Snowed In with Her Ex (11 page)

This part of the gallery was a white-walled rectangle with track lighting to illuminate the art. Bree was facing four pictures, each showcasing a part of Nashville that she loved. She had never been more proud of her work than she was tonight. Yet her heart was heavy. She’d wanted to believe that Ian meant what he’d said when he told her he’d be here come hell or high water. Just like she’d wanted to believe him back in school. But the results were just the same. She was alone. Forgotten. Discarded.

“Bree!”

She looked up to see Ian burst into the room. He looked panicked. Frantic. And he should. There were only five other guests in the gallery. Catering was breaking down. The party was over. And here he was. She supposed she should be pleased that he arrived at all, but at the moment, she just couldn’t make herself appreciate that fact.

Bree stood slowly. She turned toward him as he approached her, but she didn’t go to him the way he expected her to. She knew that by the way he stopped short of pulling her into his arms.

He stood awkwardly a few feet away, a bundle of white daisies in his hands. They were her favorite flower, but she didn’t know if he remembered that or if it was just a good guess. Either way, a couple of flowers couldn’t make up for what he’d missed.

“These are for you,” he said, holding out the bouquet.

“Thanks.” Bree accepted them, but it didn’t do much to soften the hard, armored exterior she’d built up waiting for him to arrive.

“I’m so sorry I’m late. I can explain,” he began, but Bree didn’t want to hear it.

“You don’t have to explain, Ian. I was expecting this,” she said with a sad shake of her head. “I didn’t want to be right. I hoped I was mistaken, but I knew how this night would end.”

He looked mildly stunned by her cold response. Apparently he thought flowers and a good excuse would get him off the hook. “How does it end?”

“It ends with you going your way and me going mine. Just the way it should have when we left the mountains. You and I both know we were putting off the inevitable by trying to make things work between us.”

“No,” Ian argued, reaching out to touch her shoulder, but she pulled away. “Bree, listen to me. I was on my way here when Missy barged into my office and threatened to sue me. I dealt with her as quickly as I could and rushed over here. I didn’t want to miss this. Tonight was supposed to be special. I wouldn’t have deliberately ruined it.”

Bree shrugged. It sounded like a pretty fantastic story, but the truth was it didn’t matter why he’d missed the show. A pileup on the expressway. An emergency with one of his artists. A flat tire in the rain. There was always something and there always would be. That was just the kind of man he was.

“I’m sorry to hear you’re having more trouble with Missy,” she said. “But I’m not interested in excuses, Ian. My father was always full of excuses and apologies. He never blew off school programs or special events on purpose. He wanted to come, but time and time again, his work interfered and he’d promise to make it up to me next time. I don’t blame you for being late. At the same time, I don’t have to tolerate it, either.”

Bree watched a parade of emotions move across Ian’s face. Each of them lasted only a second, every one different from the next, leaving her unsure of what he was thinking or feeling. At least until he spoke.

“
Tolerate
it? You don’t have to tolerate it?” Ian repeated her words with incredulity. He took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair. “You know, that’s funny you should say that considering what I’ve tolerated with you over the past week and a half.”

Bree was taken aback by the unexpected assault of words. What had she forced him to tolerate? Her cooking? An unwanted photo session? “With me? Like what?”

“Like your constant needling to change me. You act like you want to be with me, Bree, but you really don’t. You want to be with that coffee-shop musician from nine years ago. You practically shoved that guitar into my hands, nagging me until I had no choice but to play or listen to you go on about it. You didn’t give a damn how I felt about the whole thing. I had good reasons for not playing that guitar, but you didn’t care. When you looked at me, all you saw was this fantasy musician you lost and were desperate to get back. Never mind what I wanted. Never mind what was healthy for me. You wanted what you wanted and you were determined to get your way.”

