relieved by this news. Instead I feel as if I’m mourning the imminent loss of a friend. More than a friend, a part of myself.

  “I think you should talk to him, Mel.”

  I wince, wishing I didn’t want to take my friend’s advice. “What would I say?”

  “That you forgive him. That you miss being with him and you don’t want to live without him anymore.” She smiles softly. “Just tell him how you feel. Tell him the truth.”

  “The truth is the one thing he couldn’t give me. Not until his hand was forced.”

  Her gaze holds mine with tender understanding. “You have the truth from him now. It’s up to you to decide what to do with it.”

  31

  MELANIE

  I’m in the kitchen that evening with Mom cleaning up after dinner when the front doorbell rings.

  My heart stutters at the sound, and at the unusually late interruption at eight o’clock on a Sunday night. Sadie lets out a string of barks from the living room where the dog had been cuddling with Katie in front of the TV after we ate.

  Mom sets her dish towel down on the counter. “Whoever could that be at this hour?”

  I don’t know, but for some reason a wild hope gallops through me as I turn off the water and dry my hands. “Stay here. I’ll go answer it.”

  I haven’t stopped thinking about my conversation with Eve this afternoon. Jared’s gallery showing should be in full swing by now. His paintings will have been unveiled. He’s no doubt basking in the adoration of the city and the press.

  So why I’m walking to the door with my heart in my throat, I have no idea.

  Katie calms her furry best friend, but the protective dog remains at attenti
on as I reach the door and peek out through the small windows. The fluttering in my breast dies out in an instant when I see it’s only a delivery person standing on the stoop.

  The man is wearing a private courier’s uniform. “Package for Ms. Melanie Laurent?”

  “That’s me.”

  “Great. Sign here, please.” He thrusts an electronic pen and sleeved tablet at me. “I’ll go get your package.”

  I add my signature to the line he indicated, then watch as he gingerly retrieves a large rectangular object out of the back of his van. It’s wrapped in thick brown paper and twine, not the kind of packaging I’d expect if the item had been shipped from somewhere far away.

  No, this package hasn’t traveled far at all.

  And as he cautiously carries it to me where I wait inside the door, I don’t have to guess what’s beneath the unmarked paper.

  “Here you go,” he says. “It’s fragile, so take care with it.”

  I nod and trade him the pen and tablet for the large, framed painting. Feeling it in my hands, my heart starts pounding again, though not with the same anticipation as before. I’m all but certain I don’t want to see what’s inside. And most certainly not with my mother and young niece underfoot.

  “Oh!” he adds. “Almost forgot. There’s a note with it.”

  He pulls a black square envelope out of the sleeve holding the tablet. The envelope is familiar to me, and so is the antique gold wax seal on the back of it, stamped with the initials J and R.

  “Have a good night,” he says, jogging back to his vehicle.

  I set the envelope down on the console table and carefully lean the painting against the wall while I close and lock the door.

  Katie bounds over to inspect the mysterious delivery. “It’s big. What is it, Aunt Mellie?”

  Mom’s gaze meets mine from where she stands in the kitchen doorway. “It looks like a painting to me, honey.”

  I’ve told her about Jared—including the details of how I arrived at posing for him. She knows how foolishly I fell for him, and that I’m still miserably, hopelessly, in love with him.

  Katie glances up at me in excited curiosity. “Aren’t ya gonna open it?”

  “Not right now,” I tell her, steering her away from the artwork she’s at least ten years too young to see.

  Make that twenty years, I mentally amend, flooded with memories of the day I posed for Jared in his studio . . . in between marathon sessions of incredible, bone-melting sex.

  I’m not even sure I’m ready to see that painting again.

  Especially not now, when every reminder of my time with Jared carves away another piece of my heart.

  I need to get back to normal again, back to my real life. Jared has his own life, one that’s going to be filled with even more wealth and fame and beautiful women than before. He’ll move out to his beach house in the Hamptons and I’ll go to work at the accounting firm in the city.

  He’ll forget me before long, I’m sure.

  And me? I’ll survive. I’ll survive for Mom and for Katie, because that’s what I’ve always done.

  Somehow, it will have to be enough.

  Pasting a smile on my face, I crouch down in front of Katie. “Who’s up for some ice cream?”

  “Me!” With a happy squeal, she skips off to the kitchen with Sadie trotting along behind her.

  Mom’s still looking at me with soft, caring eyes. “You don’t even want to read his note?”

  I shake my head, glancing mutely at the elegant black envelope. “Let’s go have some dessert, okay?”

  ~ ~ ~

  Nearly two hours pass before I step back into the living room again.

  The house is quiet. Katie is dozing on the sofa with Mom, Sadie resting contentedly on the floor beneath them. The dog looks up as I pad through, but she doesn’t stir from her new favorite spot.

  I’m tempted to sit and enjoy the tranquility with them, but I can’t stop my feet from carrying me to Jared’s note and the painting I’ve been trying to ignore since it arrived.

  I still don’t feel ready to revisit my humiliation with him. I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready, but I also realize that if I mean to move on, I’m not going to start by running away from the pain or sheltering myself from hard truths.

