two dozen countries on lavish summer and winter vacations. She’d never wanted for anything...except her parents’ attention.
Thanks to Broderick Collins she’d certainly gotten it, in spades. It brought new meaning to that adage “be careful what you wish for.”
“Enough with the pity party,” Lorraine admonished herself. But as hard as she tried, she could not shake the gloomy cloud that had been hovering over her all day. She felt as if she were drifting, with no real direction, no purpose.
She looked around her studio, her eyes roaming over the paintings of luscious landscapes, architectural landmarks and the Chicago skyline lined up against the walls, stacked two and three deep. What was the point of all this if they just remained in here, for only her eyes to enjoy?
She needed to do something with these paintings. She needed to find some meaning in all of this.
She wondered what Carter would think if she brought him here to show him her work, and then wondered why his opinion would matter at all. There were people she had known her entire life who had no idea she owned this loft in Chicago’s more artist-friendly Wicker Park neighborhood, yet she was thinking of bringing a man she’d met only a couple of days ago here?
What was it about him that elicited such a strong reaction within her? Lorraine didn’t have to think too hard to come up with an answer. He had a genuineness about him that was in such contrast to the men she had previously dated. She’d had her fill of artificial men who didn’t bother to get to know the real her, men who were only interested in what she could do for them as a member of the powerful Hawthorne-Hayes family.
Now that Carter knew who she really was, would it change the way he saw her?
“I hope not,” she said with a forlorn sigh.
Her cell phone rang.
Lorraine wiped the charcoal from her fingers with a swatch of ragged linen. She reached for the phone, expecting to see Trina’s number, or maybe her mother’s, but it was a number she didn’t recognize.
“Lorraine speaking.”
“Hello, Rainey,” came a smooth, familiar voice.
Tremors of excited heat skittered across her skin. A part of her had hoped to never hear from him again after the disastrous end to their date, but an even stronger part had desperately prayed that he’d contact her. She had been waiting for him to contact her.
“How did you get this number, Carter?”
“From your order form. You didn’t leave your last name, but you did leave a contact number.”
She leaned against the floor-to-ceiling window in her loft, staring out at the people going about their day. With a deep breath, Lorraine asked, “Is my name still a mystery to you?”
“No,” he answered. “I saw the paper.”
“And?” she asked, her breath catching in her throat in anticipation of his response.
“And I’m happy you’re not part of the witness protection program or a secret agent in the CIA.”
Lorraine let out a relieved laugh. Her anxiety melted, and the relaxed contentment she’d experienced the two times she’d been in Carter’s presence eased into place.
“I’m sorry for being so secretive, but after last night I’m sure you can see why,” she said.
“Is that what life is usually like for you? People constantly snapping pictures of you?”
“I’m not subjected to the Kardashian treatment on a daily basis, but the Hawthorne-Hayes name carries a fair amount of newsworthiness. It’s something I’ve lived with my entire life, but I will never, ever get used to it.”
“I guess when you own half of Chicago, it’s tough to keep a low profile.”
“I do not own half of Chicago,” she said. Maybe one-third. “And it’s my family, not me.”
“But you stand to inherit a part of your family’s jewelry empire, don’t you?”
Disappointment caused her heart to squeeze within her chest. She had hoped Carter wouldn’t be like the others, but apparently, he couldn’t see past the wealth
Thanks to Broderick Collins she’d certainly gotten it, in spades. It brought new meaning to that adage “be careful what you wish for.”
“Enough with the pity party,” Lorraine admonished herself. But as hard as she tried, she could not shake the gloomy cloud that had been hovering over her all day. She felt as if she were drifting, with no real direction, no purpose.
She looked around her studio, her eyes roaming over the paintings of luscious landscapes, architectural landmarks and the Chicago skyline lined up against the walls, stacked two and three deep. What was the point of all this if they just remained in here, for only her eyes to enjoy?
She needed to do something with these paintings. She needed to find some meaning in all of this.
She wondered what Carter would think if she brought him here to show him her work, and then wondered why his opinion would matter at all. There were people she had known her entire life who had no idea she owned this loft in Chicago’s more artist-friendly Wicker Park neighborhood, yet she was thinking of bringing a man she’d met only a couple of days ago here?
What was it about him that elicited such a strong reaction within her? Lorraine didn’t have to think too hard to come up with an answer. He had a genuineness about him that was in such contrast to the men she had previously dated. She’d had her fill of artificial men who didn’t bother to get to know the real her, men who were only interested in what she could do for them as a member of the powerful Hawthorne-Hayes family.
Now that Carter knew who she really was, would it change the way he saw her?
“I hope not,” she said with a forlorn sigh.
Her cell phone rang.
Lorraine wiped the charcoal from her fingers with a swatch of ragged linen. She reached for the phone, expecting to see Trina’s number, or maybe her mother’s, but it was a number she didn’t recognize.
“Lorraine speaking.”
“Hello, Rainey,” came a smooth, familiar voice.
Tremors of excited heat skittered across her skin. A part of her had hoped to never hear from him again after the disastrous end to their date, but an even stronger part had desperately prayed that he’d contact her. She had been waiting for him to contact her.
“How did you get this number, Carter?”
“From your order form. You didn’t leave your last name, but you did leave a contact number.”
She leaned against the floor-to-ceiling window in her loft, staring out at the people going about their day. With a deep breath, Lorraine asked, “Is my name still a mystery to you?”
“No,” he answered. “I saw the paper.”
“And?” she asked, her breath catching in her throat in anticipation of his response.
“And I’m happy you’re not part of the witness protection program or a secret agent in the CIA.”
Lorraine let out a relieved laugh. Her anxiety melted, and the relaxed contentment she’d experienced the two times she’d been in Carter’s presence eased into place.
“I’m sorry for being so secretive, but after last night I’m sure you can see why,” she said.
“Is that what life is usually like for you? People constantly snapping pictures of you?”
“I’m not subjected to the Kardashian treatment on a daily basis, but the Hawthorne-Hayes name carries a fair amount of newsworthiness. It’s something I’ve lived with my entire life, but I will never, ever get used to it.”
“I guess when you own half of Chicago, it’s tough to keep a low profile.”
“I do not own half of Chicago,” she said. Maybe one-third. “And it’s my family, not me.”
“But you stand to inherit a part of your family’s jewelry empire, don’t you?”
Disappointment caused her heart to squeeze within her chest. She had hoped Carter wouldn’t be like the others, but apparently, he couldn’t see past the wealth
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