The Awakening of Nina Fontaine Page 4

  The other side of the space was dominated by a pristine white wall. Not a single photo was displayed on its surface, its starkness even more blinding in contrast to the warmth of the brick on the opposite side of the room.

  Nina stepped farther into the gallery and was aiming for the photos on the brick wall when something crashed at the back of the long room. A string of curse words sounded from behind the frosted glass.

  She glanced at the door, wondering if she should come back another time. A loud shuffling followed by a thump forced her deeper into the room. What if whoever was back there needed help?

  When she got closer to the glass, she realized it was a sliding door attached to a cube that made up a small office at the back of the space.

  She knocked. “Hello? Is everything all right?”

  Another thump. Another curse word.

  “You’ll have to open that yourself.” A woman’s voice, calling out from inside the office.

  Nine reached for the handle and pulled. The door slid open.

  The room was even smaller than it looked from the outside. It was dominated by a clear acrylic desk, a pale bookcase shoved into a tiny space next to it. Books overflowed the shelves, the spines bearing a flurry of names that were vaguely familiar: Lange, Weston, Mapplethorpe.

  She was looking around for the woman who’d told her to come in when she spotted a rear end merging from behind the desk, yellow fabric stretched taut across its pillowy expanse.

  “Did you call about the job?”

  It took Nina a few seconds to realize the woman was talking to her.

  “The job?”

  “It doesn’t pay much.” The woman righted herself, revealing a head of glorious natural black hair framing a cherubic face with full lips and large brown eyes that made Nina feel strangely exposed. “Can’t guarantee a certain number of hours right now either.”

  She used the desk to pull herself up from the floor.

  The woman’s unlined face had been deceptive. She was probably somewhere around Nina’s age, but where Nina was in her comfy clothes under her coat — leggings and a long sleeve T-shirt layered with a sweater — the woman in front of her was in a simple but elegant wrap dress in a brilliant shade of yellow. A simple gold chain shone around her neck, an array of colored bangles clinking on her wrists when she reached for something on the desk.

  “I’m not… I didn’t know there was a job,” Nina said. “I just heard you back here. I thought maybe you needed help.”

  The woman moved around the office, clearly looking for something, edging around Nina and bumping up against her like they were old friends.

  “That’s an understatement,” she muttered. “Need help, don’t have time to find help, still need help…” She sighed. “It’s my very own chicken and egg paradox.”

  Nina smiled in spite of the strange situation. “I understand.”

  The woman stopped moving, tipping her head at Nina like she was a newly discovered photograph.

  “What did you say your name was?”

  “I didn’t,” Nina said. She held out her hand. “But it’s Nina. Nina Fontaine.”

  It still felt like a lie.

  The woman took her hand. “Edmonia Burns. But my friends call me Moni.”

  Nina nodded. “I won’t keep you. Your gallery is beautiful.” She started to leave.

  “What brought you here?” The woman asked behind her.

  “Just browsing,” Nina said.

  “I mean which photograph? The big one in the window? Flowers on the Ganges?”

  Nina shook her head, her cheeks heating with embarrassment. She didn’t know a single thing about photographic art. “It was the little one. The sari.”

  Interest lit Edmonia’s eyes. “Really? What did you like about it?”

  Nina drew in a breath and closed her eyes, giving herself a moment to see it again. “The movement. It made me feel… free.”

  When she opened her eyes, Edmonia was smiling. “It’s my favorite,” she said.

  “It is?”

  “It is.” She leaned against the desk. “Here’s the thing, Nina. I need help. Just a few hours a week, but I seriously need some help here. We have a show coming up and everything’s a mess and I have to order food and drinks and serving staff. I have to set up advertising and I still have an entirely blank fucking wall.”

  Nina nodded. “I did notice that. It’s kind of nice against the brick, but I guess it won’t do for a show.”

  “No, it will not do at all. I’ve been advertising for two weeks, but every kid who comes in here wants to be a famous photographer, thinks they’re going to get discovered sitting in this cube, talking to looky-loos who wander in on a Tuesday. Half of them don’t know how to make fucking coffee, and they definitely don’t know how to talk to people.”

  “That’s tough,” Nina admitted, not sure where the conversation was headed.

  “How about you?” Edmonia asked. “Do you know how to talk to people?”

  A flush of nervousness crept up Nina’s neck. “I mean, of course, but I don’t have any experience with photography or — ”

  “Let me rephrase,” Edmonia said. “Could you use a part-time job?”

  Nina sighed. “Actually, yes. Yes, I could.”

  “Twenty dollars an hour, about twenty hours a week to start, somewhat flexible schedule if you have to take your kid to the orthodontist?”

  “I don’t have children.”

  “I hate to say even better,” Edmonia grinned. “But for my purposes, even better. Do those terms work for you?”

  Nina took a deep breath. Was she really about to accept a job as a gallery assistant? A job for which she wasn’t remotely qualified?

  She nodded. “They work.”

  8

  She was still second-guessing her decision when she turned the corner and saw the man leaning against the stoop in front of her apartment. She didn’t have time to figure out what it meant before he turned his head, as if he’d felt her coming.

