What a Woman Gets by Judi Fennell Page A

art.”
    â€œYou mean with flowers and butterflies and rainbows?”
    And unicorns and fairy princesses, too,
she wanted to add. Did he really think she was that shallow?
    Maybe he did. In which case, that just proved how much he
hadn’t
been paying attention to her for the last eight months. “No, Burton. I paint landscapes or faux finishes or textures on them.”
    â€œLike Thomas Kinkade?”
    Kinkade had had talent and he’d certainly had marketing savvy, but she did not want to be classified with him. “No, not like Kinkade. More along the lines of Davenport. Cassidy Davenport.”
    Burton didn’t seem to get the point, but he raised his champagne flute to her—extended pinkie finger and all. “Well, congratulations, sweetheart. That’s quite a handy talent to have. You could paint murals on nursery walls. You know, I was thinking . . .”
    Oh God. She didn’t want to know what he was thinking. Not with that lead in. And the champagne and the cuff links and her father’s knowing smile as he chose that moment to look over . . .
    â€œExcuse me, Burton.” She didn’t even look as she handed him her champagne glass and turned away. The ladies’ room was always a handy excuse and the truth was, she could use some cool water over her wrists—to cool down her heated temper. Mitchell was behind this. No wonder he’d dismissed her at lunch. If he was hoping she’d marry Burton and raise little Davenports, of
course
she wouldn’t have time for a career . . .
    Best to head this cataclysm off at that pass before it ever got a chance to gather strength.
    And then she ran into Mitchell.
    â€œCassidy. Enjoying yourself? Why isn’t Burton with you? He’s looking rather well tonight, don’t you think?”
    â€œHe’s talking to someone over there.” She did a vague wave of her hand, hoping Mitchell would go off in search.
    Of course he didn’t. Instead he lowered his voice and actually moved closer.
    Never a good sign.
    â€œDeborah tells me that that hobby of yours is costing me five figures. You’ll want to contribute your profit from it, I’m sure, to defray the cost. I’m willing to take the loss on paper, but not quite that much in actual cash.”
    â€œYou’re kidding me. You buy my artwork that I’ve already sold and expect me to pay for it?”
    That damn eyebrow went north. “It should never have been sold in the first place.”
    â€œWhy not? It’s a good piece. Enough that someone thought enough of it to pay a decent amount of money for it and display it in their home. You should have left it where it was and kept your precious money.”
    â€œMy
precious money
is what’s keeping you in your designer clothes and that penthouse, young lady. I suggest you remember it.”
    â€œAs if I could forget,” she muttered.
    â€œWhat?” Now the other eyebrow arched and he lowered his head as if he were looking over the rim of glasses.
    â€œI said that my earnings from my art would help with my budget so you wouldn’t have to.”
    At that Mitchell laughed. “Oh please, Cassidy. You couldn’t keep to a budget if it was a million dollars. You have no idea what it costs to keep you in your lifestyle. It’s nice that you want to contribute, but don’t get yourself all concerned with it. I have more than enough to take care of you.”
    Walk. Away. Do not
say something that you’re going to regret. Save it for later when you’re alone.
    Cassidy wanted to listen to her subconscious, knew she
should
listen to it. But that condescending tone just did her in.
    She couldn’t just let it go. Couldn’t let him think that he could manipulate her into doing what he wanted. She was going to find
some
way to live on her terms.
    â€œYou know, Dad, I am actually capable of providing for myself. I just proved it.