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  Complexity

  Maxene Novak

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  The story may be over but

  Chapter 1

  Only a few more strokes, some harder and some softer. I furrowed my brow, making sure each one was perfectly imperfect. My hair was tousled, falling loose from its braid hours ago, strands sticking to my cheeks and the back of my neck. My body was growing sore now, but it was almost done. Just … one … more.

  "Oh thank god," I exhaled, exhausted. My arms fell limp, suddenly relaxing after straining for hours. "I'm done." I slumped back in my chair, letting the rest of my paint fall onto the mats beneath me.

  "It's about time," sneered an all-too-familiar voice, "I thought I'd be dead by the time you finished this one." Ame Sato, my long-time friend and colleague, came walking into my studio. She probably used the key, or Iris let her in. Either way, she strode in with her stilettos echoing on my tarnished hardwood and fell into the couch opposite me. "You really shouldn't procrastinate as much. Iris will hunt you down soon."

  "I turned my cell off, actually." I sighed, using my remaining energy to smirk back at her. Ame was one of my few friends in New York and really the only other artist I considered to be on my level. "I'm sure I've missed a thousand calls and twice as many texts." I laughed, half-wheezing. I thought to myself that I desperately needed a shower.

  "She's frothing at the mouth by now with how sluggish you are." Ame was tapping her fingers lightly one the arm of my couch, creating a steady rhythm. "Hurry up and shower so we can go out already. Oliver has been nagging me for some fun lately, and he doesn't really like anyone else I like."

  "Ugh, sure," I dragged myself forward on the couch. "Some hot water will feel good after that." I grimaced. "Then I should probably call Iris and let her know I finished the last piece for the next show." I dreaded calling her; she hated it when we went past our deadlines to have pieces into the gallery. Iris was mine and Ame's boss; she ran Blank Gallery and essentially made sure Ame and I made money. The downside was that she was a woman who lived only for two things: money and sex. And if we didn't get our art in on time, she didn't get either.

  "I'll tell Oliver to get up here, then we'll drive to the new opening of this other gallery." She tapped on her cell with her black lacquered nails. "Der Platz. It's supposed to be a new German gallery. I want to see it and then we can find a patio." I began stripping in the middle of the room to get in the shower. I could feel some of the half-crusted paint, stretching on my skin and crackling off. Ame was indifferent, but we'd always been that way with each other. She was like a sister at this point, after the amount of time we'd spent together.

  Our first years in New York, we went through one heartbreak after another. We didn't break into the circuit for two years straight, and our debt became insurmountable. Then, one day, Iris noticed our work and decided it would be hers to display. Our lives had been different ever since. Now Ame and I each had our own work studio flats, separate from our apartments.

  I headed into the shower, ready to reward myself after slaving on that last piece. I lingered in the shower, letting the water roll off my back and relieve my sore muscles. I wanted a moment to relax because I was dreading speaking to Iris. After finally hopping out of the shower and toweling off, I turned on my cell. A little sullen, I opened my cell to see 15 missed calls and about 30 text messages; all from Iris.

  I've been waiting all day, Cecelia. Where is my painting you promised would be done today?

  Don't think you can ignore me!

  If I don't see confirmation that that painting is done, not only will you not receive any payment for your other work, but it won't even touch the walls tomorrow night!

  CALL. ME. NOW.

  I grimaced as I called her back, knowing this phone call wouldn't be fun.

  "What the hell, Cecelia?" Iris hissed with perfect enunciation. "Where is that final piece, before I dismantle the rest of your collection here?"

  "I just finished, Iris. It'll be in your gallery within the hour."

  "It fucking had better be."

  "It will be." I hated it when Iris raked me down. "How about you come with us to see Der Platz? Then we can celebrate my continued survival." I heard Iris scoff on the other end.

  "You're lucky I love you, Cecelia." She paused for a moment. "Fine, but I expect there to be sculpted young German men at this gallery or the club." I smiled as her voice softened slightly.

