Romance: Hard Read online

  Romance:

  Hard

  Penny Ward

  Romance: Hard

  Penny Ward

  Copyright © 2015

  Published by Run Free Publishing

  2nd Edition

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Other titles by bestselling author Penny Ward:

  Romance: The Billionaire’s Pleasure

  Romance: Hired

  Romance: Stepbrother Lust

  Romance: Owned

  Romance: Her Fighter

  Romance: The Billionaire’s Contract

  Romance: The Personal Assistant

  1

  My new city feels like home.

  This crazy, funky, busy, hip, mad city is the first place that I have felt comfortable in my life. I have only lived in New York City for one month but it already feels like I belong here.

  Only one month ago, I was studying History at a college a long way from New York City. I was studying in the farming town where I grew up, but it was a place where I never felt comfortable. At the time, I thought that life was ok – but I knew nothing else. I didn’t know how exciting life could be.

  My life was safe. There was no risk or excitement. Everything was sheltered.

  But that all changed very, very quickly.

  My college professor, the charming David Dyson, started making sexual advances on me after class. One day, he grabbed my bottom and said if I didn’t sleep with him, he would fail me. I complained to the school but there was no evidence – so they threw the complaint out and I failed my class.

  Bastard.

  I did everything with my best friend, Nicky. We grew up together and started studying History together. When I complained about the sexual harassment, Nicky defended the professor, saying he would never do anything like that. And then she finished top of the class. Nicky was caught only one day later giving David Dyson a blowjob in the janitor’s cupboard at college.

  Bitch.

  I thought my boyfriend of five years, Richard Davis, was perfect. He was tall, sweet and so handsome. He was delicious. Turned out that Nicky thought he was delicious too. Only two days after the David Dyson incident, she was caught banging my boyfriend in the college hall at midnight.

  Pricks.

  So I packed it up.

  I put everything I owned into a suitcase and went to the airport.

  The cheapest ticket was heading for New York and so that’s the one I bought. The only things I knew about New York were from television. I landed with $1000, a few clothes, no make-up and a heart full of hope.

  Anywhere had to be better than my hometown.

  Anywhere had to be less embarrassing than facing everyone’s judging faces day after day.

  Luckily, I found Marissa Parker.

  Or she found me.

  I responded to thirty job ads the second I landed on the JFK tarmac. I had to find something, and fast. Marissa responded within ten minutes of the online application. She said I was the only job applicant worth calling.

  After only chatting for five minutes on the phone, she offered me a job – ‘You just know with some people,’ she said. I spent the first night in a hotel room, and I started the next day.

  And I LOVED it.

  It turned out that I applied to be an assistant in a small, hip art gallery in a happening neighborhood of New York. Marissa is the eccentric owner – full of life, vigor and advice. Although Marissa is only in her early forties, she has experienced more in life than I had thought was possible.

  Marissa also set me up with a small rental apartment not far from the gallery – it was the greatest stroke of luck that has ever brushed my life.

  “Good afternoon,” she sings as she walks into the gallery. “I have something for you.”

  “What is it?” I question.

  “Look!” Marissa pulls out the most sickening green iced cheesecake that I have ever seen. “I spent hours making this for you last night!”

  “For me?” I force a smile. Unfortunately, baking isn’t Marissa’s strong point.

  “Sure is! It’s to celebrate one month working here, Amber. And with a last name like Sheehan, I thought that green would be your color!”

  “Yay,” I try to be excited but the cake looks horrible.

  I bite into the first slice and Marissa watches for my reaction. I force a smile and raise my eyebrows, “Yum.”

  Hesitantly, Marissa also takes a bite, “Oh My Gosh!!”

  She spits her bite back out onto her hand.

  “That is horrible!” she laughs. “Don’t pretend to like it!”

  I laugh, “It’s not that bad.”

  “Are you kidding? I have eaten worms that have tasted better than that!”

  “Worms?” I laugh again.

  “Absolutely. I spent one year in outback Australia eating things called ‘witchy grubs.’ They were like little worms, and trust me, they tasted better than this cake.”

  Nothing would surprise me about Marissa.

  She could tell me that she has signed up to travel to Mars and I wouldn’t even batter an eyelid.

  Marissa laughs as she throws the cake into the bin, “That is the best place for the cake.”

  “It wasn’t that bad…”

  “You’re too nice, Amber. You need to lose that nice country-girl attitude and toughen up if you want to thrive here in New York. This is a tough city, girl.”

  “I don’t have to thrive – I’m ok with just getting by.”

  “No, no, no,” Marissa protests. “There will be none of that. Throw away that old attitude – it’s time to live your life now. You need to take control of your life and live it for the moment.”

  “I wouldn’t know how to do that.”

