Page 2 of The Maverick
Ashton and his buddies cursed as they ran off.
“Oh, my God!” Gigi cried, gathering me into her arms. She was the lunch lady at my high school and my mom’s friend. “Call the police!” she shouted to someone.
Voices boomed in the background, but I was losing consciousness.
“They took my money,” I muttered to Gigi.
“Shhh, baby. You’re bleeding a lot. Don’t worry. We’ll get them.”
I vowed to get those assholes back as I lost consciousness.
When I woke up the next day, I could barely move. The nurse entered to check my vitals and said my wrist and right leg were injured. The doctor would be in to talk to me soon. I asked the nurse to turn on the TV. I wanted to know if the police got those assholes.
Channel 5 news made no mention of my attack. They were covering a deadly fire that killed three members of a family. The camera zoomed in on the blue house with a red star on the siding. Angry flames and smoke devoured the porch with a yellow wreath on the front door. When I saw fire eating up the smiling sun on a decorative flag that my dad had recently hung up, my heart shattered, knowing my family was dead. My body trembled with hatred and grief.
“No!” Tears streamed down my face as I knew my life was forever changed.
CHAPTER ONE
VANESSA
I wasn’tin the mood to attend a fancy event, but I forced myself to dress for the invitation-only art auction at The Ritz-Carlton Hotel in Boston. I’d donated myHope in Bloompainting to the charitable event to help raise money for Brigham and Women’s Hospital. It was one way to help the community and meet potential art collectors. Serious art buyers would pay an obscene amount of money for original artwork.
Right now, I needed to refill my empty bank account and figure out a way to make Emmanuel stop harassing me. Thinking about my ex infuriated me, so I shoved my thoughts of him aside for now.
I didn’t need to stay long at this event. One to two hours would give me enough time to browse and chat with any collectors who might have questions for me. Perhaps they’d want to visit my new art gallery, which was scheduled to open at the end of the week. This was my first art gallery that would showcase all of Nessa Lambert’s work. Joy burst in me, but then fear clouded the happiness.
Stop thinking about the jerk.
I wore a long black dress with matching heels. It was a simple dress I’d worn to several events, but with different accessories. I’d have loved to have the freedom to buy a new dress for every occasion, but money was tight, so I had to be creative with this sophisticated black dress. Today, I added a gold belt that matched the gold earrings, transforming my look from last month’s art exhibit at the Museum of Fine Arts.
With my embroidered clutch, I stepped into the spacious room, where a unique chandelier hung at its center. Perfect lighting showcased the paintings on the gray walls, metal easels, and felt panels. Men in tuxedos and women in extravagant gowns browsed the area with auction tablets in their hands. I walked up to the desk and gave them my invitation.
“I loveHope in Bloom.The colors remind me of Monet, and the gold details make me think of Gustav Klimt,” said the woman wearing a blue dress with a name tag that read Jennifer. She checked me in and offered me a tablet.
“Thank you, Jennifer. You’re very perceptive. I love those two artists.”
She glanced at her computer and gasped. “Someone just placed a bid on your painting for fifty thousand dollars!”
“That’s wonderful.” I smiled. “Do you know who placed the bid?”
“It says anonymous. That’s normal, though. Most donors with a lot of money want to keep their identities private.”
More people arrived to get their tablets, and I made my way around the room, admiring the various artworks from artists from all over the country. I spottedHope in Bloomagainst the wall. A couple stood in front of my painting with two men standing behind them like bodyguards.
Hope in Bloomdiffered from my current paintings, which depicted a more somber mood. Since this was a charity, I wantedto offer hope with a kaleidoscope of pretty colors, gold aspects, and textures bursting like abstract flowers.
When the couple turned to walk to the next painting, I saw their faces, and my heart leaped.
Was that President Collins and his wife, Madeline? Always posh and stylish, she was a well-known supporter of women’s health. I loved her British accent. Everything sounded more elegant when she spoke. I read in the magazine that she was only forty-one years old compared to her husband, who was sixty. Despite the age gap, they made a lovely couple.
The media usually covered news of the President’s visit, but I hadn’t heard anything about him being at this charity. Had they bid on my painting? I would love to have my art displayed in The White House. Who wouldn’t?
I looked at the tablet and saw that all the paintings had a bid, which made me happy. Several more bids came in forHope in Bloom, bringing the total to over one hundred and fifty thousand dollars!
A shiver ran down my spine, and my heart gave a nervous jolt. I sensed someone watching me. I looked around but didn’t recognize anyone. Had Emmanuel sent someone to follow me here?
The room had become crowded since I entered, making it hot. Or maybe the rise in temperature reflected my fear that someone would push me into a corner and demand money I didn’t have.
