Mi Carino
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Mi Carino © Copyright 2012 Sienna Mynx
Cover art by Reese Dante
Electronic book publication February 2012
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Prologue
The sheets were cool. After a long stretch they drew down to his pelvis. His chest expanded and heaved before a contented sigh of release escaped his broad nostrils. Diego’s lashes were long for a man, a cursed trait from his mother. They were so long that when his lids parted a fraction, he saw little and had to stretch his eyes to see more. He thought he heard tiny bells. A melody of soft chimes echoing with the wind.
Why the hell are my doors open?
First his gaze, then his head dropped over to the right. He missed the heat of his woman’s body. And she was his. After everything, she had returned to him, on his terms. Diego found her side of the bed empty. The melodic clinks were not wind chimes but the hollow sound of her restless gold bracelets on her wrists. He scanned the room and found her. She was at the closet, snatching off clothing from hangers.
She was leaving.
“Que pasa?”
She froze. He could see her hand tremble as it lingered on a hanger for a moment. Slowly she cast her dark locks back over her shoulder and peered out at him from under long bangs. Diego inched back on his pillows, sleep had clouded his conscious mind, but the sight of her removing her clothes from next to his things was a sobering moment. Marcella turned and faced him but he saw it took inner strength for her to do so. She looked as if she wanted to bolt from the room. With a nervous bite to her bottom lip, her eyes flittered from him to the floor. There was something far more distressing. Diego noticed how red and inflamed her nostrils were and slick her cheeks remained with fresh tears. She’d been crying. Taking a deep breath at first, she tucked her long locks behind both ears. She wore a NYU sweatshirt and a faded pair of jeans. She was dressed?
“Are you leaving?” Diego asked, considering that sometimes she would take her things to be dry-cleaned. But if that were her intent why was she up at four in the morning, after a night of allowing him to make love to her? They made love several times last night, as many times as he needed. She was so giving, so willing to please him. He forgave her. She forgave him. He was addicted to every inch of her. So what was she doing? And where the hell did the tears come from? They were past it now dammit. No more debating their affections, they were one. They understood each other.
Instead of answering him she walked away. Out of the room, to the next then back with an arm full of her things. Diego eased from the covers with a curse under his breath. He slipped on his robe and followed her when she headed out once more.
Marcella had a lot of clothes. He loved her style. The sexiest most feminine suits and dresses he had seen on a woman. He remembered how the moments when she was away he would go into the closets and run his finger over the fine threads. Now he stood in the door watching as her hands, those gentle beautiful slender fingers folded her things neatly then laid them flat in her bag. He watched her sniff, wipe at her wet cheeks with the back of her hand and struggle not to cry. She was leaving. She wasn’t supposed to go.
“Stay.” Diego heard himself say. A request he never made from his heart until that moment. Sure he wanted her, desired her even, but he was speaking from a place he always thought was barren—his heart. “Marcella stay.” He stammered. She shook her head sadly and continued to pack.
Diego’s hands went up, he grabbed the back of his neck with both. The pressure in his skull became so intense he then slammed his fist as hard as he could into the wall. When he looked back she continued to pack. When he opened his mouth to plea he realized he couldn’t do it. There was just so far he would go. Of course her pain had been his doing. How could he care so passionately for her and not be able to tell her? Hell he hadn’t told her anything in the short weeks they’d been together. And she’d asked him over and over, begged him to let her in. She turned and started picking up her shoes and he felt a growl form deep in his throat as his hurt met with age-old pain. Women had hurt him before, one woman in particular. But none ever meant as much to him as his sweet Marcella. Finally he found his voice.
“I was born in a city called Barranquilla to a woman named Marie Andes Juarez. She had three children, me, my sister Ana and little brother Enrique. All of us were from her marriage to a man named DeMarco Andes. When I was seven we moved to a neighboring village called Santa Catalina. My Papi had gotten a good job working for a man named Juan Juarez. He set us up with a cottage. My father ran the coffee bean fields, and my mother worked for him and his wife as a domestic in his mansion. The affair started soon after, and went on behind Papi’s back until I was ten. I know this because I was forced to be the lookout for my mother while she indulged Señor Juarez’s urges. Then unexpectedly Señora Juarez, his wife, took ill and died. It is rumored that my mother poisoned her. I think that may be the case. If you met my mother you would understand why. She and Juan Juarez decided they needn’t hide it any longer. But my Papi was a proud man. He went beyond his position and challenged Juarez for his life. I was there the day they dragged him out into the coffee fields and butchered him with machetes as my mother and Juan watched. No one saw me, but I was there. She didn’t care how much he loved her, how much he sacrificed for her. She betrayed him, she didn’t care at all.”
Marcella froze.
Shock registered over her entire being. Her lips quivered as if she would speak. He expected her to come to him. Throw her arms around him and kiss him the way she did whenever his hurt became too much. He never denied this. He felt entitled to it because this moment was the one she had been asking for, for months. Then like the dawn the truth cast a dull haze of light over the fact that he had blown it. Pushed her too hard, forced her to submit and bend to his will until there was nothing left. Instead of returning to his arms she turned away. She picked up her shoes and continued to pack.
“The watch you asked about? It’s Papi’s, and his father before him. The only thing of value he owned. He wore it in the fields, to church, to my sister and brother’s christening. He was never without it. After his death Juan Juarez wore it as a trophy. My mother had given it to him off of my father’s cold body. It’s the only thing I stole from them when we fled… after.”
Diego felt his chest cave under the weight of his confession. And still she continued to pack. She should be still. She should listen and not move. His mouth curled in fury and his chest tightened to the point that his neck and face flushed deep red. “Did you hear me? Marie had no use for us I said. She left us there, in the cottage, never visited her baby boy who was only three and cried for her every night. I believe the food we received most days was from Juan Juarez and other villagers’ kindness not hers. So I decided to run away. I took them and ran to the coast. We slept on the streets, on the beaches, I danced for change and juggled cans for tourists until Enrique slipped away from me and drowned in the ocean. His body washed up two days later.”
