Scorned (From the Inside Out #1) Read Online Free Page A

She smiled when she saw the suits in my hand. She took them from me, hung them on the coat rack that stood by the door and jumped on me, her laughter filling the corridor of her high-rise condo.
    We partied—hard. I’m shocked we still had jobs, but she gave me power. Power I had never felt before. I was made a manager within two months.
    She took me places and introduced me to people of society—people of wealth, people I discovered were as loyal as conmen. I was the toast of the town one day and when they were through with me, nothing. She came from money and she loved to spend it on me. I thought I wanted all that, that life. I hadn’t had money in years.
    With Juliette, we had to be careful. We were young and broke because we had just started our careers. She landed an associate sales position at a gallery downtown and I had been accepted into a Manager-in-Training program for a large telecom firm. We felt like real fancy somebodies, living the high life, or so we thought: An apartment in New York City, nice furnishings, take-out three times a week, and a new car. I’d never owned a new car before. It was exciting—ridiculous in Manhattan but exciting.
    That car was the start of our downfall though neither of us recognized it at the time. Over time, I resented her for keeping me from a bigger life. Back then, I didn’t know how false and fleeting that life was. I hated that new life, the life with Hillary.
    My watch beeps twice, alerting me that my lunch hour is over. I swing my feet down and toss the sandwich in the trash. I depress the do not disturb button to allow calls back in and I turn on my cell. My afternoon is swamped with papers and proposals, clients and business calls. I now manage a team of sixteen at an investment firm in the Financial District. I’m making five times the money I made three years ago. One would think I’d made it big by all appearances. I haven’t. The money doesn’t matter to me anymore. I was happier when I didn’t have much. I was happier when I had Juliette.
    I’m lonely though I’m always surrounded by people. I miss the warmth of her arms, her gentle sighs in the night. I miss the damn nightlight. I miss her, everything about her.
    Hillary and I broke up after six months. We ended just as abruptly as we began. It was all fire and passion in that relationship. A tit for a tat. Heated arguments. Heated make-up sex. It was never satisfying. She was never satisfying. She wasn’t Juliette. She could never replace her.
    My four o’clock invites me out for dinner and drinks. I accept. I always do. It’s part of my job. Dinner is on the company, which pleases the clients. We have cocktails with our meal. I have two. They each have three. Then they tell me there’s a new bar about six blocks from here—a strip club.
    I agree to go because I’m supposed to. I walk, they stumble. I laugh, they crack up. I play the charismatic wingman to their antics, keeping the clients happy. On the way, we pass a party, a gallery holding an event tonight. The painting in the window grabs my attention, causing me to stop and stare.
    I love art. I love looking at paintings, in particular. I prefer them to sculptures and such. Juliette was always so passionate about art and loved to talk about how art opened our minds to the endless possibilities. I loved listening to her.
    Something inside the gallery draws me to this exhibit and I want to see more. Signaling for the guys to go ahead without me, I tell them I’ll meet them there. They’re too busy stumbling to care.
    Walking around the room, I scan all of the paintings to get a feel for the collection as a whole before going back to the beginning to appreciate them one at a time. That’s just how she taught me. The fifth painting captures my attention. I grab a glass of wine as a waiter passes, and stare into the depths and ridges of the oil.
    “It’s Rusque. He painted it last year while on holiday in Cannes.”
    Tensing, I don’t turn,