She squealed with delight when he tossed her over his shoulder and carried her into the sunshine and across the street.
Fifteen minutes later, Brick’s cell phone rang, provoking a frustrated growl. He pulled back from Remi’s mouth, leaving her breathless, perched on the kitchen counter. His expression hardened when he glanced at the screen.
“It’s my dad. I need to take this.”
“Your dad?” She blinked. As far as she had known, Brick’s relationship with his father was non-existent.
“He’s been keeping an eye on Vorhees for me when he’s in Chicago.”
The man had repaired a relationship with his estranged father to help keep her friend safe. Overwhelmed and stupidly in love, she grabbed Brick by the shirt and kissed him hard. “I love you.”
He groaned and took a step back. “Finish this when I get back from my shift?”
They’d never be finished exploring each other, tasting each other. Devouring each other.
She nodded and blew him another kiss.
He winked, mouthed “behave,” and walked out, leaving her swooning after him.
She was still in mid-swoon when her own phone rang a few minutes later.
“Raj,” she said, answering the video call. “What can I do for my favorite agent?”
“Are you drunk?” He looked both over-the-top and dapper in a crushed velvet sport coat in amethyst.
“Nope. Just happy,” she said, hopping off the counter.
“You know what would make me happy?” He pulled off his glasses and polished them.
“I shudder at the possibilities.” She headed into the studio, knowing exactly why he’d called.
“I’d be happy if my client was painting something I could sell.”
“Excuse me. I hope you’re more understanding about personal crises with your other clients who haven’t yet fired you.”
“And she’s back to mean,” Rajesh said with satisfaction. “Tell me you’ve at least picked up a freaking brush.”
She’d done more than that. Slowly but surely, she’d begun to forge a path back to her art. In Chicago, she’d painted nearly every day. Here, with a large, manly distraction constantly in her periphery, she’d started to settle into a new routine. One that could accommodate her aggressive sex-having schedule.
“I’ve got two pieces for you to look at,” she told her agent.
“About fucking time, dude.”
“Bite me.” The man was a pain in the ass, but he “got” her. And her art. He had an eye for what was great and what was an imitation of great. She turned the camera around so he could see the painting.
“Burn it,” he announced.
She rolled her eyes. “Ass!”
He was right, of course. It was sloppy. The colors were off, and she’d overdone it, not trusting her instincts that told her when the piece was finished.
“Hey, if you want your hand held, go get a different agent. If you want a motherfucking avalanche of dolla bills, stick with me. I’ll tell you when a piece says ‘badass baller.’ Next.”
Early on in their relationship, she’d once broken a canvas over his head. He’d worn the wood frame like a laurel around his neck while he told her the next piece made her a goddamn genius.
“Fine. Here’s the other piece,” she said, moving the camera. This one was a bigger painting. Pastels in yellow and pink mixed with navy blue on a milky background. She’s painted it to violinist Tim Fain’s “Freedom” in a weekend while Brick had back-to-back shifts at the bar and station.
“Now that’s baller, dude. I can sell the shit out of that.”
“Really?” Remi couldn’t quite hide the swift rush of pride.
“Shut up. You know it’s good. Gimmie. Send it A-SAP.”
“You realize that packages are delivered by horses here, right?”
“Dude, I don’t care if you send it to me by orphaned carrier pigeons. Get it here fast before everyone forgets who the hell you are.” He kicked back and draped his arm over the back of a sofa. Her sofa.
“Are you at my place again?”
“Your casa is my casa,” he said affably.
“No. My casa is my casa.”
“Eh. My Wi-Fi went out at home today. I’m borrowing yours on my way to some happy hour thing for the Arts Council. When did you say you were coming back again?”
She hadn’t, and he knew it. “I still have some things to work out first.”
“Be tee dubs. I’m sending you two hundred prints.”
“Why?”
“Because we sold out of signed prints. Warm up that wrist, man.”
“I thought people were forgetting who I am? Don’t these people know I’m toxic?” She’d hidden her reaction as best she could from Brick. But the last round of bad press had stung. Like a thousand pissed-off hornets.
“Britney Spears still sold records after she shaved her head. But she also kept working.”
“I am.”
“Good. Show me what’s on the easel,” he demanded.
“Not happening.” Her gaze flicked to the painting in question. She was dabbling with “No Surprises” again. Revisiting the accident in oils between other projects. She still cried when she listened to the song. But it was a cleaner kind of purging. A purification almost.
The doorbell echoed from the front of the house. “I gotta go, Raj. Someone’s here.”
“Put the painting on the Pony Express. I’ll send you the prints.”
“Deal. Bye.”
She stashed her phone in her pocket and jogged to the front door, where she found Kimber pacing on the porch.
“I told Kyle I want a divorce,” she announced. Her shoulders were ramrod straight, jaw set. One lonely tear slid down her cheek.
Wordlessly, Remi opened her arms, and her big sister walked into them.
“Do you remember way back when you asked me to move in?” Remi said into her phone as she pulled the bedroom door closed behind her, shutting out the happy chatter of Hadley and Ian, whose hearts were about to be crushed.
“It sounds vaguely familiar,” Brick said dryly.
“How would you feel about having a few more house guests?”
She quickly filled him in on the situation.
“Remington, you know they’re welcome to stay as long as they want,” he said.
“You’re being awfully amicable. You didn’t even try to get any sexual favors out of me in return.”
When he didn’t laugh or growl as she’d expected, she knew something was wrong.
“What’s going on, Brick? Was it something with your dad?”
He cleared his throat, making her even more anxious. “Dad saw Camille leave the house today and followed her. He noticed she was limping—”
“That fucking monster,” Remi snarled. If Warren had started up again, there was no telling how far it would go this time.
“He got some pictures of her. It’s hard to tell, but it looked like she had some bruising on her neck.”
“Brick.” Her voice broke. “We need to get her out of there.”
“I know, baby. I know. We’ll figure this out. Dad couldn’t get near her. She had a security goon with her. So he followed them from a distance. She’s at some event for an art organization.”