Marcella burst into tears. This he expected. His story was a horror story. One he never wanted to share with her. She had forced him to reveal the ugliness of his past and like he suspected she was going to run from him. Just as most did when they saw what lay behind his mask.
“Enrique’s death broke Ana, she ran from me. I found her two years later. She’d become a prostitute strung out on cocoa. She had only been nine. She died before she ever saw ten.”
Diego watched helplessly as she zipped her bag. He never cried, never permitted it, but he never spoke the story aloud to anyone. “I did what I could. I did things you don’t want to know to get my fortune and justice. I’m telling you this because… I made a mistake. I punished you to keep from loving you. I know that now. I crossed the line, and I couldn’t stop myself. This is my curse. Still I can’t be the man that lets you go. I need you Marcella, desperately.”
“It’s too late.” She said.
Diego stepped to her. He blocked her from leaving. “This is me. Pain and fury is what I’m made of. I understand, because of you Marcella that life can be about more. Teach me. Teach me how to love you and I swear I will never hurt you again.”
She dropped her head and covered her eyes, her shoulders shaking with her sobs. He ached to touch her but he knew he’d lost the privilege.
“Marcella. When I hold you in my arms, it’s the way you feel. It’s not the sex, it’s the way you feel nena. It’s something I didn’t count on, I didn’t plan for. That’s why I can’t stop touching you, desiring you. I know it started as sex, but it’s something more between us. You were never supposed to happen. But you did. I never counted on… on… on… loving you so much.”
She moved away from him, blowing hard breaths. She kept her back to him. It killed him when she turned from him. “It’s too late. I’m empty. Just like you. I’m empty inside.”
She went to her coat and slipped it on. Diego walked around her to block her in.
“I’ll send Susan to pick up my things,” she said circling him wide to keep from being within his reach. Ginger the cat purred and she swept the white ball of fur into her arms. He tried to cut her off again but she sidestepped him—again.
“Marcella. Marcella? Marcella?”
At the door, with her hand to the silver knob she paused. Then she turned it and walked out.
The air drained from his lungs. His eyes stretched to the point of watering. He pressed three fingers to his temple and rubbed hard, as if to wake himself from a nightmare. Then he dropped on the wall and every mistake he made with her since the moment they met hit him like a falling brick.
Chapter One
“What do you mean you’re on your way? I’m in my pajamas,” Marcella tossed a triangular cheesy Dorito chip into her mouth. A myriad of tangy spices exploded over her tongue. She munched on delicious crunchiness. She licked the sprinkle of crumbs from her lips and wiggled her freshly painted pink toes. Ginger, her cat, swiped her tongue over her kitty jowls and yawned hungrily, from across the room.
“Are you kidding me? Nava has jazz all night and a little wine tasting. You swore you wouldn’t do this. I have friends meeting us there.”
Marcella reclined in her favorite lounger, wishing the remote wasn’t over on the sofa. When Susan said that there were ‘friends meeting us there’ it usually meant she’d be ambushed with some pathetic hook up. No thanks.
“Sorry sweetie, I got home and my inbox was flooded.” Marcella took her job as the Acquisition Director and Manager at Garrison’s Antiquities seriously. She was the youngest in the field. The gallery was more like a museum though, with non-artistic works dated from the Dawn of Civilization, mostly from Greece, Egypt, Rome and other Mediterranean civilizations. “You understand don’t you?”
“No. I understood when you said you needed time to recover after Richard. I swear I did. What that asshole did to you—”
“Stop. Don’t go there, not tonight.”
“Marcella it’s been months since you dropped the loser. It’s time to live it up girl.”
Marcella stifled the bubble of laughter building in her throat. Live it up? How could a night in a smoky jazz club with some guy named Cliff or Bob pawing you, be living it up? “Let’s do lunch, tomorrow it’s on me. I swear.” Marcella offered.
“Oh hell, never mind. I give up. Have a good night eating Doritos and playing with Ginger.” The phone line disconnected. Marcella shrugged and dug out more crumbs than chips from the bottom of the bag. Susan would be over it by the morning. If not she’d buy her a bottle of her favorite merlot, and they’d do a movie night together. She loved her for trying, but there was something to be said about the sanctity of one’s comfy chair. It would be criminal to leave it at this point.
The television switched to a commercial with a young woman seated between two guys, trying to decide between them based on the whitest smile. Marcella had to work at remembering the last time a guy caught her attention with just a smile. Every date she’d been on in the past year had bored her to tears. It would be nice to have the tingling feeling in the pit of her stomach return, to actually have someone to curl up with and keep her warm. Not necessarily a relationship, just some of the benefits of one. Casual sex in the past never worked. Men would get attached, and she’d have to pull a Houdini to shake them off. The one time she went for a full-fledged commitment, the jerk turned out to be legally tied to someone else.
Susan believed Marcella’s cavalier attitude about intimacy alienated suitable prospects. She was wrong. Men, or Marcella’s bad choices in them, weren’t the cause or her issue. If anything her attitude could be traced to the solitary existence she lived with her single, African American mom, who had been a schoolteacher, and the non-existence of her Afro-Cuban father. A man she’d never met. Though Marcella’s mocha brown skin, raven black hair, and high cheekbones were to his compliment, his absence remained the sole reason she didn’t trust easily. Who needed the trouble of heartache? Therefore, Doritos and Ginger would have to do, for now.
“What do you think Ginger? Am I pathetic? Shouldn’t I be on the hunt for Mr. Right Now and look for Mr. Forever later?”
The feline licked her paw then walked away. Marcella munched on another Dorito. “Thanks for nothing.”
Dusting her hands she pushed up from the lounger and headed to the sofa to search for the remote. However, the moonlight caught her eye. Marcella turned off the inside lamps and then drew open the blinds shielding her deck doors. The night sky appeared empty of clouds or stars. The moon could be seen looming above in a blanket of darkness. She’d chosen her apartment for its accessibility to her job; the added bonus proved to be her view of the bay.