  "I'm sure there will be if it's a German gallery." I slung the towel over my shoulder, eyeing myself in the mirror. "Ugh, I need to hide these bags under my eyes."

  "I can't relate. My man toys keep me youthful." I could practically see her scoffing into her wine glass over the phone.

  "Maybe I'll find someone for myself at Der Platz tonight, then." I finished examining my body, only a little disappointed. "I'll be there in a little while."

  "One hour, Cecelia." She emphasized my name and then the line went dead. Rolling my eyes, I hit end and locked my screen.

  "Did she thoroughly chew you out?" I heard Ame ask from the chair, still not a hair out of place, and lazily tapping her fingers on the armrest. I strode out naked and walked past her to the open wardrobe I kept at the other end of my work studio. I was almost always needing to run off once I'd finished a piece. I chose my favorite, dangerously short, wine-colored Chanel bohemian-style dress.

  "Only a lot. She said we had to meet her within the hour."

  "Of course she did. We should get going then."

  "I know. We'll go once I pick something to wear." I turned to her, smiling a little too sweetly. "And you do my hair and makeup." I chewed on my lip, hoping, then watched Ame groan silently from the couch.

  "How did you survive in New York this long?" Her voice was thick with disapproval. "Get me your wand and your makeup. I'm not getting off this couch until it's time to go out and party. And go let Oliver in before he kills one of us." She shooed me away towards the door while I clapped my hands, giddy that she agreed. It was a guilty pleasure of mine to have people touch my hair and handle my style.

  "Honestly, I don't know why I trust either of you with time management," Oliver complained as we rode the elevator together. "You two are never on time."

  "Really, it's your fault for relying on us after however many years." I winked, shrugging my shoulders playfully. Oliver had met Ame right around when she hit the scene. At the time, Oliver was a well-known architect and an even better-known bachelor of New York. They met at Ame's gallery debut weekend, and when Ame wants something, she doesn't stop working for it until she gets it. Oliver was no different. The obvious band around his ring finger was proof enough.

  "You're such an ass sometimes." Oliver criticized with mock attitude, jabbing me.

  "You knew what you were getting into when you decided we'd be friends."

  "I had no choice. You two were always around each other."

  "That and I'm wonderful." Giggling, I flipped my hair dramatically as his eyes rolled.r />
  "Sorry, Oliver." Ame called sweetly from the couch when the elevator doors opened directly into my suite. "Cece's a mess and needs my artistry to make her presentable in public." Oliver snorted. I headed to my kitchen, which was almost entirely stocked with varying wines and carbs. I was about to take out three glasses and a bottle when I saw Oliver ogling my empty couch.

  "Sure, dear." He kissed her cheek from behind, squeezing her hand before he sat on the opposite couch. "Maybe if you two understood the concept of time."

  "Oliver, dear, you should know better by now."

  "That's what I said."

  "I'm going to sleep now," Oliver said, maddened by us.

  "You. Sit. Now." She turned her hawk-like gaze on me and I scurried over, plunking myself down in front of her with the wine and glasses. I rested my head on her lap, dodging her Louboutin stilettos as she kicked them off.

  "Make me pretty." I handed her a glass of Merlot as a present for styling me tonight.

  Once she'd finished with me, I felt completely refreshed and ready for a night of rooftop patios. I nudged Ame's kneecap and nodded in Oliver's direction. He'd fallen asleep for a while and was now snoring audibly.

  "Not much grace from a man that designs elegance for a living." We both giggled while she woke him up. I ran over to my wardrobe, my bohemian waves bouncing, and pulled out matching Chanel platform heels with a black Chanel clutch and met them at the door.

  "Forgetting something?" Ame crossed her arms, one lacquered finger sticking out to point at my easel.

  "Shit, sorry." I propped it under my arm and met them back at the door. Ame shook her head, a smirk crossing her face.

