Picture Perfect Christmas. Melanie Schuster
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dare you show up here and get up in my face? What’s wrong with you? How did you get in, anyway? This showing is by invitation only,” she added haughtily.
James Steffney was the gallery’s manager. He looked more like an NFL linebacker than someone who was interested in the pursuit of fine art. He was discreet and professional, but he didn’t play. As soon as he saw the look on Philippe’s face he started toward the couple, ready to protect Chastain at all costs.
“Is everything okay, Chastain?” he asked.
“Just fine, James. This is an old friend from my hometown,” she answered with a smile as she gently tried to get her arm back from Philippe.
James nodded and strolled away, but he didn’t take his eyes off them. Veronica Lewis, the pretty, plump receptionist, went over to James and asked him what was going on. “I have no idea. She says he’s an old friend, but he’s not looking too friendly to me.”
Veronica wrapped one of her natural twists around her finger and looked speculatively at Chastain and Philippe.
“I think you’re right,” she said in a low voice. “And I think I know why. Look at him and look at those paintings. That’s the model in those nudes, James.”
His eyes automatically went from the pictures to Philippe and back again. “You may be on to something,” he said. “I’d be mad, too, if somebody put me on display like a hunk of meat.”
Veronica was too busy looking at Philippe with new eyes to answer him.
Philippe’s anger hadn’t abated. He wasn’t the only one with a temper, though. Chastain was as hot as he was. “I asked you why you were here. Only select invitations were given for tonight’s showing,” she said nastily.
He hadn’t released her arm completely, but instead of clutching her upper arm he’d moved his hand until he was holding hers. With his free hand he reached into his suit coat and pulled out his invitation.
“If you didn’t want me here, you shouldn’t have sent this,” he said in a low voice that nonetheless resonated with fury. “And I can see why you wouldn’t want me here to witness that.” He didn’t bother to glance at the three nudes because he knew as well as she did that he was the model she’d painted so exquisitely.
“If you make a spectacle out of this evening you’ll live to regret it,” she said, barely moving her lips.
“If you don’t take those down right now, you’ll be the one with regrets. I’ll sue you and this gallery and anything else I can think of and it won’t be pretty,” he vowed.
Anyone else would have cowered under the heated rage and Phillipe’s look of pure venom, but Chastain wasn’t having it, not tonight. She was about to go off on him but David suddenly appeared with a glass of water.
“Here you are, sweetheart. You’ve been chatting so much I thought you might be thirsty.”
Chastain relaxed at once. “Thank you, David. This is an old friend, Philippe Deveraux. He surprised me tonight. I had no idea he’d be in New York,” she said with a slight edge to her voice.
David shook hands with Philippe, which caused him to let go of her hand. “Deveraux? You must be related to Chastain’s friend Paris,” he said with his usual calm demeanor.
“I’m her brother,” Philippe replied. Only Chastain, who knew him way too well, could hear the seething undertone in his voice.
“David, I’m going to chat with Philippe for a few minutes. I haven’t talked to Paris in a while and I want to catch up. We’ll be right back,” she promised as she began to lead Philippe to the elevator. Neither of them spoke until the elevator rose past the gallery, at which point Chastain poked him in the chest with her index finger. “You are a total jackass. I hope you know that.”
“And I hope you know you’re in a world of trouble, baby girl.”
“Arrgh!” Chastain growled as the elevator arrived on the third floor. She walked into the apartment and turned to face him. “You overgrown, arrogant, self-centered jerk! What makes you think I’d invite you to anything, much less my first showing in New York?”
Philippe again took out the invitation and the envelope in which it had come and tossed them at her. “This does.”
A sudden barrage of barks came from her bedroom and Chastain turned abruptly to let Lulu out of her crate. Further argument was forestalled as Lulu followed the sound and scent of Philippe into the living room. When Chastain composed herself enough to return she found Philippe sitting on the sofa while Lulu stood in his lap and licked his face fervently.
“I forgot she loves you best,” Chastain said.
“That’s only because I rescued her,” he said between licks.
Chastain looked away from the sentimental reunion and picked up the discarded invitation and its matching envelope. She took one glance at the handwriting and recognized it as Mona’s. I’ll deal with her later. Right now I have to deal with this.
“Look, Philippe, my assistant sent that invitation to you. I knew nothing about it. It wouldn’t have occurred to me to invite you because I knew you wouldn’t come all the way to New York for me,” she began. He cut her off with a sneer.
“It just so happens that I’ve been in New York for the past two months. I’m working up here.”
“You left the law firm?” Chastain blurted out the question without thinking. There were four Deveraux brothers in New Orleans and they practiced law together. Philippe was in environmental law and he was passionate about it.
“No, I didn’t leave the firm. I’m on a presidential committee working with the U.N. to push an international initiative for environmental programs. I’ll be here another couple of months.”
He patted the sofa cushion next to him and Lulu jumped off his lap and sat obediently. She put one paw on his hand and gave him her happiest smile. Chastain softened when she saw the adorable picture they made, but it didn’t last.
“I’m going back downstairs, Chastain. My date is probably wondering where I am. And make sure those pictures come down tonight or you and your friend will find yourselves in the middle of a nasty lawsuit.”
He rose to his full six feet five inches and gave Lulu a final pat before leaving. Chastain was left with a crumpled invitation in her clenched fist and the beginnings of a colossal headache. But if he thinks I’m taking those pictures down he’s got another think coming. The days when I did anything to please Philippe Deveraux are over, done and gone.
Chapter 3
“Well, that was fun. Thanks for bringing me along, Philippe.”
A deep growl was his response.
“She seemed really glad to see you,” the woman went on. This time her prodding had an effect. Philippe crossed his arms and lowered his thick eyebrows in a fierce glare.
They had left Studio L a few minutes after Philippe returned from talking to Chastain and once they were seated in the limousine that was waiting for them they’d ridden back to her home without a word being spoken. When they’d reached the two-story penthouse she called home, his date finally had enough. She closed the door behind them, locked it and turned to face him with a smile.
“She’s even more gorgeous than you said. Would you like a drink?”
“Frederique, if you say another word I’m going to throttle you.”
“Don’t call me that,” she warned. She hated her full name and would only answer to Ricki.
“Then stay out of my business,” he replied.
Ricki Fontaine covered a smirk with her hand and repeated her offer of a drink. She was a cousin of the Deverauxes from Lafayette. She had gone to Eastern schools and married a chef who was now