Marcella went to the folding doors of her balcony and opened them allowing the cool night wind to rush over her. Tonight the sky looked lovely with an unbelievable full moon. She leaned out over her balcony ignoring the chill. She could stand for someone to touch her, make her feel special. Her chin lifted and her eyelids closed. Richard may have been a louse, but he did fulfill her most primal needs. How sweet the memory of their time together could be at times.
She could sense the power of his desire coiled tight in his muscular frame as he stepped up behind her. His hand moved gently down the length of the left side of her back. Her nightshirt stopped mid-thigh, and slowly crept upward with the aid of his fingers. His hand travelled again, to skim her hip and left thigh, inching toward her sex. The touch of his fingertips intimate, forbidden, felt light and playful. Then came the sleek caress of his fingers delving further, and her thighs parting an inch. “Marcella,” he breathed against her ear. The deep spice of his cologne was spun by the wind. It filled her. “Why don’t you call me, you know I’ll come over. Make it easy for me babe.”
Marcella’s eyes flashed open. Richard Epstein’s deep seductive voice echoed through the recesses of her mind, burning the memory of their shared passion into her thoughts. For a moment she stopped breathing. The phantom caress of her lying, manipulative, married ex-boyfriend was gone. The ache her foolish lust stirred would probably follow her into her dreams. Make it easy for him? The bastard! She’d let her guard down before and it brought her nothing but heartache and regret. Her focus returned to the moon and the phantom desires crawling over her skin ceased. She allowed more pleasant memories to come in and soothe away the burn in her heart from Richard’s betrayal. The camping trips she used to take with her mother usually happened under a moon like the one above. No one understood why her single financially strapped mother would make such a trip with a child. Marcella knew the truth. Her mother loved life and wanted her to do the same. She shared once that her grandfather used to take her on camping trips along with her cousins. Marcella’s mother vowed to give her daughter the same lessons he taught her. They’d sit outside the tent and watch the sky for shooting stars and she’d learn everything from her family history to the name of each constellation.
The moon sparkled above her like a silver dollar under a spotlight. Her mother would tell her fantastic tales about the silver moon. This particular lunar beauty, bright and unrelenting, bleached the surrounding buildings in a dull brilliance and filled her with hope.
“I think this could be a good omen.” Marcella smiled. Another gust of wind blew her hair from her brow and her ears. Suddenly she missed home and her mother. She stepped back into the warmth of her apartment. She closed the doors, locked them, and retrieved her phone from the lounger then dialed.
“Hello?”
“Hi Mom,” said Marcella.
“Hi baby, what time is it?”
“Sorry, its nine here so I guess it’s what midnight there?”
“You okay?”
“Yeah, it’s a full moon tonight and it got me to thinking about you.”
Her mother’s soft laughter filled the receiver. The cold ache for Richard thawed around her heart and she again felt the sense of belonging. A mother’s love could be a powerful thing. “Wait, let me see.”
Marcella picked up Ginger. The cat purred against her breast as she padded back to her bedroom out of her small living room. She passed the door to her guestroom. On most nights Susan would crash there, the uninvited roommate. Marcella had grown used to her presence and it did sting a little when she chose to stay away.
Her bedroom too was bathed in the moon’s luminance. Marcella looked to the windows and noticed the silvery glow behind her shut blinds. Ginger jumped from her arms and curled out on the bed.
“I see it,” her mother said.
“That’s our moon.”
“Sure is baby. How’s work? Are you eating right? I sent you some recipes for quick dinners. Did you get them?”
“Mom. I’m twenty-four. I’m fine,” Marcella said. She drew back the covers and shooed Ginger over to the other side of the bed.
“I know, I just worry, and you live so far away I can’t put my hands on you when I want to.”
“I will see you soon. In the Spring maybe? I promise.”
“Okay,” she heard her mother yawn.
“I’ll let you go.”
“Call me tomorrow so you can tell me who you’re dating. Thank God that Richard character is gone.” Her mother chuckled.
Marcella rolled her eyes. “Really funny. Bye.”
“Love you sweetheart.”
Marcella eased in under the covers and blanket. Ginger stretched then curled up into a tight ball, drifting to sleep. A call home always did the trick. Her mother lived alone, by choice. She learned early, how to be self fulfilled without the comfort of a man. Susan was wrong. There was a big difference between being alone and being lonely. Her mother taught her so.
Sleep had been brief though, as the ring of her phone woke her with start. She glanced around for a minute, breathless. Was she dreaming it? The phone rang again and Marcella switched on the lamp to her right. She picked up her cellular and frowned. “What the hell? Hello?”
“Marcella?”
“Why are you calling me?”
“Don’t be angry. I got the number from Sam. She didn’t know who I was.”
“I’m hanging up now.”
“Wait! Please.”
Marcella sighed. “You got three minutes Richard.”
“It’s a business call sweetheart. I have a client who has a rare piece. He’s in some financial trouble right now and I told him about you. I wanted to know if we could meet for lunch? Tomorrow?”
Marcella rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “You have a client? Right.”
“I know I screwed up. I… I have many regrets. This is legitimate. He’s Colombian. A collector. It’s an Egyptian funerary figurine of some sort. Look babe I don’t know this stuff. Will you meet with the man? He has an office above a restaurant he owns down on the board walk.”
“How did he get the funerary? From what dynasty?”
“You have to meet with us. Please.”
Marcella chewed on her bottom lip. She hadn’t seen Richard since the day she confronted him about his wife and kids. She closed her eyes to the warm feel of shame burning her chest. She shook her head sadly. “Okay. Send me the time and location, I’m going to sleep.”
“Marcella?”
“Good night Richard.” She ended the call. Marcella fell back on her pillows and crossed her arms over herself. Hearing his voice hurt. What would seeing him again do? “Dammit I should have said no. Why am I so stupid?”
