Owning It
The chance of a lifetime . . . or just another bad decision?
Delaney Lavender Brooks needs to grow up. At least, according to her parents. After getting evicted from her apartment and wrecking her car, Laney is almost ready to trade in her paintbrushes and surrender to a more sensible nine-to-five existence. Almost. Until she’s awarded an internship at a prestigious art gallery in Paris. What else can the free-spirited artist do but follow her dreams? Even if her latest attempt at chasing rainbows might cost her a real future . . .
Once in the city of lights, Laney is almost undone by the glaring truth: maybe she isn’t sophisticated or talented enough to make it as an artist—or an independent woman, for that matter. And when she’s hotly pursued by a seductive Frenchman, she has to wonder if she’s about to be a fool for love, too. Soon Laney’s greatest challenge is not proving herself to her parents, but having the courage to live the life—and love—of her dreams . . .
“Leah Marie Brown has a wily way of bringing her stories to life with sharp dialogue and drop-dead sexy characters.”
—Cindy Miles, national bestselling author
“When it comes to crafting clever, intelligent, wonderful escapist fiction with a heroine every woman wants to know, Leah Marie Brown is a new voice to watch. Prepare to fall in love!”
—Renee Ryan, Daphne du Maurier Award–winning author
Books by Leah Marie Brown
THE IT GIRLS SERIES
Faking It
Finding It
Working It
Owning It
Owning It
AN IT GIRLS NOVEL
LEAH MARIE BROWN
LYRICAL SHINE
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
The chance of a lifetime . . . or just another bad decision?
Books by Leah Marie Brown
Title Page
Copyright Page
Epigraph
A musical note from Laney
Prologue
NOTICE TO QUIT
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
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Laney’s Biking (or Walking) Tour of Artistic Paris
Love Leah Marie Brown?
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
LYRICAL SHINE BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2017 by Leah Marie Brown
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
Lyrical Shine and the Lyrical Shine logo are Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
First Electronic Edition: May 2017
ISBN: 978-1-5161-0121-4
ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0122-1
ISBN-10: 1-5161-0122-7
Printed in the United States of America
If you hear a voice from within you say, “You cannot paint,” then by all means paint, and the voice will be silenced.
—VINCENT VAN GOGH
A musical note from Laney
Have you ever had an emotional moment and heard a song playing in your head? Like, say you have been dating this awesome guy and he brings you a pair of retro Lucite cat’s-eye sunglasses he found at a flea market, and you think, “I love him.” Suddenly, you hear Cristofer Drew of Never Shout Never singing “I Love You 5” in your head.
Or you have the worst day, like, ever. Crash your car, kill your cat, lose your best friend bad day. You’re sitting around dwelling in the negative space and you hear the Beatles singing about how all their troubles seemed so far away, “Yesterday.”
Or you’re home alone, watching a horror flick and you get this super creepy feeling that someone is standing behind you. Cue Rockwell’s “Watching Me.”
I hear music in my head all the time, like a soundtrack for my life. I call it: Laney’s Life Playlist. I even write the songs down in my journal when I am documenting the important stuff. It’s fun to go back and read my journal and play the songs attached to life events. It really puts me back in that headspace. If you want to get in my headspace, listen to the playlist at the start of each chapter.
Prologue
Dear Ms. Brooks,
Thank you for your interest in joining the Colorado Museum of Fine Art team! Although your experience as a volunteer educator of arts with Teach Them to Fish is commendable, I am afraid you lack the qualities necessary for directing major exhibits at a world-class museum. We will, however, keep your résumé on record and get in touch with you about future opportunities that may be a better fit for your skills and experience.
In the meantime, the Museum is always looking for volunteers. Perhaps you might consider contributing your skills to our dynamic volunteer and internship team? I am certain you could help the museum spark creative thinking and expression through transformative experiences with art. If you are interested in a volunteer position, please visit our Online Career Center at www.coloradomuseumoffineart.org to submit an application or call 719-825-2222.
We wish you all the best in your job search and hope we will have the chance to consider you for another role in the future.
Regards,
Eli Prichard, Director, Collections Management
Colorado Museum of Fine Art
NOTICE TO QUIT
(Eviction Notice)
To: Delaney Brooks
Located at: 623b Pearl Street, Boulder, Colorado
You are hereby put on notice that you are delinquent in your rental payments for the premises listed above in the amount of $3,300. This rental debt represents the rent due from August 2, 2016, to November 2, 2016.