“How dare you! You’re acting like I forced you into a life of crime instead of convincing you to face the fact that you’re unhappy with your life. You miss your music, but you just won’t admit it to yourself because you’re afraid to play and fail again. Don’t pin your insecurities on me just because I’ve been successful. I told you the other night that I didn’t love you just because of your music. I love you for you and I just wanted you to be happy again. I’m sorry if that makes me into some kind of harpy.”

Ian flinched at her words, his gaze narrowing at her. “Yeah, Bree,” he said at last with a mocking bitterness underlying his words. “I’m sure you’re only interested in my mental health and well-being.”

Bree could feel her entire face flush in anger. Her heart pumped furiously in her chest, making the sound of her blood racing in her ears almost deafening. She glanced around the room and noticed that everyone was gone now. She didn’t know if they’d left on their own or the scene she was causing with Ian had made them uncomfortable and driven them away. She supposed it didn’t matter at this point. It was better not to have an audience for this, anyway.

“You know, my father made it tonight,” she said. “The King of Emergencies. The Duke of Last-Minute Meetings. He was here for once in his life. On time. He sat through the entire introduction of me and my work, staying around to look at every picture. When he left tonight, he told me he was so glad he could be here and how proud he was of me.”

Ian didn’t respond to that. He just stood there, watching her with a tightly clenched jaw.

“And sitting here, alone, I realized how pathetic it was that I was so pleased he came. Somehow it negated the twenty-eight years he missed. And it shouldn’t have, but I wanted his approval so badly. I wanted him here for my big showing. That’s all I wanted from you.”

Ian swallowed hard, considering her words. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be here for you tonight. I’m here now. I brought you flowers. I was prepared to...” His voice trailed off and he shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Apparently that’s just not good enough. You know, all I ever wanted from you was to be accepted the way I am. Most people would be pleased with a wealthy, successful businessman, but not you. No matter what I do, I’m never good enough. I got enough of that from my father and my college advisors. I certainly don’t need it from you.”

Bree felt a momentary hitch in her chest. “You are good enough, Ian. You’re more than good enough. You are an exceptional person. The only person who doesn’t believe it is you, but how can I convince you of that when all you hear are criticisms?”

“So you’re saying it’s my own fault I feel like a loser? Thanks, Bree. That really helps.”

“No! I would never—”

Ian held up his hand to interrupt her. “No. It’s okay. You’re allowed to feel however you want to feel. But know that we’re adults now. We’re not kids anymore. And adults have responsibilities.
I
have responsibilities. I would’ve loved to have been here with you tonight, but it just didn’t happen. I had to do what I could to protect my employees, my artists and their families. Instead of standing here looking at some amazing pictures, I was being threatened by a woman who wants to take away everything I’ve worked years to build. I’m sorry if you don’t agree with my priorities, but I had to make a decision and that’s what I chose.”

For a moment, Bree wanted to stop the fight and find out what happened with Missy. This had obviously been more than her usual diva hissy fit. But she didn’t get the chance.

Ian gestured toward his throat. “I’ve had it up to here with criticism today. We’re obviously fighting an uphill battle. I don’t have the time or the energy to waste on this...because I’m so busy,” he said, bitterly mocking her criticisms. “You can’t accept me the way I am, so I guess you’re right about us going our separate ways tonight. There’s no point in this relationship going any further.”

Bree felt a sharp pain in her chest, as though he’d finally driven the dagger into her heart. It knocked the wind out of her, took away whatever fight she had left. Despite what she said, she didn’t want to lose him, even if it was for the best. She was broken. “Fine,” she said quietly, her lips nearly trembling with the tears she was struggling to hold back.

Ian nodded, his expression solemn, his green eyes moving over her face without really seeing anything. “Congratulations on your showing tonight. I’m sure it was well received. Good luck with your future endeavors.”

At that, Ian turned and walked out.

Bree watched him go, then slumped back down onto the bench. This night was good and truly ruined.

Eleven

“A
re you just going to sit around the house all day?”