  Marissa ponders her own thoughts as she slowly looks over the books after last night’s exhibition opening, “I’ll tell you how.”

  “I thought you might.”

  “He was here again last night.”

  “Who?” I pretend not to know who Marissa is talking about.

  “You know who.”

  I can’t contain my smile, “He was looking good, wasn’t he? That suit fitted him so well…”

  “Oh my, he was looking more than good. He was looking amazing. And if I were ten years younger, I would tear him apart. But he didn’t have eyes for me, he only had eyes for your beautiful figure.”

  “But I’m not ready,” I try to deflect her statements.

  “No-one is ever ready, Amber.”

  “But I’m really not. I have just turned my entire life upside down and I need a little time to adjust. It’s hard for me to change. Before last month, I’ve never done anything crazy in my life. I’m not as wild as you, Marissa. I like things…”

  “Boring.”

  “No, not boring… but safe.”

  “Safe is for accountants. You are not an accountant. You are a beautiful, sexy young woman. You need to take advantage of your assets.”

  “My assets?”

  “A figure like yours is a blessing from whoever it is you believe in. Most people aren’t blessed with beauty – they strive for it every day of their lives. And you… you’re lucky. You have an amazing face, a wonderful figure and a sexy, sexy pair of legs.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “Not sexy enough to keep Richard from straying…”

  “Stop it!” Marissa interrupts me before I can go any further. “I will hear no more of that. That is the past. You are in Ne
w York now baby!”

  I roll my eyes to Marissa.

  “Don’t you roll your eyes at me,” she playfully pokes me in the ribs. “Now, what are we going to do about this beautiful man that can’t take his eyes off you?”

  “Nothing. I’m not good enough for a man like him. Did you see the way he dressed? Not only was he the most handsome thing in New York, but clearly he has a lot of money because that suit was the finest. That man would have models hanging off him everywhere he goes.”

  “Stop it! There is no man on earth that is too handsome for you. You are beautiful. You just need to let go of the past. I know that some prick has hurt you before, but you need to forget about that. You need to forget about Richard and move on with your life. Leave him in the country town. Live a little.”

  “All that doesn’t matter anyway,” I reply. “I’m not ready for anything long term. I just want to be by myself for a while. I just want to live my life and be single without the stress of having a man to worry about.”

  “Who said anything about a relationship?” Marissa laughs.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Are you serious, girl?” Marissa stares at me.

  “I… what are you saying?”

  “You don’t have to have a relationship with the man. Just screw him senseless,” she laughs.

  The thought never even crossed my mind.

  “A one-night stand?”

  “Yes, girl. A one-night stand.”

  “How does that even work?”

  “No way!” she laughs. “Well, when a man loves a woman…”

  “No!” I laugh at Marissa. “I mean, what do you do after you do… you know… the deed?”

  “You kick him out.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Just like that. You can snuggle with him for a while if you like that sort of thing, but don’t get too attached to him. Just have a wild night of sex and forget about him.”

  “I have never even thought about that sort of thing.”

  “Look, men and women have desires. There is no use denying that. We all want nights full of wild sex,” Marissa laughs. “It’s just that some people are too scared to go after it. You shouldn’t be scared of it. While you are still in your early twenties, you need to screw as many good-looking men as you can. Think about it as life experience. When you get to my age, they are some of the best memories that you have.”

  “But wouldn’t…”

  “No excuses. Even if you just do it once and find that it is not for you, then that’s ok. At least you tried it. Don’t have regrets. We are having another opening in a fortnight, and I can guarantee that he will be here. Mr. White comes to all our gallery openings, and he usually spends more than anyone else.”

  “But he is not even my type. He is all business and rich money, when I would prefer a free and exciting artist to date.”

  “You’re not dating. And Mr. White is everyone’s one-night stand type.”

  “Is that even his real name?”

  “Nope. I have no idea who he really is. But I always send an invite to the address provided and he always shows up. I tried to find out who he really is but I couldn’t find anything. His name isn’t Mr. White but that’s what he wants to be known as. And with the amount of money he spends, he can be known as anything.”

  “So, what do I do?”

  “You tell him that you want to spend the night with him.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it. It is so, so easy.”

  “What if he says no? What if he is married? Or has a girlfriend?”

  “Then he says no and you move on.”

  Damn.

  That sounds too easy.

  “You have to do it now. Ok?”

  I nod but nerves flood my body. He may be handsome but he is not my type. I want an artist, not a cold businessman.

  He may be the sexiest thing I have ever seen but I’m not sure I could go through with it…

  2

  “What are you working on?” Marissa asks as I bury myself under papers in the back office to the gallery.

  “You remember how you said that you love Joel Mitchell’s work?”

  “Are you talking about the most elusive painter in modern art?”