Pursuant to Colorado state law, YOU MUST EITHER PAY YOUR DEBT TOTAL OR VACATE THE PREMISES WITHIN THREE (3) DAYS 6 FROM THE DATE OF THIS NOTICE. If your total debt is not paid in full by this time—OR—you do not vacate the premises in the prescribed time, you are hereby notified that your landlord will take legal action to recover the debt owed and possession of the premises, including attorney’s fees and other costs.
THIS NOTICE IS BEING ISSUED PURSUANT TO COLORADO LAW.
Chapter 1
Laney’s Life Playlist
“Breath of Life” by Florence and the Machine
“Accident Prone” by Jawbreaker
“Criminal” by Fiona Apple
It’s time to relax your mind and ground your spirit. Close your eyes and rest your hands on your knees. Bring your awareness to the touch of your body on your chai
r. Take a few deep breaths. While you are breathing deeply, relax your shoulders, your arms, your stomach muscles, your leg muscles. Let go of all the tension in your body . . .
The driver in the car behind me beeps his horn. I take a deep breath, open my eyes, glance up at the green light, and put my foot on the gas pedal. My Mini Cooper shoots through the intersection. I am fifteen minutes late for my gig, and my chakras are totally out of whack.
Do you feel that sense of peaceful calmness?
“No,” I say, switching lanes.
No? Take another deep breath. Pretend you are looking at a control panel with dials and buttons. The control panel to your life. Reach out and turn the dial that controls your focus on the physical world. Turn it all the way down. Let everything just fade to black until you are left with only the ambient sound of your soul. Listen to your soul.
I pull to a stop at one of Boulder’s busiest intersections and close my eyes, determined to let my Positive Vibes! app guide me to a more balanced state of mind. Job application rejections. Eviction notices. Road ragers with horn-heavy hands. I let it all fade to black and tune into the sensei’s calm, modulated voice as she tries to lead me to a state of perfect Zen.
Now, imagine you are on top of a mountain. Look up at the sky. Do you see that single, wispy cloud floating above your head? That cloud represents your cares and worries. That cloud is blocking your journey to enlightenment. Take a deep breath and blow that cloud away.
With my eyes still closed, I inhale air through my nose deep into my lungs and release it in one explosive breath. In my mind’s eye, I see the cloud skitter across the sky and dissolve into the horizon. My limbs feel warm and heavy. My mind feels clearer. I haven’t yet entered satori, the deepest state of meditation, but I am approaching it.
Shift your focus to the ground under your feet. Do you notice how solid the earth feels? If not, push your feet down while imagining . . .
I go with the sensei’s words and push my feet against the ground, but instead of feeling solid earth and perfect stillness, I feel my gas pedal and a sickening lurch in my stomach as my Mini Cooper darts forward. Horns beep. Tires screech. I simultaneously open my eyes and slam my foot on the brake, but I am too late. I watch in perfect horror as the hood of my beloved Mini Cooper crumples like a starlight blue-and-white striped accordion. There’s a violent popping noise as my airbag bursts out of the steering wheel and slams me back against my seat, knocking the wind out of my lungs.
. . . you should feel a perfect sense of peace and the warmth that comes from the knowledge that everything is right and balanced in your universe.
I hear the sensei speaking, people outside shouting, a car door opening and slamming, but I am still on my theoretical mountain, blowing clouds across the sky with my breath. My thoughts are foggy, my limbs heavy, like when I enter a deep, deep state of meditative relaxation. It takes me a moment to process what has just happened.
Someone knocks on my window. Violent rap-rap-rapping.
I look over and find a middle-aged woman gesturing for me to roll my window down. I comply.
“What is wrong with you?” she screams. “Are you fucking crazy?”
Congratulations! Your chakras are perfectly balanced. You have entered a state of bliss . . .
I open the door and climb out of my wrecked car. A crowd of teenagers and college students have gathered on the nearby sidewalk, snapping pictures and digitally recording my tragedy for future upload to Vine and Instagram. I look at the street signs—Broadway Boulevard and Arapahoe Avenue—and realize I have crashed in front of Boulder High School, just down the street from the University of Colorado, my alma mater.
“You know you had a red light?” the other driver screams. “Right?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? Sorry?” Her voice is shrill, her eyes wide with a manic kind of fright.
I look at her minivan, its side caved in, four chubby, grubby little faces pressed against the rear passenger windows.
“You ran a red light and slammed into the side of my van. Are you a lunatic?”
I shake my head, and a searing pain stabs my neck.
“I get that this is a legit bummer deal, but—”
“Legit. Bummer. Deal,” she screams, emphasizing each word with a slightly cray-cray gesticulation. “This is more than a legit bummer deal, you pot-smoking freak . . .”