Ian looked up from his long-standing perch on the couch to see his housekeeper, Winnie, glaring at him through the doorway. She had a vacuum at her side and a look of disgust on her face. That wasn’t good. He was obviously cramping her style.

“Maybe,” he said, being honest. He didn’t have plans to get off this couch anytime soon. He was just going to sit here until he figured out what do to. So far, no luck. Perhaps he should have taken off more than two days from work. “Why?”

The older woman walked into the room and crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, I have things to do and for once you’re actually underfoot. You don’t pay me to just sit around and watch you mope.”

Ian’s brow went up at Winnie’s sharp tone. “I’m not stopping you from working. Just vacuum around me. Or clean the other four-thousand square feet I’m not occupying. And I’m
not
moping,” he added.

“Sure you’re not. You’re home in your pajamas instead of at work in a suit. You’re strumming your guitar and playing moody songs instead of guiding the careers of your artists. Not to mention that I found
fifteen
candy bar wrappers in the trash can this morning. Tell me you’re not moping.”

Ian looked at Winnie and frowned. Had he really eaten that many? So maybe he
was
moping. So what? “I’ve had a rough couple of weeks. Am I not allowed to take a little time to deal with all of it?”

Winnie came over to the couch and sat beside him. “Of course you are, Ian. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through with Missy and then, so soon after, with Bree. I’m just worried because I’ve never seen you like this. Not in the five years I’ve worked for you. Not even after you found out Missy was pregnant—and don’t bother trying to tell me you were happy about that because I know you weren’t.

“You’ve been as precise as Swiss clockwork for the past five years and it wasn’t until now that you’ve gotten me worried.” Winnie gestured toward the guitar. “I didn’t even know you played the guitar, Ian. I’ve been cleaning this place all these years and have never run across one. Or sheet music. Or a picture or anything that would make me think you even played an instrument. Where did this one come from?”

“From the mountain house. I brought it home with me. This is the guitar I bought myself when I was thirteen.”

“Why haven’t you ever played music around here before?”

“I gave it up when I dropped out of school and started working for the record company.”

“Why?”

Ian sighed. He’d just been through all this with Bree. He didn’t really want to rehash it, especially because now he realized it had been the wrong choice and justifying his actions was more difficult. “Because I wasn’t any good.”

“That’s funny,” Winnie noted. “You’ve sounded pretty good to me.”

“Thanks, Winnie.” Ian wasn’t fishing for a compliment, but he appreciated it, anyway. It made him feel good to have someone other than Bree tell him that, even though Winnie’s praise felt more like that of a mother.

“So what’s changed that you’re playing again all of a sudden? Wait,” she said, “let me guess. It’s about Bree.”

He nodded. “She encouraged me to start up again. I used to play when we were dating in college.”

“Well, she was right,” Winnie said. “You’re good. You should play more often.”

Ian sighed. “I just don’t have the time, Winnie. You know I’m always working. I’m either at the studio or working here in my office.”

“What about when you were snowed in all that time? Did the world unravel?”

“No,” he admitted.

“Did your well-trained employees handle everything while you were away?”

“Yes.” Keith had gone above and beyond, as had several others at the studio. He’d already put in some paperwork with payroll to give them bonuses. They deserved it.

“So why do you have to do everything?”

That made Ian frown. It was his company. Why wouldn’t he? “What do you mean?”

“You have worked yourself to the bone for years building this label. You’ve achieved success. Things are going well. You don’t have to work as hard anymore. You’ve just admitted that you have competent staff. Why not take a step back? Let them take on greater responsibility?”

“I’m not just going to sit back—”

“I’m not suggesting you stop going in to the office,” Winnie interrupted. “I’m suggesting that you don’t have to be responsible for everything. You always put work first because you think that’s the only way to be successful. But you’re allowed to have a life outside of the office. If that life includes music or a family, great. And even if you just spend all your free time in the bathtub playing with rubber duckies, it’s up to you. But don’t waste any more time telling yourself you can’t do it.”