  "You're literally hopeless, Cece." She opened the door and scooted Oliver out first. "At least we'll be on time for the drop-off."

  "I do my best." Ame locked up for me so I could haul the feature piece into Oliver's Cadillac SUV. It wasn't until we saw Iris that my show pieces really hit me.

  "Iris, have I ever told you how amazing you are?"

  "Not nearly enough." She whisked my feature away to prep it for the main wall. I could never really appreciate my artwork until it was hanging in a place like this. I could see it from an entirely new perspective, and that always amazed me.

  "Is the wine in the usual place?" Ame strode across the open space for the back room.

  "It wouldn't matter if she did move it," I said as Ame dug out four glasses. "You'd always find it."

  "I'm nothing without my art." Ame did a flourish with her arm with the wine bottle in her hand. "Anyways, let's get going once Iris finishes her design." Ame handed me a full glass before sipping some of her own. "She has a meltdown if everything isn't set up the night before."

  "I heard that, you ingrates," she called from her framing room. "However, I'll find it in my heart to forgive your rudeness if there's a wine glass in my hand when I walk by." On cue, she glided past with her hand outstretched. Ame set the glass in her hand seamlessly as she went by. "I will admit, this is beautiful work, Cecelia." Somehow, Iris managed to hang the feature piece one-handed while drinking her Merlot simultaneously. I may be an artist, but Iris had her own set of skills, like making my work more beautiful than it actually was.

  "I never know until I've seen them after you'd had your way with them." I took a generous sip from my Merlot. Iris cat-walked her way over to us, her wine already half gone.

  "I know I'm good." Iris sighed with satisfaction. She finished her glass completely, reaching past us for her Louis Vuitton bag. "We can finish the wine on the way to Der Platz." She carried the bottle in her other hand and walked out onto the street as if she owned it. I loved the force-of-nature part of Iris' and Ame's personalities. They both always took what they wanted. I liked to think my looks and body made up for my relaxed temperament.

  "Thank god, you were right, Cecelia." Iris sighed as we entered the German gallery. All of the servers were absurdly gorgeous European men wearing clothes that were too tight for their muscles. Iris must be in heaven. I laughed at her comment, appreciating them myself.

  "This is why I'm glad you like Cece, Oliver," Ame clarified. "I don't want to be stuck here alone while these two attack men all night." Oliver had Ame on his arm, and I couldn't help but stare. Oliver had opted to change into a charcoal suit with his tie and pocket square matching Ame's streak of red on the edge of her straight-cut bangs. They were stunning together.

  "I have to," I argued. "Looking at you two pieces of perfection is depressing."

  "Go play." Ame shooed me away with the flick of her wrist, taking Oliver with her to look at the art. I was in the middle of examining a zoomed-in portrait of a modest-looking woman when I felt the stare of someone behind me.

  "Her name is Karin," the man informed me, coming to stand next to me. "Her husband owns this gallery." I barely registered what he was saying because everything about him exuded power and dominance; it was overwhelmingly arousing. He removed his hands from his pockets to extend one to me. Even his hands looked strong, like he could take hold of me any way he wanted. "Nikolas Bertrand." I held out an easy hand, thanking the wine for dulling my senses; otherwise I'd be all over him.

  "Cecelia Garrison." His grip was firm, but his palms were warm and soft. It was lighting a fire inside me. What kind of man had fallen into my lap?

  "You follow European artists?" I needed to know more about him.

  "No, I partnered with him since he promised this art avenue would be beneficial for me. Now that I'm here, though, I have my doubts." Whatever fire he'd kindled, he just as quickly extinguished it. An asshole. An asshole had fallen into my lap.

  "It's odd for someone to invest in something they hate, no?" I asked bluntly. I felt my blood icing in my veins after he insulted my profession so plainly.

  "Investments are investments." The more he spoke, the less I wanted to hear.