Morning -
The eraser back of her pencil crumbled into chalky bits over her tongue. She cringed, and spat out the pieces in her hand. She’d had a nasty habit of nibbling eraser ends since she was a kid. It always surfaced when anxiety took over. Sadly, today would be no better than yesterday. No customers, no prospects, no new artifacts surfacing. Except for the lead Richard ceremoniously dropped in her lap, which could truly prove useful. Marcella sat upright, uncrossing her feet from underneath her desk. Shifting against the leather cushion of her swivel chair, she groaned through another back spasm. They came and went more frequently now.
“Susan!”
Garrett had every right to question her abilities. Hell she expected a trip to the gallows after the Bailey fiasco. “Susan!” Marcella yelled again, her voice pitched to the point of straining.
“I’m here! Why are you yelling? It’s just me, you, and Sam here.”
“Sorry. Sorry.” Marcella mumbled. “What time is Garrett expected in?”
“He called. He isn’t, coming that is.” Susan sashayed over. At five-foot eleven with creamy porcelain skin, Susan was quite striking. She had dark hair and deep-set brown eyes. Not to mention a figure that rivaled most. She always wore the classics: suits and blouses that complimented her femininity with taste. Funny, Susan never dressed this way until they became friends. She noticed her tastes and influence in everything about her now, right down to the perfume that Susan bought. She didn’t mind. She preferred they dressed classy and appeared professional.
Marcella’s new life began in Port Delgado over two years ago. The small import town, close to Seattle, was not the most fashion forward place. The seaside location made it an industrial wonderland.
At twenty-seven, three years her senior, Susan had accomplished many things in their chosen profession. She had a doctorate in Mesopotamian Studies. The woman was a walking encyclopedia of knowledge when it came to rare antiquities. After she graduated from Berkley she worked for Christie’s as an acquisition liaison. Marcella admired and envied the gutsy confidence she exuded with archaeologists and snobby museum curators. It always seemed to be so natural. Susan Sands had become her other half. She handled all the bookings and sometimes acted as the curator and accountant of the ever-slipping budget. And despite Marcella’s youth, she and Susan were the best-matched pair in their field.
“Oh, well damn.” Marcella sighed. She had room to breathe and set the night’s events the way she chose. “I was hoping to talk to him before I left.”
“Left? You got an appointment I don’t know about?” Susan’s left brow arched. She gave Marcella a look of suspicion. “Out with it girl. What’s going on?”
“Richard called.” Marcella sighed. “He wants to meet for lunch.”
“Are you kidding? Wait? How the hell did he get your number?”
Marcella rubbed her temples and tried to speak lower in hopes it would make Susan tone down the volume in her voice as well. She didn’t get much sleep last night, and now she had a headache. “It’s business, apparently he called the gallery representing a client and Sam gave him my number.”
“Sam? Sam!!” Susan yelled for the assistant downstairs.
“Lower your voice.”
“I hope you declined.”
“No. I need to meet with him. I agreed. He emailed me the location today, a place called El Jay’s. It’s just up the street on the boardwalk. I can walk there.”
“Are you crazy? You will not meet with that asshole. Not after what he did.”
Marcella frowned. “The client has an Egyptian funerary. I have to meet with him. We need this. Bailey’s article did some serious damage to us. I was the one that bought the stupid Cinerary Urn.”
“Oh please Bailey wrote that article to get back at Garrett and we had the damn thing authenticated. How were we to know it was a forgery if the labs didn’t?”
Marcella shook her head. “We should have known. The reputation of this gallery is on the line. I need to do something or we both will be looking for new careers.”
Bailey Landers was one of the most respected antiquities critics out of Eastern Europe. He’d also had an intense love affair with her boss Garrett, and has been viciously vindictive since their breakup. Susan suspected the urn they received from a collector and then sold to another had to be part of some elaborate scheme of Bailey’s to discredit them. Either way the damage was done. She had a plan. Something she hadn’t even discussed with Susan. She needed another rare piece to establish their credibility with an archaeologist she secretly courted.
Marcella checked the time on her watch. “I have to leave. Can you watch things?”
“You are seriously going to meet with the asshole? Shouldn’t I come? To be your support?”
The suggestion made her smile. “You really are my best friend. That’s a great idea. Yes. You come with me and that way we can make sure the asshole isn’t playing games.”
Susan nodded. “Damn right. I have your back.”
Marcella rose. She wore a periwinkle blue business suit with peep-toe high heels. Her hair, dark and layered, was tucked behind both ears. She straightened her suit jacket with a tug at the bottom trim. “We’ll have Sam close up for lunch. I don’t think this will take long at all.”
A blast from a bass guitar ripped through the air followed by the screech of a rocker’s voice. It blared like some angry alien language, and shouted at them from all directions. Marcella whirled around in a panic at first, not sure of the source. “Damn it.”
She marched over to her open office door and scanned the gallery. Sam was nowhere in sight. “Sam!”
Exasperated Marcella headed out of her office in search of her assistant.
“You told her to get the system back working for the private showing with Michael Caspian tonight. Guess it works.”
Marcella sighed. She’d done this showing three times in the past month and still the turn out remained thin. It was the best she could offer now. “You two are going to be the death of me. C’mon.” Marcella went back inside her office and snatched up her purse and her coat. Susan chuckled. One would think with the client list Marcella recruited her taste in music and entertainment would be equally vast. Wrong. Where Susan flaunted her inhibited wild child, Marcella did the polar opposite. Brooklyn raised, she made special effort to adapt to her new role and successes in life.
Tired of the nonsense, she marched straight through the gallery to the back, with Susan on her heels. The music caused her left eye to jump and the corners of her mouth to twitch with restraint. She threw open the door to find Sam, short for Samantha, stooped in a tangle of black stereo wires and gold tip connectors.
“What are you doing?” Marcella yelled over the blasting tunes.