She was right. He paid her to help run his life, to almost fill the role of a wife, and she did it well. She was an incredible cook, she was well organized and she was an excellent sounding board. He didn’t know how many times he’d solved a problem by talking it over with Winnie while she cooked or ironed clothes. He needed to give Winnie a raise, too. He’d get his accountant on that immediately.

Winnie patted him on knee. “I’ve seen you work miracles with your business over the years, Ian. You can do anything you want. Why can’t you do this?”

At that, Winnie leaned in to give him a peck on the cheek, then stood. “Okay, enough with the pep talk. This very special episode of
Blossom
is over. Now, get out of the living room so I can clean.”

“Thanks, Winnie,” he said with a chuckle. Ian got off the couch and grabbed the neck of his guitar. He carried it with him into his office. Once inside, he stopped, not quite sure why he’d come in here. He didn’t want to open his laptop and get sucked into work. He’d taken today off deliberately. So, then what?

He walked over to his leather executive chair and settled into it. With the guitar across his lap, he strummed it gently and tried to think about what he wanted to do next. He liked his office. For whatever reason, it had good energy and he was able to come up with great ideas when he worked from this space. Perhaps it would shake out some plans today, too.

What he knew was that he had made a mistake with Bree. A critical one. That was what had trapped him on the couch in a state of suspended activity while he tried to figure out what to do about it. He’d relived it in his mind. How he could’ve changed it. What he could’ve said to make Bree smile instead of going for the jugular when he was pushed.

The drama with Missy couldn’t have been foreseen, but it just as easily could’ve been one of a dozen different emergencies that cropped up from time to time. The truth was that he could’ve handled it better.

Now he found himself in a quandary. If it was anyone but Bree, he would bury himself in his work and forget about her. But doing that would just prove her right. And it would leave him alone with nothing to show for his time with her but an old guitar, a broken heart and a diamond engagement ring.

It seemed crazy to have bought her a ring so quickly, but it didn’t feel quick with Bree. It felt as though they’d been together forever.

Ian opened his nearest desk drawer and reached inside. He pulled out the small velvet box and opened it to look at the ring. The three-carat oval diamond was encircled with a halo of micro-pavé diamonds and set in a platinum band inset with more micro-pavé diamonds. He’d known it was perfect for Bree the moment he saw it. It was elegant yet playful, a ring that would go just as well with a gown as a pair of jeans and sneakers.

It belonged to her, even though he hadn’t given it to her yet. He wanted Bree to have it. And he wanted her to know how much he truly loved her. The problem was that Bree would never feel like she was important. He had to show her how much he cared. How sorry he was about their fight and missing her show. Flashing a diamond wouldn’t be enough. She’d look at that as the same kind of bribes her father had always offered.

But words wouldn’t do, either. Bree had spent her whole life hearing platitudes and excuses from her father and from Ian back when they dated in school. He could promise her the sun, moon and stars, but it wouldn’t mean a damn to her until he handed her a planetary body. Especially after the blowup Sunday night. He’d proved to her that his promises meant nothing, even when he had the best of intentions.

Bree would only believe his actions. So action he would take.

Briana Harper has done what few artists in Nashville have been able to do—capture the heart and soul of a town and its people.

Gretchen held the newspaper in her hand and read Bree’s long-awaited review aloud at the Monday-morning business meeting.

Armed with a camera, she was able to see beyond the rhinestone-studded facade to the indomitable spirit that has long characterized the people and the ideals of Nashville. I predict this is just the beginning of a long and successful career for Ms. Harper.

It had been a week since the showing. The review had been published in the Sunday paper, but Bree hadn’t been able to read it. She’d brought it into the office for someone else to read it first. As it turned out, she had chewed her fingernails to the quick for no reason. The show had been very well received. Apparently the art critic had left before Ian showed up and their shouting match outshined the photography.

Bree’s three business partners applauded, making her cheeks flush with embarrassment.

“An excellent show, my dear,” Amelia said. “We should have champagne instead of Starbucks this morning.”

