Man Bun (The Boyfriend Series Book 2) Read online

  I sat for a moment, trying to decide what to do. I called Tate.

  “Hey, trouble already?” he asked. I could hear construction, which I knew was taking place near his studio. “I’m just walking into my building from the parking lot after watching some big ships loading cargo.”

  “Looking for future urban landscape subjects to paint?” I smiled at the image of him standing watching the cargo ships being loaded in the port like a little boy.

  “Something like that,” he said. “What’s up?”

  “Your PI guy who did a background check on John… could you hire him to look into the new guy at work? I got a strange message from some anonymous source that suggested that he wasn’t who he seems and that we needed to do a better background check on him.”

  “Wow,” Tate said, and I heard a door open and then the sounds of the construction in the background disappeared. He was inside the studio building. “That’s strange. John has pretty much carte blanche to hire whomever he wants, but he would usually always do vetting of a candidate before doing so.”

  “If you could get your guy to do a quick background check, at least I’ll feel better about the call. Could be a crank who is jealous they didn’t get the job so it might be nothing.”

  “Sure. I’ll talk to my guy and get him to do a quick and dirty background check. See what he can come up with in 48 hours. How’s that?”

  “Sounds good,” I replied, exhaling with relief that at least we could get to the bottom of the call, one way or the other. “I’ll talk to you later about how the day went and my first impressions of Mr. Theodore ‘Teddy’ Barnes, Harvard MBA.”

  “Will do. Don’t work too hard.”

  “I will,” I said and smiled.

  After ending the call, I leaned back and wondered what the hell was going on with Mr. Teddy Barnes. Was he a bad guy John hired for some unknown reason? Or was it really a case of a jealous candidate for the job who was trying to ruin the new hire before he even started at the job?

  Until I met Mr. Teddy Barnes, and until I had the results of the background check on him, I wouldn’t know. All I could do was go about my day as usual, and hope for the best.

  At 9:20, I went to the boardroom for our usual Monday morning briefing and got the chance to meet Teddy Barnes in the flesh.

  And oh, what a surprise he turned out to be…

  Six four, two hundred and fifty pounds of pure muscle, he looked more like a bodyguard than a planner for a multinational corporation. He had a shaved head and a very expensive men’s suit and silk tie. His eyes were cold and ice blue.

  I could imagine him as a hood in a Mafia movie.

  His expression when he finally met my eyes was one of a crocodile before it snapped at a water buffalo trying to cross the Nile. I was prey, in other words.

  He smiled and came right over to me, like he was waiting to see me enter the room, his hand extended.

  “Ahh, the lovely Miss Williams, who paved the way for my taking over as head of the unit. So nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you. All of it good.”

  “Whoever told you about me must be a liar, then,” I said with a smile.

  He chuckled. “No, from your track record, they were telling the truth. So much accomplished in such a short time. My job will be a breeze.”

  “I hope so,” I said. “That was my job — to make yours easy.” I glanced around the room and saw my team and the heads of other departments were there. “Have you met everyone yet? Can I introduce you around?”

  “Oh, no, that’s not necessary. The big man himself already did. We got here before everyone else and have been greeting people as they arrived. You’re the last.”

  I raised my eyebrows. The meeting was scheduled for 9:30 and so I was early, but to my ears, he made it sound as if I was late.

  “Perfect timing,” I said and smiled. After saying hello to the members of my team, I went to my place at the boardroom table and sat down. At 9:30 promptly, John emerged from a side door that led to the office set aside for him, and he greeted everyone and took his place at the head of the table. For the next half hour, he regaled us with talk about Teddy and his accomplishments around the world working with this and that global corporation in China, Indonesia, and Africa as well as the Russian Federation.

  We had a presentation from someone from HR about changes to the staffing model, and then an update from a member of the technology group on new products in the development line.

  Then, it was time for my update. I stood at my place and gave an overview of the state of our emergency plans in the case of any number of crises and emergencies. I finished by detailing what was left to finish and then I turned to Teddy and welcomed him publicly, hoping that our team had made the transition as smooth as it could be. I ended by thanking the team and then sat down, smiling at him.

  At that, Teddy stood and thanked me and the team for preparing the way, as he called it, and then he talked about the company vision for expanding into different countries and what each office would face in terms of risks and how the team would prepare for them.

  It was a good morning.

  I felt satisfied after the meeting was over that I had done a good job as head of the unit. Hopefully, it would be a seamless transition for Teddy and as much as he looked like a goon, he seemed eminently reasonable and professional.

  John didn’t say anything to me, and as far as I was concerned, that was just as well. He kept his distance, and I didn’t try to seek him out. There was no need, so I went back to my office and checked emails and listened to voice messages before checking my calendar for the rest of the day.

  I heard my cell chime and knew it was an incoming text — hopefully from Tate with an update on how his day was going. I removed my cell from my bag and saw it was from him.

  TATE: How’s it going, babe? Did you meet your replacement? How was John — an asshole as usual or was he on good behavior?

  I smiled and responded.

  BROOKE: It was good. We had a productive meeting. Teddy is professional and nice. Your father behaved himself.