Sam’s head whipped around. She hadn’t heard either of them approach. “I’m doing what you told me.”
“I never told you to make us all deaf.” She shouted. Sam turned down the dial and the music shut off. Marcella swallowed the amped volume of her voice and rubbed her eardrums. “You’re about to blow us out of here.”
Sam rose wearing skintight black jeans with a black leather vest over a pressed white shirt. Standing at just under five-foot six she had a shaggy low haircut with bangs that covered her brow and insisted on dark eyeliner, no lipstick to complete her androgynous look. Sam hooked her thumbs in her spiked belt buckle. Her fuck-off attitude left most guessing about her within three minutes of meeting her. Marcella and Susan, both had been hit on by Sam and knew all too well what team she batted for. She was harmless, and a whiz at setting up the lighting and painting fixtures in the gallery.
“I’m just trying to get ready for the great ole Caspian. I remember Garrett saying that he had interesting tastes.”
“In art Sam, not music.” Susan laughed.
Sam shrugged stretching her arms behind her back with locked together fingers. She let her eyes sweep over Marcella then Susan. “You two look hot.” She smirked. Susan winked but Marcella rolled her eyes.
“We’re heading out, got a meeting with a prospective client. I’ve changed my mind, we can’t afford to close up for lunch. I need you to stay up front and greet the customers while we’re gone. You can take a late lunch or leave early, your choice.”
Sam rocked on her heels. Her eyes went beyond them to the door. “Oh, you mean for those hundreds of customers lined up to buy an outrageously priced antique? Whatever will I do?”
“Funny. Real funny.” Marcella huffed. “I should turn this place into Comedy Central.”
Susan made a face behind Marcella’s back.
“I see you!” Marcella called over her shoulders. “Let’s go and get this over with.”
Out on the sidewalk, Marcella’s gaze lifted to the jaundiced eye of the sun. The blast of warmth and the fresh smells of a fading winter were plentiful. A lovely outdoor fragrance rich from the multicultural eateries, and wafting breeze from the not so far boardwalk flooded her senses. Together she and Susan hurried east toward the market. She tried to ignore her sweet tooth when the caramel and buttery roasting smell of the street vendors selling treats from their carts tempted her.
“Marcella? What’s going on with you?”
“Nothing. Work,” she mumbled. “I have an idea how we can turn things around.”
“Girl things aren’t that bad. In a few months the press will be out to slit the throat of another gallery and business will pick up.”
Marcella shook her head. Susan and Garrett were protecting her from the truth. The label of ‘fraud’ in this business is certain death. “I’ve been in contact with the office of Edward Katchner.”
“Who?” Susan said trying to keep up. Marcella slowed down for her friend and walked alongside her at a less hurried pace.
“Katchner is the archaeologist who found the fossil of a print in southern Arizona. It’s supposed to date back further than ‘Lucy’. You remember I told you and Garrett about the carbon tests on plants found in the rock to prove its authenticity. They’ve come back. It’s the oldest recorded life.”
“Yes. I remember. What about it?”
Marcella sucked in a breath. “Katchner has been in Seattle and regularly frequents our area. In three months he will do the unveiling of the print. He hasn’t decided on the museum yet…”
“And?”
“I think we should get him to do it in the gallery. Think about it. The world’s attention will be focused on our place. We’d have a non-profit event that will bring in the customers by the truckload.”
“He’d never agree. Every museum in the country worth its salt is vying for it.”
“Working on that. Which is why we need this Egyptian funerary. If we can get it authenticated and have Bailey do a great article on it then Katchner might agree. Don’t you see? This is a perfect plan.”
“It’s a stretch. If the funerary is real Richard’s client is going to want at least a half mil for it. We don’t have it in the budget to gamble with sweetheart. I’m sorry. Besides why would Katchner choose our small gallery?” Susan said.
“He’s very protective of his discovery and mistrustful of everyone. He faced some harsh criticism before the fossil was dated. I think he’d be open to it. I need your support not skepticism.”
“Hey!” Susan grabbed Marcella by the sleeve and forced her to stop. “Look at me. I get that you’re driven. You’ve done a hell of a lot for Garrett and Garrison’s in three short years. The thing with Bailey will settle. You don’t have to do anything for or with Richard if you don’t want to.”
“Huh?” Marcella asked, hugging her coat to her. “What are you talking about now?”
“I’m talking about the rules you live by. The ones that make you think that being twenty-four means you have to be some great antiquities world rock star? Look around you Marcella. Life is passing you by. I’ve tried to get you to come out and you refuse. Then Richard the Snake calls and you’re meeting with him. Is this about Garrison’s or are you making an excuse to see Richard again?”
“Oh not this again.” Marcella walked away. “Of course not. This is business!” She tossed back over her shoulder. “You haven’t heard a word I said.”
“I did. I’m worried about you. We could have had a great time at Nava. I have a friend—.”
“No thanks.” Marcella waved Susan off, dodging pedestrian traffic on the cramped sidewalk.
Susan nearly stepped on a Yorkshire off his leash. Instead she collided with the owner. Marcella stopped to see her friend bat her long lashes at the tall hunky dark skinned guy, before he gave her a sly smile and ran after his pooch.
“Would you come on and stop flirting?” Marcella chuckled. In a matter of minutes she’d let go of her anger. She could never stay mad at Susan for long, and her friend had a point. Richard called and she jumped. She was never this pathetic. Her gaze switched between street messengers on bikes, large passenger busses, cars and cabs, all crammed in afternoon traffic heading toward the boardwalk.
“There it is.” Susan pointed to the restaurant the meeting would be held at.
It’s amazing that she never noticed the place before now. “How do you know about this?”
“Girl where there’s food there’s me. Besides the last guy I dated was Brazilian. He loved this place. Remember him? The Carter guy who sucked his tongue between talking, I think he ate his boogers too.”
“Okay stop. You made that up.” Marcella laughed.
