Untamed: Heath & Violet (Beg For It 3)

Gigi got us through the remainder of the lunch and even tea afterward. We sat out on the veranda—who used that word anymore?—surrounded by the birds chirping and sun shining down on an uncharacteristically warm winter’s day.

When I could finally excuse myself without it being too rude, I stood up to go. Gigi gave me a kiss on the cheek and told me how much she loved seeing me. I wondered what she thought of us all, a family of pieces that didn’t quite fit together. But she sailed off upstairs to return to packing for her vacation, buoyant and unperturbed.

That left just my mother and me at the front door. She surveyed me with her cool, grey eyes.

“We’re more alike than you might think, Heathcliff.” She smiled, though still looked a bit sad. “We like to keep to ourselves, don’t we?”

I nodded. I hadn’t thought of it like that before, that she and I were fairly similar in a way.

“But sometimes its good to let people in,” she continued. I couldn’t help it. I tensed up as she spoke. Lectures from her about how I should live my life really rubbed me the wrong way. But then she added with a sigh, “It doesn’t have to be me. Just someone. It’s no good to go through life alone.”

I thanked her for lunch and climbed into my truck. Advice was so easy to give. Knowing what to do with it once it was given to you, now that was the real trick.

§

Staying with Ash and Ana was easier than I ever imagined. They left me to my own devices more often than not. I didn’t know if it was because Ash understood me and explained to Ana that was how I liked to roll, or if they were just really busy. Maybe a combination of both.

As it was, I got some time on my own in the city, something I hadn’t done…well, ever as an adult. I hit up museums and galleries, amazed by the work I saw. You knew the art had to be good when a guy like me struck up conversations. And I did. I chatted up the owners of a few galleries and got to meet a few of the artists, themselves, in some of the smaller venues. There was some cool art being created. I hadn’t participated at all in the art scene, hadn’t done any schmoozing or networking. I’d dismissed it all as corporate crap, the type of thing sellouts did once they were fresh out of ideas and just started chasing the Benjamins.

But some of the work I saw? It inspired me. One guy at a shop in Brooklyn had a whole series of intricately detailed metal sculptures that looked exactly like trees. Another guy had a series he’d done with spirals, mimicking the patterns found in seashells and expanding them into giant folds and curves. That interplay between nature and manmade metal, it fascinated me. There was a lot I could do in that space, and it looked like I may have discovered a few people I could do it with.

I was feeling the best I had since I’d left Vermont two weeks ago when I joined my oldest brother, Colton, for dinner. Good thing, too, because I fully expected him to take the wind out of my sails. He’d invited me to join him at the Harvard Club. Of course.

Just walking into the high-ceilinged, wood-paneled entryway with red and gold accents everywhere I looked set me on edge. What kind of a pretentious jerk would be a member of an exclusive club like this, screaming wealth and privilege from every priceless rug and vase? Stern paintings of old white men stared down at me along the walls. “Didn’t he go to Dartmouth?” one of them seemed to ask, looking jowly and disapproving. “I heard he didn’t even get a degree,” another shook his head.

“There you are!” My brother Colt turned from where he was conversing with some men in suits to greet me. He looked dapper in a perfectly-tailored tuxedo. Strong chin, bright blue eyes, freshly shaven, it appeared as if he’d just stepped out of a Mercedes commercial. As the oldest son, he’d inherited a freaking title when our father died: the Baron of Warwick. Unbelievable.

“I didn’t know this was a black tie event,” I grumbled, shaking his hand.

“No, no,” he reassured me. “I’m off to one later after dinner. Care to join me?”

I arched my eyebrow at him in response.

“Of course not,” he agreed, beginning to lead me across the room. As we walked, he informed me that there were no less than six dining areas in the club from which to choose.

“We have almost that many restaurants in the town where I live,” I replied, reminding him of our differences. As if he could ever forget. I’d cleaned myself up to meet him, which for me meant a shirt with a collar. A flannel workshirt, but still, no stains, no rips or tears.