  TATE: Good. Surprising, but welcome. Hopefully, he leaves you alone for the week and we can take off for Brooklyn on Saturday with no incidents.

  BROOKE: Hopefully. How is the gallery opening prep going? You excited?

  TATE: Very excited. Getting the last of the canvases up on the wall and all the title tags up. Hope it goes well. A few critics will be attending the opening. We’ll see whether my MFA residence has been a success or not.

  BROOKE: Of course, it’s been a success. Don’t forget what they say about critics — they enter the battlefield after the war and shoot the injured.

  TATE: Haha! I’ll keep that in mind. It might make me feel better when I get bad reviews.

  BROOKE: I’ve seen your canvases. There can’t be bad reviews. There can’t! If there are, they’re from idiots.

  TATE: You just say that because you love me.

  BROOKE: I do love you, but I’d say your work was amazing even if I didn’t. But I do. And it is.

  TATE: Keep talking like that and you’ll get a special full body rub tonight after dinner.

  BROOKE: I’ll take you up on the offer. Later. XO

  TATE: XOXO

  I smiled and put my phone away, glad that everything was seeming to go well for Tate at the gallery and so far, fingers crossed, at work for me.

  Fingers crossed…

  4

  TATE

  I had a meeting with the gallery manager at 10:00 and brought the last of the canvases that would be showcased for my MFA Residence requirement. I had finished early, and so my exhibition was the first of my class of five students to graduate that year. I was nervous as I helped the manager hang the canvases.

  How would critics respond?

  I was personally proud of my work and felt I had accomplished what I was supposed to do according to my advisors — give the world a look at my personal vision as an artist. That sounded so pompous, but what the hell was the purpose of fine art if not to showcase an individual artist’s vision?

  The five students in my class were all so different, choosing different media and having different styles. It would be interesting to see the critics and the evaluations of our work from our professors.

  I honestly didn’t have to care, since I never had to worry about money, but I did worry about reputation. If I wanted to start and run my own gallery to showcase new artists, I had to have a respectable rep among the art critics. Otherwise, I would be just another businessman.

  That was the very last thing I wanted to be.

  Shana, the gallery manager, was a plump older woman with short steel-grey hair and colorful scarves, who reminded me of the crazy aunt I always wish I’d had. She had purple cat’s eye reading glasses perched on the end of her nose, which she used to read small print. There was even a lanyard attached to the reading glasses so she could never be without them.

  She was a character.

  She also really liked my work. So, of course, I really liked her.

  “That’s the last of them,” I said as we stepped back and checked out the position of the final canvas. I glanced around the gallery and saw my work spread out over the entire space. It was a heady feeling for an aspiring artist.

  “It’s going to get great reviews,” Shana said, tilting her head to one side. “You’re clearly very talented and have your own vision. Your work is good enough to be put in major galleries, so you can be proud.”

  “Thanks,” I said, feeling pleased that she felt that way. “I hope the critics who matter agree with you or else my fabulous career as an artist will be very short-lived.”

  “Nonsense,” she said and waved her hand at me in dismissal. “Your work is fantastic.
Just wait and see.”

  “That’s all I can do,” I said and gathered up the tools we used to install the paintings. “Wait and see. All we have left are the tags, and then I’ll buy you lunch. How does that sound? Bagels or burgers? Or fish and chips? I know you love the shop down the way.”

  She laughed and smoothed her tunic, tilting her head to one side. “If you keep feeding me like you have been, I won’t be able to keep my svelte figure!”

  I smiled at her self-deprecating humor and started inserting the tags into their frames beneath each painting, that showed the title, media and my name. There was no price attached, since this was for my graduation, but some day, they might be for sale — all except the painting of Brooke.

  That would be in my personal office at home. It would hold pride of place wherever Brooke and I ended up living.

  Once we were finished, we decided on bagels, and I drove down the street to a favorite deli and got us both bagels and coffee. The opening would start at five and go until nine, although I doubted it would last that long. It was a grad showing after all. While there would be critics in attendance, there would be few other people at the exhibition. I expected Brooke, Kelli and Ross of course, and then my fellow MFA art practice students. There would be others from the Fine Arts Department and Graduate Studies, plus anyone who happened to wander by and see free wine and cheese.

  We ate our lunch and I texted Brooke to see how she was doing.

  TATE: How’s it going? Has my father been a bastard, or has he behaved?

  She responded right away.

  BROOKE: So far, so good. I’m beginning to feel suspicious or that I’m totally paranoid.

  TATE: You’re not paranoid. Hopefully, his good behaviour lasts all week so we can leave without any issues. How is the new guy?

  BROOKE: He looks more like a Mafia hitman than an Emergency Planning Exec, but other than that, he’s very smooth.

  TATE: He was respectful towards you?

  BROOKE: Very. He really wants this transition to work, so it’s all good. How’s it going there?

  TATE: Great. We’re done setting up the exhibit. Now, it’s just waiting for the guests to arrive and the reviews to flow in. When are you coming, by the way? Can you tear yourself away?