A police car pulls to a stop beside our wreckage, red and blue lights flashing. A tall, grim-faced cop gets out of the vehicle and approaches us.
“Is everyone okay?” he asks. “Is anyone injured?”
I shake my head again. This time, the searing pain in my neck travels up and over my skull, piercing the backs of my eyeballs. I close my eyes and press a hand to my face.
“Easy,” the officer grabs my arm. “I think you should sit down, miss.”
I let him lead me to the side of the road and am about to take a seat on the curb when I feel my knees buckle. Everything goes black.
* * *
“Youuuu killed Lunariaaaa!”
The sharp cry pierces the thick black veil separating me from consciousness. I try to open my eyes, but the bright mid-winter sunshine feels like a thousand pins pricking my eyeballs.
“Hush,” someone hisses.
“But what about Lunaria? Is she d-d-dead?”
I squint, peering at the world through tiny slits. It takes me a minute to make sense of the scene. The cop. The angry soccer mom. The gang of picture-snapping students. The chubby toddler with tear-streaked cheeks and two fingers stuck in her mouth.
I was listening to my Positive Vibes! app. I closed my eyes and then . . . Oh, Snap Crackle Pop! That’s right! I was in an accident.
“Who is Lunaria?” the soccer mom snaps.
The toddler pulls her wet fingers from her mouth and points them at me.
Why is that kid calling me Lunaria?
I am about to sit up when a bolt of pain travels up my spinal column, spins a donut in my skull, and races back down my spine.
“Don’t sit up,” the officer says, pressing his hand against my shoulder. “The ambulance is on the way.”
“I’m fine,” I mumble. “I don’t need an ambulance.”
I don’t need medical bills.
“Is there a reason you’re wearing that getup?”
It is only then I remember what I am wearing a unicorn costume, complete with lavender mane and spiraling silver horn. The unicorn’s head is on top of my head and has googly eyes that shake back and forth each time I move.
“I am Lunaria,” I whisper, smiling at the little girl. “And we met at . . . Jacob’s birthday party?”
The little girl shakes her head, and her curls spring up and down.
“Liam!” she says, sticking her fingers back in her mouth. “We met at Liam’s birfday party. You sang a song about a fwog named Fweddy.”
The soccer mom grabs her daughter’s hand, pulls her close, and stares at me through narrowed eyes, one brow lifted high in accusation. She’s looking at me like I am one of those perverts on To Catch a Predator, like she’s expecting Chris Hansen to stroll up and say, “Excuse me, ma’am, but did you know you were singing songs to minors?”
“I’m Lunaria the Unicorn,” I explain to the police officer.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lunaria,” the officer says, his grim lips twitching at the corners. “Would you happen to have your license and registration?”
His question catches me off guard. I stare blankly at him.
“Or maybe an identification card issued by the Ministry of Mythical Creatures?”
The soccer mom snickers, and the students bust out laughing.
“I’m not a real unicorn.”
“You’re not?” he grins.
“No,” I say, sitting up, “I am an entertainer. I perform at children’s birthday parties as Lunaria the Unicorn. I sing silly songs, tell stories about life as a unicorn, and paint the children’s faces. If it’s a big gi
g, my best friend helps me.”
“Your best friend? Ariel the Mermaid?”
I roll my eyes. “Oberon, King of the Fairies.”
“I see,” the officer says in a somber tone, his expression inscrutable. “And is the unicorn business a lucrative one?”
“It isn’t exactly making me rich, but it helps pay the bills.”
“So you’re saying I shouldn’t trade my cuffs for a unicorn horn?”
Ha ha.
“I still think you should take that ride in the ambulance, but in the meantime, if you’re feeling well enough, maybe you could show me your license and registration?”
“Of course.”
I walk over to my car, broken shards of headlight glass crunching beneath the soles of my sparkly silver Vans, and open the passenger door. The Positive Vibes! app has looped and is playing the “Engage Your Senses” meditation.
Keep breathing deeply, slowly, and calmly. Inhaling serenity and strength. Blowing out negativity and nagging concerns . . .
I wholeheartedly believe in the restorative and regenerative benefits of meditation, but the irony of the situation is simply too great. A bubble of hysterical laughter begins making its way up my throat, and it takes all of my self-control not to burst out with a Camille Claudel cackle. (Camille was this crazy-talented French sculptor and graphic artist who was certifiable. An ex-boyfriend once told me her first breakdown occurred when she was found destroying one of her statues and laughing in a shrill, slightly demented way.)