Owned: A Mafia Menage Romance(124)
Was she right? If I couldn’t feel anything for Kevin now, had it ever been a real thing in the first place? Was it just wasted time? The thought boomed in my mind like it had been shouted through a megaphone. Then I kicked that thought square in the nuts and waited for it to double over and crawl away.
“You know what, Bridge, you just stick to your job and I will stick to mine,” I suggested lamely.
She shrugged. “You got it, sweet cheeks. But get me more of this,” she said, gesturing at the paintings. “Whatever it takes.”
CHAPTER 3
“I DON’T WANT to rush you, but you need to fucking hurry,” Bridget drawled over the phone as I stared down three new easels with three new paintings perched on them. Where to begin? It was like Christmas. All exciting possibilities.
“I am hurrying,” I muttered distractedly when I realized she was waiting for me to say something.
“OK, so when?”
I really wanted to stop talking and start painting. The new techniques I was playing with were exciting, dangerous. There was every possibility the painting would just fail, but so far none had. I was ready to jump in. Why was she still talking?
“I don’t know, Bridge. Tuesday.”
“Tuesday.”
“Probably yes.”
“Well is it Tuesday or not? Because Tuesday is great. But next Friday is not great. I’m looking at empty wall space here.”
“Your walls are empty because I’m making you money.”
“Not if you don’t finish.”
I sighed dramatically. “I’m hanging up on you now.”
“The hell you are, Margot! I need pix by the end of today, sizes, and a real ETA. OK?”
“Fine, yes, OK.”
“Margot, listen to me. Are you listening?”
“Yes,” I half-lied.
“I need you to take this seriously. I can’t have empty walls over a weekend during the high season. You told me I’d have new work Thursday, and now it’s Saturday.”
“Yeah,” I admitted. “I’m sorry about that.”
“Tell me the truth: are your legs in the air right at this moment?”
“Oh, haha, fuck you.”
“No, fuck you, Margot,” she whined. I had to admit, she really did sound pissed. “I am loving the new work, collectors are loving the new work, but I am not one hundred percent thrilled with the new Margot who created it.”
“What?”
“You’re being an asshole.”
“I’m working,” I stressed. “I’m working out something new, and that takes some effort. Cut me some slack here, OK? It will settle out. Everything will be back to normal soon.”
“Swear it.”
“I solemnly swear it,” I answered. I totally meant it, too.
“So no more public buggering in the grocery store parking lot.”
“Oh! Haha,” I laughed. I’d forgotten I had told her about that. Declan and I had run out for a few things and as I bent over to hoist the bag into the back seat, he had flipped my floral skirt over my ass and jammed himself right into me. He didn’t even close the car door. The parking lot was mostly deserted, but any of my neighbors could have been there. One of my collectors, or just anybody. The thrill of the risk of getting caught made me come in a fast, torrential explosion.
“It’s actually not funny anymore, Margot. I saw that hickie on your neck.”
“Yeah, that was a mistake.”
“That’s not a mistake. It’s like you want everyone to know what a slut you are.”
“I don’t think we are allowed to slut-shame anymore,” I shot back.
“You are miles beyond shame, pumpkin.”
I wanted to disagree, but I couldn’t stop giggling and sighing. Thinking about our daily and twice-daily interludes kept me going on a constant high. I was either recovering from sex, remembering sex, or anticipating sex with one or two of the most beautiful men I had ever seen. It was a totally new way of life. I couldn’t get enough.
“Hey!” she yelled into the phone. “What are you, fifteen? Get a grip, OK? Actual people rely on you in about six hundred ways!”
Rolling my eyes, I considered just hanging up on her. “You don’t have to tell me that.”
“No I think I do. Somebody needs to tell you to reign it in. Fun is fun, but it’s time to resume Margot Trask’s million dollar art career.”
“I am taking care of everything. There’s no harm in a little personal exploration. The work alone, you can see it’s going well… I mean, I feel different, Bridge. I feel like some… I feel like I was buried, and something just dug me up. I feel alive.”