“We’ll eat up on the rooftop,” he decided, looking over at me. “Unless you’ve got a jacket and tie in your back pocket.”

“Is that where you keep your spare set?”

He didn’t answer, just led me up a wide, sprawling staircase. I was surprised we were expected to use our own legs to walk up it. No servants to carry us up on their backs? The service in this place was deplorable!

But Colt was in his element, stopping to greet people we passed, introducing me, asking just the right questions, giving just the right answers. He knew everyone. Where I’d run as far away from this world as I could, he’d found his way right into the heart of it. He’d taken over the family business from our father when he’d passed, inheriting the CEO throne of Kavanaugh Industries. And he was welcome to it, as far as I was concerned.

We sat and Colt ordered us some grilled prawns and a white wine to start.

“Now Heath,” he started in and I braced myself for yet another lecture. “I didn’t know you were starting your own business up there in the woods.” He made a dismissive gesture to accompany woods, as if I’d chosen to live in a dung heap.

“The town’s called Watson.”

“As I’m now well aware,” he agreed, giving me a significant look. “Seems like Nelson helped us out of a jam. Again.”

“We should get him a cape for Christmas,” I grumbled. Nelson the superhero.

“No, I don’t think he’d wear a cape,” Colt disagreed. Aw, Colt. He needed to lighten up. “But there’s two good things that came out of the ridiculous promo that network aired.” He held up his fingers, one, two.

“First, it dredged you up from the bottom of the lake.”

I took a sip of my wine. It was easier than defending myself against his bullshit.

“And second, it came to my attention that you’re exceptionally talented.”

Wait, what was that he just said?

“I’ve been on the website for your shop. If you could even call it a website,” he scoffed. “But still, I could see a few of your pieces and you’re really doing some excellent work.”

“Um, thanks?” I looked at him, still waiting for the catch.

“So what are you doing to promote it?” He took a nonchalant bite of prawn.

“Nothing.” I ate a few prawns myself. Delicious, with lemony spice. But I’d have to eat about 200 to fill up.

“As I expected.” Colt nodded. “Heath, let me talk to you about something.”

I put down my fork and listened while he told me how I was going about things the wrong way. I wasn’t growing my business. I wasn’t investing in infrastructure, building my client base. Marketing was at least as if not more important than creating.

“You done?” I finally asked. I’d already made it halfway through my entrée by the time he started winding down. Colt had confidence to burn. That combined with the power of CEO meant the man could talk. I could picture him up in front of a boardroom, getting them to agree to whatever he wanted. He was so much like our father.

“I’ve said my piece,” he agreed.

“I’m not you,” I began. No matter how much my father had tried to make me into that same mold, he hadn’t succeeded.

“Pretty clear on that.” Colt nodded as he took a sip of his wine.

“I’m not doing this to see how much money I can make.”

“Heath, Communism is a failed doctrine. It runs contrary to human nature.”

“Who said anything about Communism?” That was so Colt, taking a regular conversation and infusing it with economi

c, political and historical facts and theories. He’d earned his Harvard undergraduate degree and then doubled down, getting an MBA from the same venerable institution.

“There’s nothing wrong with making money.” Colt dumbed it down for me. “Especially if you’re doing something you love. I’ve seen your work. You’re really good.”

“What piece did you like?” I almost wondered if I were calling his bluff. I had a hard time picturing my oldest brother, the corporate raider, taking the time to play around on our most basic of basic websites to admire my artwork and furniture.

“The rocking chair,” he replied instantly.

“That was Violet’s favorite, too.” The words slipped out of my mouth before I could think.

“Violet?” Colt gave me a knowing glance.

“I’ll gift it to you.” I changed the subject. “The rocking chair. It’s yours.”

“Don’t just give it to me, Heath! For Christ’s sake! Charge me money for it! The more the better. You determine your own worth. And if you listen to me you’re going to start charging a lot more.”

“I’m not interested in that,” I protested.

“What about those people you work with? The other hippies in your commune?”

“I’m not in a commune.”