Remy's Painter

Chapter 1

Chapter 1Saturday, Last Week of April, Early Morning

Ian pulled up into the alley behind the address his father left. The house was huge. Ian surveyed the five stories plus a walk out basement. He desperately needed this job, and he didn’t think he had the chance of a snowball in hell once they found out there was only one painter instead of three.

His father paid him a pittance for the work Ian did for him. Most of the jobs the painting contractor bid on, they received because of Ian’s skills doing textured walls and custom paint. Ian wasn’t a martyr, however, and had been secretly collecting reference letters from customers who saw how hard he worked and watched his father treat him like s**t on his shoes.

He had almost enough money to move out and had put out resumes to find other work before they both died, and now he was sucked into taking care of their affairs. Billy’s stupidity left him with no leeway. He had to get this job.

Gazing up again at the house, Ian sighed. Working by himself, the job would take him twelve to sixteen weeks if the house was empty and he could work twelve hour days, six days a week. And that was only if they wanted plain paint. If they wanted textures or faux finishes, it could take longer. He hoped like hell they didn’t want anything special and weren’t in a hurry, or he would surely lose the bid and maybe his ability to work if Sal Ferrara’s goons got him.

* * * *

Rémy Clavier, the new second in command to the North American Council of Werewolves, sat in his new minimally furnished mid-Victorian townhouse on Columbia Heights in Brooklyn waiting for the painter. He bought the house when his friend the Chief Alpha of the council for all of the North American werewolves, Armand La Marche, requested that he take the position of COO of Garou Industries to replace the disgraced La Farge who was probably painting outhouses in Siberia at the tender mercies of the Russian council. So now Rémy, instead of commuting to council meetings from his pack lands in the Catskills for one week a quarter, had to be in New York City at the Garou corporate headquarters two weeks out of every month necessitating a city home.

When Armand first asked him to take the position, he told him, “Please, Alpha, I don’t want it.”

“That’s exactly why I want you to take it, my friend,” Armand said. “You’re not power hungry and will do the best job you can for our people rather than line your pockets and favor your own pack over the others.” Since Armand was one of his dearest friends, he acquiesced.

Armand had found his true mate, Sean, an Omega with the gift of The Voice. Sean and Armand were visiting all of the North American packs where Sean helped the bitches with childbirth because weres had difficult pregnancies and many stillborn pups. Sean’s gift eased the problems the bitches experienced with pregnancy and the birth. The Voice was the reason for most of the live births in the North American packs and the pups, once born, thrived.

Sean was a gifted potter, and he planned to study Native American pottery on their trip from pack to pack so Armand was basically on a yearlong honeymoon and when he returned, since he had a mate, he wouldn’t want to put in all the hours he used to work leaving Rémy to pick up the slack.

Rémy wished he was touring with them instead of staying in the Catskills and Brooklyn. He longed to find his true mate, and he thought touring the packs was the best way to find him.

“You can find your mate at anytime, anywhere,” Armand assured him.

Rémy raised his eyebrow at him dubiously. Armand laughed. “I found Sean on the street running away from a murderous Russian were.”

So far, Rémy hadn’t found his mate on pack lands in the Catskills or in the city. So here he sat, waiting for the painting contractor to give him an estimate to paint the walls of his seventy-eight hundred square foot home when he desperately wanted to be elsewhere.

The house overlooked Manhattan Harbor and was everything you could want in a house, but that was small compensation for Rémy, to give up his hunt for a mate for a five-story townhouse.

The real estate agent told him, “The kind of home you want is rare in the five boroughs and almost impossible to find in Manhattan.”

Rémy persisted. He needed a lot of bedrooms because unless he could buy houses nearby, his Betas would stay in the house with him along with Luc, his factotum, and his wife, Marie Claire who acted as his housekeeper. Luc and Marie Claire would need separate quarters with a sitting room and a full bath. His Betas had to have large bedrooms with a bath attached plus room for a television, an easy chair, and a king sized bed. Wolves were generally not small.

