The Falcon Ridge Series Book 4: Art of a Girl

(Chapter song ‘Fake It' by Seether)

SAMMY

OK. So that was a test of wills. Holy cow! I've never had anyone lose it on me like that before. But I’m so glad I found my voice. He may have had the last word, but there was no way I was letting him leave without telling him how rude he was being. Yes, I was dressed unprofessionally, but to compare me to some showgirl?!

I kind of see what the guys were talking about now. He seems very full of himself. Which just goes to show, looks aren't necessarily everything.

It’s hard to believe anyone would think that kind of personality works in social circles. But I can’t see him faking the attitude he has.

It’s a shame because he’s very attractive. It might be a good thing that his ugly side is a turn off. The last thing I need is a love interest. Client or not. I’m not meant to have a love life.

I’ll just stick to my ethics and keep this 100 percent professional. He’s just a job and I can get through this without incident.

It seems he’s thinking the same thing which is also a good thing.

Before I left for the day, he came in, peeked at my preliminary design ideas. Walked around the room casually, and barely acknowledged my existence. Keep it at arms length. I’ll go with that.

At dinner, I picked at my food as Eric and Dylan talked about what they were going to do with the money once the job is done.

“What do you think of that building down on Main St., Sam?”

I barely heard them. I was lost in thought. My mind watched Bastian walk around the room. I remember how our eyes locked as he glanced at me. I felt the stirrings inside and had to go back to my work. It’s not good that he can get to me like that.

“Sammy?”

I raise my eyes to the guys. “I’m sorry. You say something?” I sit up and adjust my plate.

Eric leans forward. “Yeah. I asked what you thought of the building on Main St. I think we could use a little more extra space.”

I shake my head. “No. I like my garage.” I smile. “I don’t need a new office. All I need are ways to express my creativity.”

“That’s the other thing.” Dylan says. “I think it’s time to open that art studio you wanted.”

I chuckle. “What?”

“Come on, Sam. Decorating is your job, but we both know painting is your passion. I think with this new job, you can take some of that money and open the gallery we talked about.” He smiles.

“Dylan. I was a kid.” I laugh. “It’s just a dream.”

“A damn good one. Sam, you could make a lot of money selling your art.” He sips his wine.

“I could help curate it for you.” Eric adds.

“Guys, no. My art isn’t for sale. It’s my therapy. Are you kidding?” I grin and feel my cheeks heat.

“I get that. But you’re good, Sammy. Too good to have them sit on the floor of your room.” Dylan says sweetly.

“Thank you, but…” I sigh. “We both know why I paint. No one wants to see that.”

“No one will see it, Sam. No one’s able to tell it’s mental reinforcement. Your talent is dying because of that.” He bites his lip and his brows stitch up.

“Look. I appreciate the encouragement, but we didn’t come to this restaurant to talk about my therapeutic coping skills. So, please. Change the subject.” I glance at both of them.

Dylan puts up his hands and goes back to eating. “Ok. I’m just saying. This is good opportunity to expand yourself.”

Eric puts his hand up. “We don’t mean to upset you, Sam. So, what did you think of the Alpha?” He smirks.

I lean my elbows on the table and lace my fingers under my chin. “He is a piece of work.” I smile.

“Oh, really.” Dylan chuckles.

I sit up and play with my napkin in my lap. “He may have a little bit of a temper. It’s…going to be interesting as long as he keeps his temper down.”

“Told you.” Eric ticks his head.

“I know. I just like to see for myself before drawing conclusions.” I say.

“And what’s your conclusion?” Dylan asks.

I sit back and fold my arms. “Well, he’s loud. Obnoxious. Pretentious. Egotistical.” I lean forward and pick at my plate again. “Maybe a little attractive.”

“A little?” Dylan chuckles.

“Ok. He’s hot. But that other stuff…” I shake my head. “Honestly, if he ignores me, I’m good with that. He stresses me out.” I cinch my brows.

Dylan leans forward. “Are you going to be ok? I can take over.”

“No. I’m fine. As long as I perform the way he wants, I’ll get through this.” I take a fork full of food.

“Good. Because the last thing you need is stress.” Eric warns.

I drop my fork and look at the both. “Don’t worry guys. It’s been years since the last incident. Bastian Cole isn’t going to trigger me. Stop worrying.”

“We care about you, Sam. You know stressful situations are not good for you. The minute you feel it, you tell me. Promise me.” Dylan gives me a serious look.

“Yes. I promise, Dylan.” I blow out a breath. “Trust me. You don’t want me to stress, how do you think I feel? You don’t have to survive it. I do.”

Dylan reaches out and holds my hand. “I know.”

I give him a half smile and go back to eating.

It’s a huge risk being involved with someone like Bastian, but I need this job.

It’s a risk I’m going to have to take.

****

At home, the entire conversation and the events yesterday, coursed through my brain and for some reason I found inspiration.

Usually, I just paint excessively until whatever stresses me flows away. This time it’s different. I feel like I have to fill a canvas with color. Is it because of stress or something more? I don’t know. All I know is I need to get this out.