  He was wearing a midnight blue suit with a subtle pinstripe, a navy tie set against a crisp white shirt. Nina had probably seen ten thousand men in dark blue suits in her lifetime, but not one of them had caused a hitch in her breath like the man who had picked her up off the slippery pavement in January.

  Jack Morgan.

  He straightened without a flicker of emotion on his face, his dark eyes unreadable.

  “Hello,” she said as she approached. She could hear the surprise in her own voice, the unspoken questions.

  How did you find me? Why are you here? Have I crossed your mind the same way you’ve crossed mine?

  “Nina. I was beginning to wonder if you’d skipped town.”

  His voice was as deep and smooth as she remembered. It was a Bourbon and library voice.

  An I’m in Charge voice.

  Her gaze skipped to the car at the curb, the driver who’d delivered her to the subway station behind the wheel.

  “Should I have?” she asked.

  He stepped closer, stopping when he was just the slightest bit inside her comfort zone. Except instead of alarm bells ringing, her body was singing.

  “I promise I would never harm a hair on your head.” He ducked until his mouth was near her cheek. “Unless you’d like me to that is.”

  She sucked in a breath and shuffled back a couple steps, trying to make it look natural. Like she was resetting her boundaries instead of trying to calm the rapid beat of her heart, the knowledge that her cheeks felt hot.

  Like she was some kind of blushing teenager, for god’s sake.

  The thought snapped her back into her right mind. “What are you doing here?”

  He studied her a beat too long, his mouth turning up into the knowing half smile that had haunted her in the six weeks since she’d met him.

  He reached into his pocket. “I think this belongs to you."

  She looked down and saw that he was holding a monogrammed envelope.

  “What’s th
is?” she asked.

  “Take a look.”

  She took the envelope from his hand and registered that it was unusually thick and heavy for an envelope. When she opened the flap, she saw her driver’s license inside.

  “How did you get this?”

  “Reggie found it on the floor of the car,” Jack said. “I would have delivered it sooner, but I was out of the country when he found it, and I wanted to return it myself.”

  She opened her bag and pulled out her wallet. Sure enough, when she opened it, her license was missing.

  She shook her head. “How could I not have missed it?”

  “One rarely needs an ID in the city,” he said, humor dancing in his eyes. “Something you now know firsthand.”

  She laughed. “I’m glad you find this funny.”

  “Not so much funny as fortuitous,” he said.

  “How so?”

  He leaned down, his lips so close to her neck she felt his breath, soft as a feather, against her skin when he spoke.

  “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”

  It had the air of a true confession, and she was suddenly embarrassed. She had no idea how to handle such an unfamiliar situation.

  “Flattery will get you everywhere,” she said, trying to make light of the moment.

  He lifted his head and met her eyes. “Will it?”

  She didn’t answer, any response she might have managed stuck somewhere between her mind and mouth, his nearness causing a short circuit in her usually-functioning brain.

  He shook his head like he was disappointed, but his eyes said he was intrigued. “I didn’t think so.”

  She forced herself to breathe, to expel the scent of his cologne — spicy and expensive, underlaid with wool and a hint of cigar smoke that was surprisingly erotic — in favor of city air that was anything but clean.

  “Thank you for bringing it,” she said. “Although… how did you find me here? In Brooklyn?”

  She hadn’t had time to change the address on her driver’s license.

  “It’s easy to find someone these days. There are very few things that are private.”

  Private.

  It was just a word, but the way he said it conjured rumpled sheets and curtained beds, parted lips and bare skin.

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  She waited for him to say goodbye, to head for the car. His gaze lingered on her face instead.

  “There’s an event Saturday evening,” he said. “I’d like you to accompany me.”

  “An event?”

  It was next to useless as a stall tactic. If she’d been hoping for more information, for more time to formulate a response, Jack Morgan wasn’t going to deliver.

  “Yes,” he said. “The car will be here at eight.”

  He was already starting for the curb.

  “I haven’t said yes,” she said.

  He reached the car and opened the door. “I think we both know that isn’t true.”

  He stepped inside and closed the door, his face hidden behind the tinted glass, and she knew he was right. She’d said yes — to anything and everything Jack Morgan wanted from her — from the very beginning.

  9

  Nina walked into the bar and looked around, trying to spot Karen’s red hair in the crowd, an old trick from college that had guided Nina to her best friend even at the most crowded frat parties.

  She didn’t know what she’d expected when Karen insisted she meet up with her, Robin, and Amy for their standing Wednesday happy hour date, but it wasn’t this tiny box in Soho, packed with so many people she couldn’t even see the bar, let alone find a way to it.

  A hand shot up from deep within the crowd, and a second later Karen’s copper head popped up through the masses. She waved Nina forward, and Nina began the complicated process of navigating a path through the crowd.

  After a flurry of apologies that no one seemed to hear, Nina emerged at the back of the bar, relieved to see that Karen and Robin had commandeered a small table.

  “Jesus,” she said, taking off her coat. “Who are all these people?”

  Karen laughed. “It’s always like this.”

