Page 18 of Beneath Your Beautiful
“Greenpoint. And yes.”
“Was that your dad who came in earlier?”
“Uh huh,” he said, staring straight ahead at the windshield.
“I like your hair. You have great hair,” I blurted out, and immediately regretted it. Why had I said that? Where was my filter?
He clenched his jaw so tight, I heard his molars grinding. “Next time I send you away, don’t hang around eavesdropping. That conversation was none of your damn business.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t know—”
“Now you do,” he said, his tone harsh and his jaw set. I knew all he wanted was for me to get out of his car and leave him alone, so that was what I did.
As I was unlocking the front door of my building, I heard his engine idling. I wasn’t entirely surprised he waited until I was inside, but it was nice he cared about my safety, I guess. When I got inside, I watched through the frosted glass window as Killian pulled away, and I kept watching until his taillights disappeared.
Upstairs, I dragged out all my art supplies, set up my easel and stool in a corner by the living room window, and attached a fresh canvas to a piece of plywood with a bull clip. I squeezed the tubes of paints onto my palette, mixed the colors, and painted. Bold brushstrokes. Great washes of color. Curves and broken lines. Building up the surface and destroying it again. Moving the paint around on the entire surface. I kept painting, losing all track of time, until the sky outside my window was streaked with orange and pink, then changed to a pale yellow.
Out of the chaos, something resembling art began to emerge. When I stood back and looked at my work, the painting reminded me of Killian. It was wild and turbulent, dark, and tension-filled, with slivers of light showing through the cracks. A beautiful, chaotic mess.
Chapter Eight
Eden
“What’s this?” Killian asked, looking at the Tupperware container I set on the desk next to his computer. He was sitting on the leather swivel chair, typing something. I noticed he used the hunt and peck method, typing with his index fingers.
“Chocolate chip cookies. They’re for you. I mean, you could share, but I baked them for you.”
He leaned back in his chair and pulled the container into his lap. “You baked them? For me?” The way he said it, you’d think I’d just given him the Taj Mahal. He pried open the lid and looked inside, a perplexed look on his face.
“Do you like chocolate chip cookies?”
“Yeah. I like them. But why?” he asked, his brows knitted, like he couldn’t make sense of why someone would do something nice for him.
I shrugged. I wasn’t entirely sure why I baked him cookies. I was in the grocery store, saw the bag of Nestle chocolate chips, and thought about the things Killian’s dad said to him. Since I’d been the one to bring it up in the car, I wanted to make it better. When we were kids, if we had a bad day at school, my mom always baked with us. While we baked cookies or cupcakes or brownies, we talked about our problems, and by the time we’d finished licking the bowl and spoons, we’d always felt better. Chocolate chip cookies wouldn’t take the sting out of his dad’s words, but I offered them anyway.
“Just to say thank you,” I said. “For giving me a job.”
Ava walked into the office and did a double-take. She looked at the cookies, then at Killian, over to me, and back to Killian. “You’re eating cookies?” She raised her brows as Killian took a bite.
He didn’t answer, because it was obvious he was. “Wow. This is epic. Can I get a photo?”
Killian narrowed his eyes, but didn’t respond. I didn’t understand what the big deal was, and nobody bothered explaining it to me. But Killian seemed happy with his cookies, so that was good enough for me. It only dawned on me later—I’d never baked chocolate chip cookies for Luke.
* * *
My fifth shift at the bar, and I was starting to feel more competent. I was working with Killian and Louis, who was no stranger to the gym. He had a shaved head, his dark skin so smooth and glossy, I was tempted to ask if he waxed it.
Luckily, Louis was a good guy, and he was okay with Killian hiring me.
Although they co-owned the bar, the entire staff took their problems to Killian first. I didn’t know whether it was because Killian was the dominant alpha male, a natural leader, or just a bigger control freak than Louis, who was more laidback and easygoing.
On the first night I’d worked with Louis, he answered the question without me having to ask. “Killian needs to take control of a situation. He doesn’t know any other way.”
“It doesn’t bother you?”
“I let Killian do what he needs to do. But when he takes it too far, I wade in and make nice with the people he pisses off.”
I laughed. “But you guys are good friends?”