  BROOKE: I’m leaving early today so I can be with you. I figure I’ve put in enough long weekends getting the unit set up, so I deserve to leave early now and then.

  TATE: Okay. See you when you get here. Love you.

  BROOKE: Love you back.

  I put my cell away and Shana nodded in my direction.

  “Is that the love of your life?”

  I smiled. “How did you know?”

  She laughed. “I could tell by the way you were smiling as you texted. When are you two getting married?”

  “We’ve only known each other for less than six months…”

  “Ha! You got it bad. I can tell these things. I’ve always been a bit of a matchmaker.”

  “What about you? How come I don’t see a ring on your finger?”

  “No man besides my first husband, God bless his soul, could ever catch me.” She reached into her tunic beneath her scarf and pulled out a diamond ring and another two rings that were on a chain around her neck. “I still wear them and will to the day I die. No one could compete with George.”

  “Aren’t you lonely?”

  She winked at me. “You don’t need to put a ring on it to enjoy it. I’m too old to get remarried. There’s no benefit in it. I live with Paul, and I’m happy with things the way they are.”

  “As long as you’re happy.”

  She nodded. “But you should get married and have a family. I’d be nothing without my kids and everyone else in George’s family.”

  “We’ll see how things go. My generation doesn’t get married the way yours did.”

  “I know, and it’s so sad. What is life without family?”

  I scoffed. “Depends on the family, doesn’t it? Some people are better off without their families.”

  She sighed. “You have family problems? I know your family is really wealthy.”

  “My stepfather is one of those snakes in suits you might have read about. He wasn’t a good father or a good husband. I never knew my real father.”

  “That’s too bad. I guess if that’s your experience of family, you might be afraid to get married and have one yourself. But don’t let the failure of your stepfather keep you from having a happy life yourself. It would be the sweetest revenge to give your own sons and daughters everything your stepfather didn’t provide you with.”

  I nodded slowly. “It would. We’ll see.” I smiled at her.

  Later in the afternoon, once we had cleaned up the gallery and the caterers arrived to provide the wine and cheese, my nerves were on edge as I waited for the first guests to arrive. Around 4:45PM, Brooke showed up, getting out of an Uber on the street outside the gallery.

  She came to the front door and peered inside, her hand shading her eyes. When she saw me, she waved.

  I opened the door and admitted her. We kissed, and she threw her arms around me, pressing her body against me.

  “How are you holding up? Nervous?”

  “What — me? Nervous? Never!” I squeezed her and we kissed again. Her kiss was so warm that I felt heat rise in me. I ended the kiss and pressed my forehead against hers. “If you keep that up, I’ll have to take you to the back storage room and ravish you. Then, the critics will all complain that I didn’t even attend my own opening.”

  She smiled and ran her fingers over my cheek. “I might take you up on that offer, if the night is slow.”

  We kissed once more and then I took her to meet Shana, who was sitting at her desk, a phone in her hand when we arrived at the rear office. When she hung up, she turned to us.

  “Shana, I’d like to introduce you to Brooke Williams from of all places, Brooklyn, New York,” I said, pointing to Brooke. “Brooke, this is Shana Lowther, curator of the gallery and mentor to many an MFA grad.”

  “Nice to meet you, Brooke,” Shana said. “You’re as lovely in person as you are in Tate’s painting of you.”

  Of course, Brooke blushed at that, her cheeks flushing. “Nice to meet you. Tate has said very nice things about you.”

  I spent the next fifteen minutes while we waited for the gallery to open showing Brooke the paintings and discussing how we decided to place each piece. It was stuff that only artists and gallery owners would find interesting, but she kept up a good show and even asked a few questions, showing that she was just as smart as I knew she was.

  When five o’clock rolled around, Shana went to the entrance and unlocked the front door, turning the ‘closed’ sign around so that people knew the gallery was open.

  She went outside and glanced up and down the sidewalk and then came back inside.

  “Well, here goes everything,” she said and put her hand on my shoulder. “Get yourself a coffee and try to enjoy.”

  In a few moments, a couple of people entered and of course, Shana went to them right away and spoke to them. Then, she showed them around the gallery, and I stood with Brooke at my side and wondered how they would respond.

  Shana left them alone and came to us. “Your first visitors. How does it feel?”

  I shrugged. “I’ll let you know when they tell you what they think.”

  “They already like what they’ve seen, but they’re tourists and just wanted to drop in for the ambience.”

  “That’s nice,” Brooke said.

  “What she means is that they want free wine and cheese,” I said, squeezing Brooke’s hand in mine.

  Brooke laughed, and the sound of her voice, soft and yet filled with good humor, made me relax and appreciate how lucky I was to have her.

  For the next hour, there were a few drop-ins like the first couple, who saw the open sign and decided to just drop in to see what was being exhibited. It was all good. By 6:30, there were more than a dozen people in the room. Brooke and I stood beside the wine table, greeting people as they came to get their wine and cheese. I fielded a few questions from interested visitors and sipped my wine. There were a few lone individuals present, who walked around and looked at each piece for a significant amount of time. I wondered if they were critics, and bent down to Shana, who was standing with us.