Page 92 of His Ruthless Match
I tapped my fingers on the counter impatiently.
“Eva,” Jareth said again, more insistent this time. “Eva, what do you think about the painting? What’s your interpretation?”
I sighed, debating whether to actually respond or just pretend I hadn’t heard him. Before I could decide, the clerk returned, holding a neatly bound stack of papers. Thank fuck.
“Here you go, Ms. Delgado,” she said with a polite smile. “I’m sorry for the wait.”
As I reached for the transcript, the clerk hesitated. “I couldn’t help overhearing your discussion about the painting,” she said, glancing at Jareth. “I actually knew the artist.”
Jareth turned to her, his interest piqued. “Really? Wow, tell me all about him. Or her. Of course, the artist could be female. It just gives off a very masculine vibe.”
The clerk’s face lit up as she leaned closer, clearly thrilled to share her knowledge. “Oh, you wouldn’t believe it. The artist, Samuel Hargrave, grew up in a tiny cabin in the middle of aforest. Trees were his escape and his inspiration. He used to say that each tree had its own soul.”
Jareth tilted his head, his brows furrowing as though he were truly pondering the concept. “Each tree had its own soul?” he repeated, his voice low and reverent, like she’d just shared the meaning of life.
“Yes!” The clerk beamed. “He believed they could communicate with each other through the roots. You know, like a sort of natural network. That’s why his work often includes those intricate root systems weaving together. He wanted to show the connection between everything in nature.”
Jareth nodded, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “That’s deep. So, like… he was saying we’re all connected, even the trees?”
“Exactly!” The clerk clasped her hands together, her excitement palpable. “Hargrave’s philosophy was that humans and trees are all part of one big, interconnected ecosystem. He hoped his paintings would inspire people to respect that connection.”
I stared at Jareth, utterly baffled that he was so enthusiastic about it. He leaned closer to the painting, inspecting the overlapping branches and twisting roots with an intensity I’d never seen him use for anything remotely intellectual.
“So,” he said, turning back to the clerk, “do you think he painted this one from memory, or was it a specific forest?”
“Oh, this one is actually based on a small grove he used to visit in upstate New York,” she replied eagerly. “He said the trees there were his closest friends.”
“Closest friends.” Jareth nodded solemnly. “I mean, these trees do have a kind of... personality.”
I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Are you serious right now?” I interjected, raising an eyebrow at him. “Since when are you into art? Or trees, for that matter?”
“It’s not just about the trees, Delgado. It’s about the connection. The roots. The ecosystem. It’s basically philosophy,” he said with a completely straight face.
I gaped at him. “You’re ridiculous.”
He shrugged, then continued his conversation with the clerk.
I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, trying to hide my impatience. My bladder was nearly bursting again, and I cursed myself for having so much coffee earlier. I should have known better with my propensity for a nervous bladder. The restroom was just down the hall and around the corner. Jareth was so engrossed in the conversation, I could slip away and be back before he even noticed.
I walked briskly down the hallway and rounded the corner toward the restrooms. The faint click of my heels echoed in the quiet space, but then another sound joined it—footsteps, heavier and faster than mine. Before I could process it, a blinding flash went off in my face.
I stumbled back, throwing my hand up to block the light. A man stood in front of me, a camera slung around his neck and his finger clicking the shutter button relentlessly.
“What are you doing?” I snapped.
“Ms. Delgado, where is Genevieve? Why hasn’t she made a statement? Have you stopped representing her?”
I turned away, my heart pounding, and made a beeline for the restroom. The man was faster, though, cutting me off and cornering me against the wall.
“No comment,” I said, trying to sound firm despite the fear creeping in. My mind raced, weighing my options. He was bigger, stronger, and I was alone. No, Jareth would come as soon as the bracelet let him know I was in distress.
The man stepped closer, his camera still clicking. “Just one comment, Ms. Delgado. The public deserves to know?—”
“Back off,” I interrupted, my voice trembling despite my effort to stay calm.
Suddenly, Jareth came barreling around the corner like a freight train, tackling the man to the ground. The camera hit the floor with a sickening crack as Jareth’s fists flew, landing blow after blow.
“Jareth,” I screamed, my voice high and panicked. “Stop! Stop it!”