My little room in my parents 3 bedroom house is my Zen place. My place of calm solitude. It’s filled with everything that I love. My family and my art. I have a tiny bed off to the side, a simple window that over looks my mother’s gardens and the walls are covered in pictures of me and my family.

At the bottom of my walls are stacks of painted landscapes and portraits. My dreams are poured onto these linen wrapped wood frames. My imagination frozen in time. I love each and every one and I would hate to part with any of them. I feel like if anyone took them, it would be like taking a part of me away.

These pictures depict the true me. The one I want people to see. Not what’s truly inside me. That won’t ever see the light of day unless it’s a particularly bad day. If those make it to a canvas, they’re hidden from me. I choose to ignore it even though they made me give them life in paint. So, they sit in my closet. Why won’t I get rid of them? I can’t. Even if they’re hidden, they’re still a reminder as to why I have to keep going to therapy and keep fighting for my life.

Thank god, I haven’t had those kinds of thoughts in 10 years and counting.

I look at the blank canvas before me. Paints at the ready. I start with deep blue and paint the 8 x 10 canvas from top to bottom. At that point, I pull out of my mind what’s been bugging me for a couple days. It’s going to take me a month to do, but just to start it will be therapeutic enough.

I glide my brush around the canvas and pull all the stress Bastian made me have out. I put it into each brush stroke. The colors I choose take a piece and I concentrate on covering his words in color. I just bury him in paint. I barely even think about it.

When I’m like this, I will paint for hours without realizing it. It’s not until my mother pops her head in that I realize that it’s past midnight.

“Sammy? You’re still up?” She walks in and I turn.

“Yeah. Apparently.” I chuckle.

“Wow. Who’s that going to be?” She motions to my canvas.

I turn to the greyscale outline of a tall body and head. “Not sure yet.” I narrow my eyes and try to see who’s calling to me from beyond the paint.

“Well, I’m sure it will be beautiful. Just like the others.” She kisses my temple.

“Thanks mom.” I grin. “Is dad home yet?”

“Yes. He’s outback. You going to say goodnight?” She heads for my door.

“Yeah. Just let me grab a sweater.” I stride to my closet and open the door. As I reach for my sweater, my eyes fall to the paintings that I hide.

I lock my eyes on them and freeze. I swallow as the black painted picture with two glowing red eyes stare back at me. It rests on a stack of 15 similarly painted canvases. I slightly tremble and grab my sweater. I shut the door and push them out of my mind.

“You ok?” My mother asks as I walk out of my room.

I smile. “I’m perfect.”

She smiles back and shut my door.

****

“So…spill it!”

“Lisa.” I giggle as she leans on the table. I go over the blueprints of the ballroom to get the full feel of the place. I brought Lisa to help me, but all she wants to do is talk about Bastian.

Lisa Berkley is like a best friend. She’s a great decorator and a hopeless flirt. She’s dangerous in the ethics department which is why I won’t give her a job on her own.

“He’s an Alpha. What more do you want?” I drop my arm and turn to her.

“Is he ugly? Is he hot? How big is his…biceps.” She bounces her brows.

“Lisa!” I scowl.

She laughs and puts up her hands. “Alright. Just tell me if he’s nice.”

I turn back to my work. “That I don’t know.”

“What do you mean?” She leans down on the table.

“He doesn’t present himself to be friendly. Whether he is underneath, I don’t know and I don’t think I want to find out.” I say as I write some points down. “Hand me that fabric book.”

She passes it to me and I open it to the satins.

“Why don’t you want to find out?” She furrows her brow and fixes her fire red, short hair. Her blue eyes scan me like I’m sick or something for not fawning over Bastian.

“Because he’s a client and two… I don’t think there’s enough room for me next to his ego.” I say as I flip through the fabrics and make notes. “Seriously. You should hear him order his staff around. I feel sorry for them. I’ve only been here a few days and he already irritates me.”

She smiles. “You only think that because you don’t know how to handle a rich man.”

“Excuse me?” I give her a snarky look with a smile.

“Seriously. All these rich guys have egos. You just have to learn that it’s not about you. It’s just something that comes with money.” She shrugs. “As long as you get something out of it. Who cares?”

“No.” I shake my head. “I can’t do that. I’m not like… you!” I laugh. “I can’t just jump on a guy because he has money.”

“You’re not marrying the guy. It’s just a little fun.” She grins.

I stand and walk over to the other boxes I brought and search them for my other fabric books. “No, thank you. The guy that I entertain will be caring and generous. He'll be soft and gentle. He won’t put himself first and he certainly will not be a self-centered, egotistical jerk like the Alpha…”

I pull out a book and start to walk back to Lisa, but stop with a yelp.

Lisa turns around and I hold the book to my chest as my eyes meet Bastian’s hazel ones in the doorway to the ballroom.

Lisa glances at me and I swallow.

Bastian puts his hands in his pockets and chews his lip. He raises his brow and looks to Lisa. “Guests must be signed in with security. Take care of it or I’ll have her thrown off the property.” He mutters, then leaves.

I stare at the empty doorway as Lisa turns back to me. “Yikes.”

My face falls as my brows stitch up.

“Crap.”