  Silently, I pick up the envelope and the painting and bring them both upstairs to my bedroom.

  Once I’m closed inside, I take a fortifying breath and break the golden seal on Jared’s handwritten note.

  As soon as I start to read his words, a knot of emotion tightens in my throat.

  Melanie,

  I am so sorry for the hurt I’ve caused you.

  For too many years, I have been consumed by anger and pain. It showed in my work, and in the selfish ways I lived my life. I thought revenge was the answer, the thing I needed in order to finally move on. I was wrong.

  I had no right to pull you into my world, into my troubles. Least of all, into my cowardly, pointless game of retribution. You are good and kind and courageous, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, both inside and out. The light you’ve brought to my life has changed me. You’ve made me better. You showed me all the things I was missing because I hadn’t let go of my past.

  And now, I’ve lost you because of it, too.

  Maybe this is the best thing for you. I’ve stayed away because that’s what you’ve asked of me. But please know my love for you was, and always will be, real.

  Yours, Jared

  Tears blur my vision as I glance down at the wrapped painting on the bed. I cut away the twine, then begin to remove the paper.

  I realize at once that this isn’t the portrait I was expecting.

  I am the subject of the painting, but I’ve never seen this one before. I never posed for it, yet he’s captured me in arresting detail.

  I gasp in astonishment as, bit by bit, a portrait of me standing on the deck at his beach house emerges. Jared’s painted me as if I’m gazing directly at him, the wind catching my loose hair, green waves rolling in the distance behind me like the Kentucky pastures he clearly loves and misses.

  He’s remembered every detail of my face. The precise shade of my eyes. The soft expression on my face instantly calls back all the feelings I had for him on that perfect day we spent together. The love I felt for him then . . . and still do.

  Vaguely, I hear the soft knock on my door. I don’t realize I’m sobbing until my mom pokes her head in to make sure I’m all right.

  “Oh, honey,” she says, stepping inside to wrap me in her comforting embrace.

  I sag against her shoulder and weep. I can’t help myself. I can’t harness the tumult of emotion and confusion that engulfs me.

  She lets me cry only for a moment before drawing me away from her. Sweeping my tears away with her thumbs, she cradles my face in her hands. “My sweet girl. Look at how he sees you. The man who painted this portrait knows my daughter better than anyone ever will. And he loves you, Melanie. He loves you very much.”

  I glance back at Jared’s painting, unable to deny what my mother is saying. I can hear his deep voice echoing in my head as the words from his note play back to me now. The hurt I’ve been carrying around for the past few weeks starts to crumble away, replaced with a burgeoning hope.

  “I love him, too. I love him more than anything, Mom.”

  Her mouth curves. “Sweetheart, why are you telling me? Jared’s the one who needs to hear it.”

  “You’re right.” I swallow, wiping my cheeks as I get up off the bed. “I have to see him. I have to go to him right now. Oh, God. I have to hurry!”

  32

  JARED

  She’s not coming.

  I don’t know why I thought she might.

  A pathetic, desperate part of me wanted to believe she might be feeling as miserable and empty as I’ve been this past month without her.

  That’s some of the reason why I sent the portrait to her house tonight. I thought she might see it as the peace offering I in
tended it to be. I had hoped the note I enclosed would be the declaration of love she refused to accept when I feebly blurted out those inadequate words that awful night at Muse.

  But she’s not coming.

  The courier should have arrived at her house more than a couple of hours ago. Ample time for her to decide if she can forgive me.

  Evidently, she can’t.

  Somehow, I need to find a way to be okay with that decision, despite that it feels like a crushing weight seated on my chest.

  “Jared,” a female voice calls to me through the clusters of patrons gathered around my unveiled new works. Dominion’s manager, Margot Chan-Levine, glides toward me with a dour-looking gentleman in a stuffy suit and bow-tie. “I have someone I’d love for you to meet.”

  I spend the next ten minutes answering questions from the French art critic and pretending to be interested in his attempts to impress me with his credentials.

  I’ve long grown accustomed to the fuss my art usually stirs up at its debuts, but even I have to admit this level of excitement is astonishing. Not even the drizzling rain that started in the past hour has slowed the traffic of invited VIPs and patrons packing the gallery. If I was uncertain how the change in my artistic style and subject matter might impact my return after a two-year absence, this exhibit erases any doubts.

  And I couldn’t be more bored.

  For the past three hours since my newest paintings were unveiled at the reception, I’ve been glad-handed by reporters and patrons, and toasted with a seeming endless flow of champagne—none of which I’ve imbibed.

  All around me, I hear effusive praise for the trio of paintings dominating the focal wall of the gallery . . . and whispered speculation about who is the mystery muse depicted in my new work.

  Unlike the portrait I gave to Melanie, none of these show her lovely face. That’s a privilege I don’t intend to share with anyone.

  In the first painting on display, she’s standing alone on a beach illuminated in soft sunlight as she looks out at the tranquil water. In the next, she’s seated on the edge of a bed, as serene and protective as an angel while she watches over a sleeping little girl.