  It wasn’t exactly quiet at the back of the bar, but the roar of the crowd had dulled enough that Nina could hear the words coming from Karen’s mouth. It was something.

  “I’m going to get a fresh round,” Robin said, sliding from the booth. “Amy’s late, and you know what that means.”

  “What does that mean?” Nina said, taking Robin’s place in the booth.

  “It means we should have two cocktails waiting when she gets here,” Karen said.

  Nina laughed. “Got it.”

  “What’s your pleasure?” Robin asked her.

  Nina thought about it. When she’d been younger, she and Karen had always ordered Cosmos or Appletinis. Somewhere along the way, Karen had graduated to whiskey on the rocks, while Nina had made her way to everyone’s favorite Mom drink — vodka cranberry.

  But she wasn’t anybody’s mom, and even if she was, it didn’t mean she had to be boring.

  “Vodka martini,” she said, answering Robin’s question. “With an olive.”

  “Nice,” Robin said.

  “Want some help?” Nina asked.

  “No, thanks.” Robin patted her silvery hair. “I bartended in college. Got to keep up my skillset in case this whole nonprofit thing goes to shit.”

  “Vodka martini.” Karen’s voice was tinged with surprise as Robin made her way toward the bar.

  Nina shrugged. “Time for a change.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.”

  “Where is Amy?” Nina asked Karen.

  She finished off the drink in front of her. “Probably stuck with a client, either at the office or on the phone outside. She works like a dog.”

  She was wearing a deep purple blouse that set off her green eyes, her makeup impeccable, her hair falling in waves around her shoulders. It was enough to make Nina second-guess the comfort-over-style decision she’d made back at the apartment, a decision that had resulted in old black jeans — big in the waist, tight in the ass since she’d been hitting the gym — an oversize sweater, and nothing but tinted lip balm on her face.

  “Poor thing,” Nina said.

  “She loves every second of it,” Karen said. “How’s it going in Brooklyn? How’s the new gym?”

  For two weeks, Nina’s gym search had been her only contribution to her meet-ups with Karen, Robin, and Amy. They’d all had an opinion about whether she should go with the expensive neighborhood gym or the giant, warehouse-style facility that was only twenty bucks a month.

  “It’s good,” Nina said. “And I got a job!”

  Karen leaned back, looking impressed. “Really? That’s incredible! Doing what?”

  Nina started to explain but was stopped short when Amy arrived at the table, smelling of cold and concrete and looking every bit the high-powered investment banker in a structured houndstooth dress, her hair pulled back into a sleek chignon.

  They exchanged a flurry of greetings while Amy apologized for being late (a client had had a last-minute panic attack about a decision he’d made earlier in the day) and sat next to Karen.

  Robin arrived with a tray bearing their drinks, setting them down with a flourish, including two for Amy.

  “Ah! You know me too well!” Amy said, sipping at one of the drinks.

  Robin set the tray on the shelf that separated their booth from the one next to it and took a seat next to Nina.

  Karen held up her glass. “I propose a toast — to Nina’s new job!”

  A chorus of cheers and exclamations went up around the table as everyone clinked glasses and looked at Nina.

  “You got a job!” Robin exclaimed. “That’s amazing!”

  “It’s just part-time,” Nina said. “But… yeah. I’m happy about it.”

  “Tell us everything,” Amy said.

  Nina told them the story of the photograph, stumbling
into the gallery, and meeting Edmonia Burns. She hadn’t fully realized how serendipitous the whole thing had been until she finished telling the story and Karen sighed.

  “See? This is why I love New York. Magic!”

  “It was kind of magical,” Nina admitted.

  They talked a little more about the job, then moved onto a book Karen had acquired at auction that day — a coffee table book of never-before-seen pictures from a well-known photographer who’d passed away nearly fifty years earlier.

  They’d moved onto a discussion about a man Robin had met on her last trip to India — a man with whom she’d had an ongoing long-distance affair that involved plentiful phone sex and three last-minute trips overseas — and a detailed description of the strap-on Amy had bought Moira for her birthday when Nina realized she’d fallen down the rabbit hole.

  Her meet-ups with Karen had always been full of bawdy humor and way more information than Nina wanted to know about Karen’s sex life, but Nina had always assumed that was just Karen. She’d met Robin and Amy before, but their interactions had been brief and fleeting, steeped in the sense that Nina was only a guest in their world, a conclusion that had been completely true at the time.

  Now she was part of the club, and she couldn’t help being surprised that there were other women like Karen in the city: middle-aged women still intimately familiar with their sensuality.

  And judging from the sample size of their little group, they weren’t in the minority.

  Had this been true in the suburbs too? Were all the moms she’d seen hauling kids to soccer and attending parent conferences secretly sex goddess at night? Or was this a product of being in the city, a place that was seeming more and more like a kind of Neverland for grown-ups?

  “You’re awfully quiet, Nina.” She looked up to find Amy studying her from across the table. “Sorry about the strap-on story. TMI?”

  She laughed. “Not at all. I’m just still… acclimating.”

  “Suburban whiplash.” Karen pronounced. “I’ve seen it before.”