“Anyways, he brought me here for lunch one day.” She went through the open door and past the sidewalk sign that said today’s special was cod with yellow rice. The restaurant had a small intimate atmosphere. Spicy aromas assailed her sinuses and colorful portraits along the walls spoke to the Latin theme quite well. Susan pointed to the double doors to the back left of the establishment. “I would imagine the office is there. I think I’ve seen men in suits go in and out of those doors.”
“Welcome to El Jay’s. How many today?” A petite olive skinned beauty with round brown eyes asked .
“We have a meeting with Mr. Juarez and Richard Epstein.” Susan volunteered.
The woman’s smile faded. “Oh yes. He’s waiting. This way please.”
Susan glanced back over her shoulder. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No. Just go.” Marcella shooed her with her hands. There were several diners who looked upon them with scorn as they walked through the restaurant. Marcella tried to pretend not to notice. The tension in the air certainly had more to do with the man they were announced to meet than with them.
Through the double doors she and Susan were directed to the side stairs. They climbed them in silence. The office was off to the left. The door had been left open. Before she crossed over the threshold Richard appeared. All teeth and smiles, he grabbed her hand immediately and kissed it. Susan frowned. Marcella discreetly removed her hand from his. In six months he hadn’t changed much. Richard stood well over six feet and had dark curly hair that was tapered low to sideburns. His face was neatly shaven as always. His clear blue eyes under his straight brow were what captured her first. Now she felt nothing. “You look beautiful Marcie.”
Susan cleared her throat.
Richard smiled. “Susan.” He kissed her on the cheek. “Ravishing as ever. I didn’t know you were coming.”
“I know you didn’t. Can we get on with this? We have other clients to see,” Susan said.
Richard nodded. “Come with me.”
They followed him through the side door to a very masculine office. The paneling along the walls was a deep mahogany. The bay window to the back of the large office desk gave a very spacious view of the boardwalk. A man of Latin heritage stood behind the desk, staring out at the city. He looked forlorn at the traffic below. In a tailored suit with salt and pepper hair, Juan Juarez wasn’t a tall man. Richard had to address him directly for him to turn away.
“Juan? This is the collector I told you about. Please meet Marcella Garcia.”
He forced a faint smile to his lips and gave her a nod of respect. Richard introduced Susan and then gestured for everyone to sit. Juan preferred to stand. He walked around the desk to a cabinet. He opened it and removed a small cedar chest. He set it on his desk before them. “Richard tells me that you are interested in purchasing my funerary?”
Marcella found her voice. She realized she hadn’t spoken since she laid eyes on Richard. She sat ramrod straight and ignored the butterflies in her belly from being so close to him. “I only agreed to meet. I’m curious over how you came about such a rare find. These burial artifacts aren’t legally traded.”
“I assure you I bought it legitimately. It’s from the 26th Dynasty. Please, have a look.” He stepped aside. Marcella glanced to Susan who nodded. She reached in her purse and removed a clean pair of latex gloves, slipped them on, then rose and stepped over to the desk. She could feel Richard’s eyes on her. Again a bout of nervous energy tingled in the pit of her stomach. The figurine was in excellent condition. She could easily fetch half a million dollars for it.
“Do you have the papers of authenticity?” Marcella asked. She studied the object closely for its weakness before deciding on the best way to handle it. Careful of each end she lifted the funerary from the velvet pillow in the box and held it up to the light.
“Of course.”
“How much do you want for it?” Susan asked.
“May I Juan?” Richard spoke from behind her. He rose and stepped uncomfortably close to Marcella’s left. “We’d only ask for about 150.”
Marcella blinked in shock. The thing was worth four times that much. Her radar of distrust spiked. “Why? Why sell it for a third of its value?”
“I’d like to see the papers for this.” Susan announced. Mr. Juarez hurried to the cabinet. Richard touched Marcella’s shoulder and lowered his voice when he spoke.
“He needs cash, and he needs it quick. I swear to you it’s legitimate, and a good deal Marcie.”
“Don’t touch me.” She dropped her left shoulder, his hand fell away. Marcella lowered the figurine into the cedar chest.
“This was authenticated by the Supreme Council of Antiquities in Cairo, Marcella. It’s legitimate.” Susan announced. She handed Marcella the folder, which she scanned.
“I’d like to have it tested for authenticity, and I want to know more of its history. How you came to purchase it.”
“Take it with you. Run all the tests you want. I bought it at an auction. Before that I’m not sure about its original owner.” Juarez looked to Richard for help.
Marcella glanced up. “I’ll need those auction papers as well. I can do a trace on the catalogue number. Susan take it to the gallery please.”
Without hesitation her friend gathered her purse then the box shaped cedar chest. Marcella held tight to the documents. This was indeed the discovery Garrison’s needed. And now she’d have to deal with Richard to purchase it.
“Can I speak to you alone?” Richard asked.
“No.” Susan answered.
“It’s okay. Yes.” Marcella replied. “Meet me outside Susan. I’ll only be a minute. We should have an answer for you by the end of the week Mr. Juarez.”
Juan nodded and returned to the window to stare out of it again. Marcella frowned at the man’s behavior, remembering the tension felt from the hostess that led them to the meeting. Something was going on with this man and she needed to know what. She allowed Richard to lead her out. Susan gave her a warning glance then headed out to meet her as she requested. “Okay the truth Richard. What is this deal you’re trying to arrange?”
“I’ve missed you.” He touched her arm.
She took a step to the left to avoid any more of his advances. “I’m sure your wife wouldn’t want to hear that.”
“I left her.” Richard said.
Marcella cringed. The only thing worse than a cheater was a liar. She knew Richard Epstein was both. How she could have ever fallen for the snake was beyond her. Now the jackass expected her to jump over the lame bone he dropped. “I don’t care.” She turned to leave and Richard grabbed her. He caught her by surprise. His hands tightly clasped the sides of her face, and his lips crushed hers. Two or three seconds passed before she came to her senses and shoved him off. Marcella slapped him hard, gasping for breath. “Don’t you ever touch me again!”