“Champagne at nine in the morning?” Natalie asked, looking mildly scandalized in her sensible black cashmere sweater.

Amelia just shrugged. She wasn’t as bothered by breaking social norms. “Why not? We have a massive stock of wines in the other room.”

“A celebratory latte is just fine. Thank you for picking them up, Natalie.”

“Of course,” Natalie said with a polite smile. “It’s Monday.”

Routines were routines. As such, Bree set aside the newspaper and fired up her tablet. It was time to discuss the Williams wedding and talk about upcoming events. The Williams event had been large and for that, Bree was thankful. She’d been a wreck the first few days after her show and her fight with Ian. The wedding had forced her to pull herself together and focus on the intricacies of her work.

She’d like to return to that focus now. Talking about the show would just make her think of how it had ended. She accepted the folded newspaper from Gretchen and laid it on top of her notebook.

“You don’t seem very happy with your review, Bree.” Amelia was frowning at her.

Bree glanced down at the glowing review and pasted a smile on her face. “Of course I’m happy. I’m thrilled. I couldn’t have asked for a better write-up. The Whitman Gallery has already called and asked to keep the collection on display for another week. This could lead to another, possibly bigger, show. And this review should bring in more business for From This Moment, too. It’s great promotion.”

“We don’t need more business,” Gretchen noted. “We’re booked solid for the next year and a half. We really should’ve scheduled ourselves a vacation or two in there.”

“We get the week between Christmas and New Year’s Eve off,” Natalie pointed out.

Gretchen nodded. “I’ll try to remember that the other fifty-one weeks a year.”

“We can take vacations,” Natalie argued. “We just have to stagger them. Amelia is going to her high school reunion soon. You could take time off if you wanted to. We just can’t all go at once.”

Gretchen and Natalie started bickering about the intricacies of their corporate leave policy. Bree tuned out, opening up a digital sticky note and making a list of things she needed to do today. By the time she was done, they’d stopped arguing and the attention shifted to business at last.

They finished up the details about an hour later and Bree was the first to dismiss herself. She needed to get the pictures from the weekend downloaded and start going through them. At the reception alone, she often took five hundred photos, not to mention everything else the day of the ceremony and the rehearsal and dinner the night before.

She was about halfway through the photographs when she heard a gentle knock at her door.

“Come in.”

She turned in time to see Amelia with the mail. Bree expected her to just leave anything on her desk, but instead, she shut the door and sat down in her guest chair.

Bree groaned inwardly and spun in her chair to face her. “What do you need? When I get done with these pictures I can help with some sugar flowers if that’s it.”

Amelia shook her head. “I’m not here because of sugar flowers, Bree, and you know it.”

She had avoided any kind of serious discussions with her friends and coworkers since the show. They knew that Ian had finally shown up and they’d broken up, but that was it. She’d been hoping she would make it to her Tuesday-Wednesday weekend without talking about it, but that wasn’t going to happen. “So what, then?”

Amelia focused her dark eyes on Bree and started twirling her auburn hair around her index finger. “I don’t know the details of what happened last week, but don’t think I haven’t noticed you avoiding me.”

“I haven’t been avoiding you,” Bree said, but they both knew she was lying. “I’ve been avoiding...talking about
it
. Not you.”

“Well, let’s cut to the chase, then. Why didn’t you tell me you’re in love with Ian?”

“What?” Bree shot up in her chair, nearly spilling the half-consumed latte in her hand.

Amelia put the mail in her lap and crossed her arms over her chest. “Don’t play dumb with me. You’ve had that lovesick look in your eye since you got home from the mountains. And after your show—the tremor from your heart breaking probably registered on the Richter scale.”

Bree winced at her words. She thought she’d hidden her pain pretty well and kept up an appropriate level of professionalism at the office, but apparently not. “Is it that obvious?”

“Not necessarily. I just know you well enough to see the turmoil you’re trying to hide.”