Page 62 of His to Possess
The vehicle took a sharp turn, and I gripped the armrest, my resolve faltering for a moment. But I steadied myself, focusing on the rush of wind outside. I needed to stay sharp and be ready for whatever came next. I had let Rex control too much already, and I refused to let him push me around any longer.
A sharp pang of regret hit me as I remembered the night of the silent challenge. That brief moment when he had held me, when I had seen a glimmer of something real in his eyes—was it all just an act? I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to him than he let on, and I intended to find out.
As we turned a corner, my thoughts, always on edge these days, veered toward Alain and the threat he posed. The manila envelope, weighted with falsehoods, sat at the bottom of my handbag. I could almost feel its presence, a tangible reminder of the danger I faced.
My fingers brushed against the smooth leather, tracing its shape without actually touching it. I knew what was inside, I had memorized every detail, but my mind replayed it nonetheless. The fabricated emails, the doctored photos, each piece of evidence carefully crafted to implicate me. I could see the signatures, the dates, the faint watermark on the paper, all pointing to me as if I were the mastermind of a scheme that had destroyed lives and artworks.
Foolishly, I thought Alain had ruined my life enough and that he wouldn't come back to cause more trouble. Clearly, I couldn't have been more wrong. That man has no morals and cares about nothing in this world except himself. Right now, whatever his newest obsession is, it's the only thing he can see clearly.
How did I end up in this situation again?
The whole thing made me sick to my stomach. My breathing turned shallow as the walls felt closer, closing in on me. Could I ever prove my innocence? The impossibility of it weighed on me. Each path forward seemed more treacherous than the last. I pulled my hand away from my bag, willing myself to stop obsessing. But the fear crept up again, accompanied by a dizzying sense of powerlessness. What could I do? Accept Alain's terms and become complicit in his illicit schemes, or refuse and risk everything? My career, my freedom, the chance to rebuild what had been lost, it was all on the line.
I took a deep breath, willing my mind to focus on something positive. Anything to distract me from the crushing weight of Alain's threat and Rex's silence. My thoughts drifted to work, to the projects that had consumed my days.
Rex's collection. Despite everything, I couldn't help but feel a surge of pride as I recalled the meticulous notes I had taken. Each piece was carefully examined, its history and provenance recorded with painstaking detail. I pictured the Monet I had assessed the previous week, my fingers ghosting over its surfaceas I searched for signs of age and authenticity. The thrill of confirming its legitimacy still lingered.
I wish Rex were there to see it, too. After all, that was partially why he had hired me. I wanted to show him the progress I had made, since, even in his absence, I stuck to his schedule for whatever foolish reason, which meant I was advancing rather quickly.
Then there was my other project. A small smile tugged at my lips as I thought about the project outline I had prepared for August. It was thorough, professional, a testament to my expertise and dedication. I had poured hours into researching the local artists whose work we would be restoring, ensuring each piece received the respect and care it deserved. The thought of mentoring students and passing on my knowledge and passion filled me with a warm sense of purpose.
But it was the Turner watercolor that truly ignited my excitement. I closed my eyes, picturing its delicate brushstrokes, the way the light seemed to dance across the stormy seascape. The initial lab results had been promising—the pigments were consistent with Turner's early work, and the paper dated to the correct period. My heart raced as I recalled the moment I had first suspected its true origins.
I opened my eyes, realizing my breathing had steadied. The interior didn't feel quite so suffocating anymore. My work, my passion—it was a lifeline amid all this chaos. Whatever happened with Rex, whatever Alain had planned, I still had this. My expertise, my dedication, my love for art. It was a part of me that couldn't be taken away.
The car glided to a stop, and I spotted August standing on the sidewalk, his smile warm and inviting. I took a steadying breath, smoothing down my jacket and forcing a smile. It was a measured expression, one that didn't give away the turmoil inside. As I stepped out, I pushed my personal struggles to theback of my mind, determined to focus solely on the meeting ahead. August's demeanor, his whole aura, was a welcome respite from the tension that had been consuming me.
"Laurel, you look radiant as always. Come, let's grab a table inside." His charm was effortless, and I felt myself relax just a little as we walked into the familiar warmth of The Stuart & Oak. This had become our spot, one where we spent a significant amount of time and felt right at home. By now, the waiters knew both our names, although I was aware that mine came from my affiliation with him.
I shook off the chilly breeze and followed August inside, my senses immediately awakened by the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the murmur of conversations. My eyes scanned the room, taking in the natural light streaming through the windows and the comfortable buzz of brunch patrons. I remembered the first time August had brought me here—a friendly gesture disguised as a professional meeting. Today was no different, I reminded myself. Keep it professional.
"Shall we get our usual table?" August asked with a small smile.
I nodded, falling into step beside him as we made our way to our familiar spot. It was a cozy corner table, offering a partial view of the street outside through the large windows. I took a seat, feeling the soft cushion beneath me, and placed my handbag on the table. For a moment, it was time to relax and let go of all my other worries. This was the time I wanted to dedicate specifically to the project we worked on together.
The waiter approached, and we placed our orders. August leaned back in his chair, his eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made my heart skip a beat. His gaze was probing, as if searching for cracks in the mask I presented to the world. I felt a brief moment of panic, wondering if the turmoil I had been carrying was etched on my face.
"You seem distracted today." His voice was gentle, almost concerned. "Something on your mind?"
I took a steadying breath, meeting his gaze. "I suppose I am a bit preoccupied lately. Work has been intense, and some personal matters require my attention." I waved my hand dismissively. "Nothing to worry about, though, and I assure you, nothing that will affect my work in any way, shape or form."
"I'm not concerned about that. I only want to ensure your well-being." That was one person who thought about it, at least. The waiter returned with our drinks, and we paused momentarily as he set down our coffee and water. Once we were alone again, August leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, his eyes intent. "I have to say, the way you've thrown yourself into this restoration project is impressive."
I felt a flush of pride at his words, grateful for the reprieve from the relentless anxiety of recent days. "Thank you. It's been a labor of love, really. The chance to work on these historical pieces and mentor students is a dream come true."
His eyes sparkled with genuine enthusiasm. "Exactly! I knew you were the right person for the job. Your expertise, combined with your teaching skills, have elevated the entire initiative."
I nodded, grateful for the chance to dive into a topic I was passionate about. As our food arrived, August and I settled into an animated discussion about the restoration project. We bounced ideas back and forth, our enthusiasm growing with each passing minute. I found myself gesturing excitedly as I explained the intricacies of a particular piece we were working on, and August listened intently, offering insightful questions and suggestions.
The conversation flowed easily, touching on everything from the historical significance of the artworks to the logistics of working with student volunteers. Before I knew it, our plates were empty, and I realized we had been talking for well over anhour. It was a welcome distraction from the stress that had been weighing on me.
The mood shifted, and I felt August's gaze on me, sharp and probing. The initial warmth of our conversation faded, replaced by a tension that made my skin prickle. I shifted in my seat, suddenly aware of how exposed I felt under his scrutiny.
"Laurel, I didn't want to bring this up, but you look exhausted. Is everything alright?" His voice was laced with concern.
I opened my mouth to deflect, but the words caught in my throat. "I've… had some difficulties recently," I admitted, hating how my voice wavered. "It's nothing I can't handle."
August sighed, the sound heavy with something I couldn't quite place. "Is Rex giving you trouble?"