  "Well, all the best in your future endeavors." I pivoted to leave. "Enjoy your evening, Mr. Bertrand." I began walking in the opposite direction of him, only for his firm grip to wrap around my arm, holding me in place. The touch of him sent trails of heat down my body.

  "Call me Nikolas," he corrected. His tone held such authority, I found it hard to deny him. Another part of me considered refusing, entertaining thoughts of spankings. No, he was clearly an asshole. I could easily find some other beautiful man to wrap my legs around tonight.

  "Good night, Nikolas," I affirmed. I tugged on my arm, forcing him to release me so that I could be free. I walked as slowly as possible, making my hips sway devilishly before his eyes.

  "Let's find a patio somewhere," I announced to Ame and Oliver. The two were against a wall, lazily sipping their drinks. "I've had enough of this place." Ame's eyebrow raised.

  "I didn't think the gallery was that bad."

  "It's not. I actually like it a lot. It's the people inside it that irritate me." I couldn’t help but think about Nikolas' hands running themselves all over me, but I quickly killed the thought.

  "Fine by me. I don't care for art other than you two." Oliver could be really sweet when he wanted to be. It was a shame he generally disliked others.

  By the third patio, I was happily clinking shot glasses with Iris, Ame, and Oliver. After we downed them, I saw one. I levelled my gaze at a blond man who'd been eyeing me for a while now. He made his way over, prowling with an animalist sway just the way I liked. In my lifestyle, timid men couldn't survive.

  "Mind if I sit next to you?" His voice sounded like honey. I wagered he tasted sweet. "Julian Horne, senior editor." His eyes simmered, drawing me in.

  "Not at all." I shifted so that he could watch my legs uncross and cross again. "Cecelia Garrison, artist for Blank Gallery." I gave him my sultry smile, beckoning him.

  "So, what are you celebrating tonight?" He smirked, relaxing his hand on the back of the couch we were on.

  "How do you know I'm celebrating?" I challenged. I was relaxed, confident, and oh so sexy. He was only wearing a heather-blue V-neck T-shirt with kh
aki joggers, but his carefree demeanor pulled it off with ease.

  "I always assume people go to clubs and patios for some kind of release, if it's for one reason or another." His relaxed tone with implied meaning spurred me on; I relaxed back into the couch, leaning into him closer.

  "How perceptive." I could smell his cologne this close. "I just finished my current art collection for an upcoming gallery showing."

  "Ah, so I was right."

  "To be fair, I celebrate a lot." I matched his implications, drawing myself nearer to him. He smelled and looked like the type of heaven I wanted to be in. He noticed my advances and dropped his arm on my shoulder, letting his hand caress down mine, igniting a burning ache for him.

  "Why don't we have our own celebration, then?" God, yes.

  "Why don't you get us a drink to toast to?" His smile flashed across his face, his tongue licking the back of his teeth. I wanted his tongue on me. Sometimes I wished I could control my cravings for men, but I was glad tonight wasn't one of those times.

  My cravings were all but squashed when Julian got up. His seat was swiftly filled by a divinely attractive man in a black three-piece suit with a hatred for art.

  "I don't think I've ever had to pursue a beautiful woman before in my life," Nikolas said. His tone was light, but his eyes were burning. I squeezed my legs together, holding back sudden urges.

  "Unfortunately, I'm not interested in men who don't find me to be a beneficial investment." I watched as his eyes momentarily realized his misstep earlier, but he quickly regained his composure.

  "You are hardly the same kind of investment, Cecelia." His gaze focused on me, his hands sliding its way onto my bare thigh, making my nipples harden. It was impossible not to be drawn to him. Thankfully, Julian had returned from the bar, holding two fizzing red drinks.

  "Looks like you made a friend," Julian commented casually. He seemed completely unbothered by Nikolas' presence. "The more, the merrier." He passed me my drink, redirecting his gaze to Nikolas. It was the same look he'd given me initially. So Julian liked to "celebrate" with men and women. I took a liberal sip of my drink, exploring the possibilities.