“Marcie, wait!”
She didn’t. In a panic she fled down the stairs. She’d never hit anyone in her life, but if she had a gun she might have used it. The anger and shame she felt had her on the brink of tears. Fearing he’d follow she raced to the front of the restaurant and collided with someone, sending the documents she carried floating to the floor.
“Ah, oh I’m sorry.” Marcella dropped to gather the scatter, mortified. Her fingers connected with a stranger. Marcella looked up to apologize again but her voice faltered. Her heart pulsed hard. Hooded dark brown eyes studied her out of a tanned face. Sharp black brows, chiseled cheeks and short dark hair that curled around his ears, only added to the firepower of his stare. The man held her stare, mesmerized. His goatee was finely shaven around the most kissable lips, trimming a squared chin. He blinked and her heart fluttered. His hand covered hers and she had to force herself to breathe. Neither of them spoke, until she feared she might drool.
“Forgive me I can be a klutz.”
“Tu eres bonita. A beautiful klutz.” The words came out thick and seductive with his heavy accent. He took her hand and steadied her on her feet. Marcella felt grateful her brown skin, though several shades lighter than her mother’s, didn’t reveal the blush heating her cheeks. The stranger was quite tall. He towered over her when he rose, even though she wore three-inch high heels. Tall, broad shouldered, awesomeness stood before her. He wore a dark grey suit under a long black wool trench. He looked dangerously expensive and smelled rich, though that didn’t quite fit his rugged handsomeness. She could see him more as a prizefighter in a heavy weight match than as a businessman. He was quite forward in the way his gaze lowered to her covered bosom and then down her figure. Those irresistible brown eyes flipped back to hers and she read his thoughts clearly.
He’s flirting! God she hoped so. He gave her a wider smirk as if he read her thoughts too. And there were plenty. In the brief exchange every bad-boy fantasy she ever had, played out through her brain.
“The papers,” he said.
“Huh?”
His brows lowered and drew together. Marcella realized he held a few of the documents in his hand. She accepted them from his long fingers. “Oh, um…thank you.” He gave her a curt nod, slipped on his shades and then walked past her for the double doors to the back of the restaurant. Another man of medium brown skin tipped his head at her as he passed. The entire restaurant fell silent as every person in it let their eyes follow the two. Realizing she stood there staring long after he disappeared she turned and left. Susan turned on the sidewalk concerned.
“Marcella, you okay?” Susan asked. “My goodness that was intense girl. I saw it from outside. Who was he? He passed me on the sidewalk, and I swear I drooled over my shoes.”
She actually felt the pulse of her racing heart throbbing between her legs. Never had she met a man whose presence she had such a visceral reaction to.
“Earth to Marcella? Woohoo?”
“Ugh, um, yeah. I’m fine. Let’s go.”
“Girl do you want me to go after him, drag him back out here?”
“No. Stop it. Let’s um, go. We need to um, check out this funerary. Let’s go.”
Marcella walked off. She’d forgotten all about Richard’s pathetic violation. Mr. Handsome had left her breathless. Susan chatted alongside of her speculating over the meeting. Marcella fought the urge to rub her midriff. Butterfly flutters continued to stir there. Gosh she wished she had opened her mouth and said something. He probably hadn’t even noticed her. Still that feeling lingered, it charged the air she walked through, gave her a nervous anxious feeling in her tummy. It was as if Cupid’s arrow was still lodged in her ass. Maybe Susan had been right. She needed to get out more.
Chapter Two
Marcella laughed. Her line of vision went straight down the table to Garrett. Her boss appeared to be the only one in attendance who didn’t seem to enjoy the dinner. She’d thought he’d be happy. A month ago she’d bought an Egyptian funerary that, once sold at next week’s auction, promised to pay off all their debts for a year. It took her a week of groveling to arrange a dinner with Bailey. She’d done it. If things went as planned he’d write another article to restore some credibility to Garrison’s and they’d be much closer to their goal of snaring Edward Katchner.
The dim lighting, the beautiful art, masterfully staged; the all-white décor, and flowing wine were sure to seduce Bailey. However, Garrett sipped his wine and said little. In his mid-fifties, with a trimmed silver beard connecting to long sideburns and stark white hair, he indeed was quite handsome. When she first met him she thought he had a kind of Sean Connery presence in height and demeanor. Even young women flirted openly with Garrett when he entered a room. And his Alpha personality only further confused the ladies when they discovered he was one hundred percent gay. In fact, if the dejected had seen Garrett’s love interest they’d be equally baffled. Bailey Landers would make Richard Simmons seem bland and boring. A petite man of five-foot three in platform Gucci loafers, he always tied a floral patterned scarf around his neck to accentuate his flare. He liked to impose a European drawl to his speech but Garrett said he grew up in Oakland. Bailey wore suit jackets and very tight pants, his balding grey hair made his forehead protrude from his receding hairline. Marcella found him loud and obnoxious the very first time they met. She didn’t understand the attraction the men shared, and wished Garrett would find someone more deserving of him.
Bailey sipped his wine with his pinky turned up. “So wherever did you find the funerary? It’s marvelous.”
“A collector approached us and wanted to sell. Call it luck. I’m not sure, but it is the most remarkable piece we’ve had in a long time.” Marcella smiled.
“Indeed. Especially after that unfortunate incident with the Cinerary Urn turning out to be a fraud.” He chuckled. Bailey’s cronies, fans, entourage, stable of young boys, whichever you chose to call them, all nodded in agreement. Sam rolled her eyes, which Marcella prayed Bailey didn’t notice. Between her and Garrett she felt a vibe of tension threatening to spoil the evening. Marcella winked. Her actions even made Garrett smile.
Bailey soon moved his attention to the other end of the table. “So Gary, do tell, what are you up to lately?”