  “I am.”

  “Then I’m listening.”

  “I have a lead in finding him.”

  “Go on…” Marissa sits down slowly next to me in the office.

  There are countless small galleries in New York all fighting for recognition and cutting edge work. Marissa prides herself on finding not only the newest, but also the most sought after artists in the country. Her gallery relies on it.

  Her patrons love the modern art that she brings to her small gallery but they are a fickle bunch. They are always looking for more. They are always looking for the next best thing.

  The first task that Marissa gave me when I started here was the task that she couldn’t complete: find Joel Mitchell, the world’s best up and coming contemporary artist.

  He is as elusive as he is admired.

  His paintings are stunning, thought-provoking and full of life, color and love. His first sculpture, a small whale being held by a life-sized child, sold at auction for over one million dollars.

  But his identity remains hidden.

  The New York Times, The London Times, The Wall Street Journal and the Washington Post have tried to track him down for an interview. They looked up every Joel Mitchell in the developed world in an attempt to land a meeting with him.

  And nobody seems to know anything.

  All of his interactions are via email addresses that change constantly, he delivers his work quietly at night when no one else is around and he has never given an interview.

  He is the art world’s greatest mystery… and I love a good mystery.

  “Well,” I begin. “His art work is quite distinctive. The colors that he uses, especially the blue for the skies that he paints, are quite bold and unique. So I started looking at all the winning college graduates over the last twenty years.”

  “Which the New York Times did as well.”

  “Right. And like me, they didn’t find anything. So we can safely say that he is not a recent college graduate. But…”

  “Yes…”

  “He must have painted in high school, right? Everyone paints something in high school. It’s part of the curriculum. And you would think that a person with this sort of talent would be able to paint in high school – possibly even win a prize or two?”

  “If it was that easy, then I would have thought that the great investigative journalist skills of those papers combined would have found something. But they found nothing about this artist. Nothing.”

  “It isn’t that easy because the artist didn’t win in high school. However, I found this…”

  I bring up the picture of the third placed painting in the senior art prize of the Bruny Community High School from twenty years ago.

  “Luckily, all these photos have been converted into digital images for the school’s website. They are quite proud of their artistic students and what they have achieved. So, twenty years ago, this painting placed third in the senior high school section of the school’s art prize. Look at the colors, especially the sky.”

  “Oh my… that is so close to one of the first paintings he displayed.”

  “Right… and then look at the house in the picture. And then look at the house in the picture on one of Joel Mitchell’s later artworks.”

  “Oh! That’s the same house!” Marissa exclaims.

  “Right! Absolutely.”

  “You are a genius,” she plants a big kiss onto my cheek. “You have found something that nobody else has!”

  I am quite proud of myself finding this. It is quite an achievement for my new boss, and my new job. Just finding this small piece of information, I feel like I have already paid back the faith that Marissa has thrown into me.

  “So what’s the artists name?”
Marissa is as excited as a schoolgirl before a pop concert.

  “The student’s name is Joel Mitchell Greene.”

  “Oh! It’s definitely him then!”

  “I think so.”

  “And where is Mr. Joel Mitchell Greene?”

  “I don’t know,” I shake my head. “He doesn’t seem to exist.”

  “What? What do you mean?”

  “I mean that I have searched everything and I haven’t found a piece of information on this guy ever. He doesn’t exist. He is listed as graduating from Bruny Community High School but he is listed as absent in the photos. There is no Facebook, Twitter or newspaper article about this guy. He doesn’t exist on the internet.”

  “Hmmm… he is as elusive as his art profile. Interesting. Keep looking but make sure you don’t tell anyone what you have found so far. If we find him, this could be the greatest scoop this gallery as ever put up. It would put us on the world map. So don’t tell anyone about this.”

  “Got it, boss.”

  “I’m going to set up for tonight’s gallery opening, you should keep looking for this guy for the next hour. After that, come and help me get ready for tonight… No, actually, I need you to do something else.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I need you to get ready for tonight.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that Mr. White is coming along tonight and you are going to ask that sexy man for a one-night stand.”

  “But…” I had hoped that Marissa had forgotten about that.

  “No. I won’t hear any other answer. Tell him that you will meet him in a hotel for one night of hot sex. If he wants it, then he will organize the hotel and the night.”

  “But…”

  “No. I won’t listen to your excuses, Amber. Finish up there and then go and get ready for one wild night…”

  ****

  The gallery is buzzing with tonight’s opening.

  The crowd is excited as they move from picture to picture by French-American artist, Audrey Whitney. Her works capture life from a complicated time – computer screens highlighted in empty grain fields, or people standing in busy train stations surrounded by plants. I think she is trying to say something, but you can never be sure what artists are actually trying to say.