deep
breath and looked away from her, desperate for a distraction that
would stop him from pushing her to the couch and taking her right
there. Her dark hair was sleek and shiny and her lips were painted
a soft red, and he couldn’t stop taking quick peeks at her
cleavage. He took another deep breath and stuck his hands into his
pockets.
“You have a
really nice home.”
“Thank you.”
She hesitated. “Would you like a tour before we leave?”
“Sure.” He
checked his watch. “We’ve got plenty of time before our
reservation.”
“Alright. Well,
this is the living room.”
He took a quick
look around the room before following her down the hallway to the
kitchen.
“This is the
kitchen – obviously.” She gave a nervous laugh.
“It’s very…
shiny.”
She laughed and
inspected the gleaming white cupboards and the stainless steel
appliances. “Yes, it is.”
He followed her
from room to room, admiring each of them, until they reached a
doorway at the end of the hallway.
“This was my
father’s study.” She opened the door but didn’t go in and he stuck
his head in and peered around. It was a large room, dominated by a
mahogany desk in the middle of the room. He peered at the painting
above the fireplace. It was of a man and a little girl and they
wore identical looks of solemnity. It was easy to see that the
little girl was Julie, and he studied her carefully before his gaze
switched to the man.
“Holy shit.” He
said suddenly. “Your father is Peter Winslow?”
She nodded and
he gave her a look of surprise. “Peter Winslow, the artist?”
“Yes. You know
his work?”
“I do. I’m a
big admirer of it, actually.” As a child he had always been
fascinated by art and had taken a few art classes throughout the
years.
He glanced at
her. “I thought I recognized the paintings in the hallway.”
“They were all
painted by my father.”
He stared
thoughtfully at her for a moment. “Your father was very
well-known.”
“He was.” She
acknowledged. “He did very well for himself.”
“Very well for
himself?” He grinned a little. “Your father was a goddamn
millionaire.”
“Yes.” She
hesitated. “Now you know why I don’t work.”
“I guess you
don’t need a job when you’re the daughter of a millionaire.”
“I didn’t.” She
said simply. “But I wanted to work.” She was suddenly afraid that
he would think her lazy. “After I finished high school I wanted to
become an architect.”
“Why didn’t
you?”
“The university
I wanted to attend was in another state and my father didn’t want
me moving so far away. He would have been, you know, lonely.” She
said awkwardly.
“Right.” He
followed her as she closed the door and started up the large
staircase in front of them.
“Do you like to
paint?”
She laughed a
little bitterly. “No, I’m afraid I didn’t get any of my father’s
artistic gifts. I can barely draw a stick figure. You can imagine
how disappointed he was by that.”
She led him
through the maze of hallways, showing him room after room. Many of
them were either completely empty or the furniture was covered in
dust cloths.
“Christ, this
house is huge.” He muttered after she led him down yet another
hallway.
“It is.” She
agreed. “Too big for one person.”
“Why don’t you
sell it?”
She shrugged.
“My father would be horrified if I sold it.”
The walls were
lined with more of her father’s work and he studied each one
carefully as they walked down the hallways. She stopped and smiled
at him. “Do you like to paint, Court?”
“I do.” He
confessed. “I even thought about majoring in art after high
school.”
“Why didn’t
you?”
He shrugged. “I
fell in with a bad crowd for a few years. Nothing too serious. I
didn’t go to jail or anything like that, but I smoked some weed and
drank too much and generally sat around on my ass doing
nothing.”
“Really?”
He nodded.
“Yeah. It would have gotten much
breath and looked away from her, desperate for a distraction that
would stop him from pushing her to the couch and taking her right
there. Her dark hair was sleek and shiny and her lips were painted
a soft red, and he couldn’t stop taking quick peeks at her
cleavage. He took another deep breath and stuck his hands into his
pockets.
“You have a
really nice home.”
“Thank you.”
She hesitated. “Would you like a tour before we leave?”
“Sure.” He
checked his watch. “We’ve got plenty of time before our
reservation.”
“Alright. Well,
this is the living room.”
He took a quick
look around the room before following her down the hallway to the
kitchen.
“This is the
kitchen – obviously.” She gave a nervous laugh.
“It’s very…
shiny.”
She laughed and
inspected the gleaming white cupboards and the stainless steel
appliances. “Yes, it is.”
He followed her
from room to room, admiring each of them, until they reached a
doorway at the end of the hallway.
“This was my
father’s study.” She opened the door but didn’t go in and he stuck
his head in and peered around. It was a large room, dominated by a
mahogany desk in the middle of the room. He peered at the painting
above the fireplace. It was of a man and a little girl and they
wore identical looks of solemnity. It was easy to see that the
little girl was Julie, and he studied her carefully before his gaze
switched to the man.
“Holy shit.” He
said suddenly. “Your father is Peter Winslow?”
She nodded and
he gave her a look of surprise. “Peter Winslow, the artist?”
“Yes. You know
his work?”
“I do. I’m a
big admirer of it, actually.” As a child he had always been
fascinated by art and had taken a few art classes throughout the
years.
He glanced at
her. “I thought I recognized the paintings in the hallway.”
“They were all
painted by my father.”
He stared
thoughtfully at her for a moment. “Your father was very
well-known.”
“He was.” She
acknowledged. “He did very well for himself.”
“Very well for
himself?” He grinned a little. “Your father was a goddamn
millionaire.”
“Yes.” She
hesitated. “Now you know why I don’t work.”
“I guess you
don’t need a job when you’re the daughter of a millionaire.”
“I didn’t.” She
said simply. “But I wanted to work.” She was suddenly afraid that
he would think her lazy. “After I finished high school I wanted to
become an architect.”
“Why didn’t
you?”
“The university
I wanted to attend was in another state and my father didn’t want
me moving so far away. He would have been, you know, lonely.” She
said awkwardly.
“Right.” He
followed her as she closed the door and started up the large
staircase in front of them.
“Do you like to
paint?”
She laughed a
little bitterly. “No, I’m afraid I didn’t get any of my father’s
artistic gifts. I can barely draw a stick figure. You can imagine
how disappointed he was by that.”
She led him
through the maze of hallways, showing him room after room. Many of
them were either completely empty or the furniture was covered in
dust cloths.
“Christ, this
house is huge.” He muttered after she led him down yet another
hallway.
“It is.” She
agreed. “Too big for one person.”
“Why don’t you
sell it?”
She shrugged.
“My father would be horrified if I sold it.”
The walls were
lined with more of her father’s work and he studied each one
carefully as they walked down the hallways. She stopped and smiled
at him. “Do you like to paint, Court?”
“I do.” He
confessed. “I even thought about majoring in art after high
school.”
“Why didn’t
you?”
He shrugged. “I
fell in with a bad crowd for a few years. Nothing too serious. I
didn’t go to jail or anything like that, but I smoked some weed and
drank too much and generally sat around on my ass doing
nothing.”
“Really?”
He nodded.
“Yeah. It would have gotten much
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