Susan shot Marcella a look. They both stiffened when Garrett’s dour mood reflected back in the cold stare he fixed Bailey with. The breakup between the two men had been only six months ago. The wounds were still fresh.
“Nothing that would interest you Bailey.” Garrett answered in a sullen drone.
Bailey laughed. “That’s for sure. I was bored to death when we were together.”
Marcella cleared her throat. “Garrett how about you help me with dessert?”
Her boss was up and out of his seat, storming away. Susan shook her head in warning, but Bailey’s crew erupted in giggles. When Marcella rose she caught the angry defiant gleam in Sam’s eyes. She forgot about Sam’s temper. The girl looked like a rattler prepared to strike. She gave Susan a plea with an impatient look and Susan nodded that she’d keep Sam in line.
It was too late.
“Bailey do you know what F-A-G stands for?”
“Sam don’t,” Marcella said, stopping halfway down the table.
“No
dahling. Let the dyke speak. It sounds like ‘Same’
has something interesting to say. Go ahead butch tell me what F-A-G
stands for.”
Sam flashed a sweet smile. She actually licked her lips as she itched for the opportunity to fight back for her boss. She leaned forward, elbows to the table making a tent out of her fingers. Bailey’s entourage, a colorful bunch of homosexual men that added to the Andy Warhol theme he aimed to portray, all narrowed their eyes on her. Marcella again wondered what the battle lines were between gay men and women. “F-A-G stands for ‘fools acting gay’, we all know you like to suck dick, so why don’t you quit pretending to be one for the evening.”
Susan exploded in a fit of laughter. Bailey’s face burned redder than a tomato.
“Little girl, I was out of the closet before your father ever sniffed your mother’s snatch. Be careful who you bare your claws at bitch.”
“The only bitch at the table is—”
“Sam!” Marcella snapped.
Susan kept chuckling, but finally decided to help. “Bailey,” she giggled. “Why don’t you come with me? Let me show you the funerary again. I’d like to take a few photos with you next to it for the article you’ll write.”
Bailey and Sam glared at each other while his entourage hissed their own mumbled insults. He tossed his thin chin upward and pushed back from the table, adjusting the scarf around his neck. “Fine. I need the break. It’s getting funky over here, too much fish at the table.”
Marcella grabbed Sam by the arm and dragged her up from her seat. Sam went reluctantly as she pushed her into Garrett’s office. They found him at the bar. “Why did you do that?” she demanded.
“He was being a prick, I just pointed it out.”
“What did she do?” Garrett asked.
“She insulted Bailey in front of everyone. It’s really childish Sam! How am I supposed to keep this place afloat when I’m the only one working here?”
“Calm down sweetness.” Garrett said. “Sam leave.”
“Sorry Marcella, you know my mouth,” she said walking out. Marcella placed a hand to her hip and the other to her forehead. “You can’t let her get away with stuff like that.”
“Please, Bailey lives for cat-fights. She gave him what he wanted,” Garrett said sipping his drink. He sat on the sofa and crossed his long legs.
“Tell me we don’t need him. I’ll throw him out and we’ll try to get Katchner’s showing on our own. Just say the word.”
He shrugged his broad shoulders. “I have enough money to keep this place open with nothing but your grandmother’s antiques on the shelves if we choose. Don’t worry about it. Your job is safe.”
Marcella shook her head at his pitiful state. “We aren’t working for kicks, we’re trying to build something here Garrett.” She plopped down next to him and snatched his drink. Downing the whiskey in a backward toss, she felt the alcohol torch her throat and grimaced. “Yuck what is that?”
“Puts hair on your chest, or on your legs. When is the last time you shaved yours sweetie?” Garrett laughed.
Marcella elbowed him. “You’ve been riding me for months about the lack of sales here. You said you wanted to make a mark in the industry. Bailey Landers is the way.”
“I know,” he sighed.
She dropped her head on his shoulder. “It hurts doesn’t it?”
“I ruined my chance at love.” He confessed softly.
“No, you just haven’t met the right guy yet.”
“I cheated on him Marcella.”
Marcella’s head slowly lifted and she blinked at him shocked. “You did what?”
“I have no excuse.”
The news hit her hard. Garrett and Susan knew the shame and heartbreak she went through with Richard when she discovered his betrayal. She hated, no she loathed, cheaters. For Marcella nothing warranted betraying the person you claimed to love. She really had to wonder if love existed at all in the world. Swallowing the judgment riding the tip of her tongue she forced civility to her words, and a bit of understanding. “Did you fall out of love with him? Meet someone else?”
“No. No sweetie. It was lust. And I let it get the best of me. Lust consumed me. I hurt Bailey badly. That’s why he brought that parade of boys in here. I should have known better.”
“I thought you were happy with him Garrett? I’m trying to be sympathetic here, but… you know I hate cheaters.”
Garrett took another swig from his glass, the ice cubes clanked around emptily. “You ever want something different Marcella? Ever want the forbidden so bad you were willing to suffer any consequence?”
“God, don’t do that. You sound like Richard,” she said about to rise. Garrett stopped her. She sat back down. “Richard said his wife bored him. He said it wasn’t his fault that he lied about being married. Of course, he said a lot of things to justify cheating on her for six months, but it was all based on lies.”
“Hear me out sweetheart.” Garrett said sadly. “Isn’t it possible you could meet someone and then suddenly you get sucked in to lust so quick you lose your head? Mistakes happen, right? We’re human. It’s in our nature.”
Marcella swallowed, uncomfortable over the heated thoughts she’d had all day after a brush with Mr. Tall Dark and Sexy. However, she didn’t have a significant other, so her lust would cause no one pain. “No,” she answered.
“I didn’t think so. Sex without love is a dangerous thing sweetie, don’t ever believe otherwise.” Garrett rose and walked to the bar. Marcella watched him fix another drink. Richard sucked at commitment. A problem she and the wife he never told her about, discovered too late. Was anybody faithful anymore?