He wanted to be in Manhattan, but when the realtor showed him the house in Brooklyn, he fell in love on sight. If he had to stay in the city, he wanted it to be here. The house was beautiful, with seven bedrooms and eight full and three half baths. There were separate quarters for Marie Claire and Luc and rooms far enough away from his suite for the Betas to live their own lives. The house had a media room and wine cellar in the basement and there was a view of the bay and the Manhattan skyline from two terraces. After he closed on the house, Rémy found out that the rundown house next door was for sale, he bought it for his Enforcers. There were other smaller houses in the neighborhood for sale with four bedrooms each that he was in the process of purchasing so his Betas would eventually have their own homes and the excess bedrooms in his house could be used for visiting pack members or Alphas on the council.

Right now, he was staying in Alpha La Marche’s home in the Village, and he couldn’t wait to move out into his own space. The pack’s house in the Catskills, bought by his predecessor when he moved his headquarters to the Catskills from Quebec, didn’t feel like it was his although he’d lived there for sixty years.

The former Alpha took the main house as his own, modernized on the cheap, and added on to the guest cabins, so that most of the new pack that moved with the Alpha could stay together. He retired to Quebec at the age of four hundred and fifty, and Rémy, as the only Alpha in Training in his territory, took over the pack at a very young age.

As a wolf, he was young to be the Alpha of a region. Rémy was only seventy, but he was well trained for this job by the Chief Alpha himself. It was a tribute to Rémy’s acumen that he was asked to serve on the council as Alpha not only for his pack but also for the Northeastern Canadian and American packs at such young an age. He would have been content to stay as Alpha of the Catskill wolf pack and within his own territory, but destiny and the gods had other ideas. There was no one else to sit on the council and be in charge of the packs. Rémy was it.

Rémy sat in the kitchen. He heard Roland go to the front door only to find the painter had gone to the rear. The painter is here. He seems too young to be able to do such a large job. He’s at the kitchen door. He parked in the alley, Roland told him through the Alpha link.

I’ll answer the door and let him into the kitchen. Young or not, the company comes highly recommended.

Rémy opened the back door and stood by the stairs. Ian Sullivan stuck out his hand to shake Rémy’s. Rémy smelled green apples and cinnamon. They’re fingertips touched and Rémy’s inner wolf said, Mate—Mine.

* * * *

Ian gazed at the back entrance to the house. He parked where his father’s notes told him to go. He worked for many wealthy households and the back entrance was for the help. He got out of his van with his briefcase. To his surprise, a huge man, about six-foot-six, stood on the patio, which led to the door. He noticed that to the right of the entrance there was almost a solid wall of windows that would be a b***h to paint. Ian, who had his manners instilled into him by his mother before she passed, shook the man’s hand and introduced himself.

“I’m Ian Sullivan of Sullivan and Sons. I’m here to give you an estimate for your painting job.” The huge man scrutinized Ian and held his hand a bit longer than was socially acceptable. Ian jumped back like he had been stung, and his c**k woke up from a long sleep.

“I’m Rémy Clavier. I own the house. Please, come inside.” Ian followed Mr. Clavier into the house shaking. What was it about this man that woke up his dormant c**k?

Ian hadn’t gotten any since his eighteenth birthday. Just after he got home that night, his father gave him an ultimatum, “You may be a faggot, but I won’t have any more faggots on my property. So until you can move out on your own, you keep it in your pants.” So that joyous night when he had his first s****l experience as a gay man getting a blowjob in a club was ruined by his father’s rancor. After that his father made sure he had no money for the clubs and refused to give him a reference to work somewhere else. He hadn’t done anything but masturbate since that night, but then no man had attracted him like this man did. He would sleep in the street for the rest of his life if he was allowed one glimpse of Mr. Clavier every day.

Rémy Clavier wasn’t handsome in the conventional sense. He had bushy black hair and eyebrows, and his face was craggy like Sean Connery’s with a bit of stubble—maybe he hadn’t shaved this morning, it was Saturday. Ian moved his head up and gazed into the most beautiful turquoise eyes he had ever seen.

He didn’t understand the shot of electricity that surged up his arm when Mr. Clavier shook his hand, but he wanted more. He always wanted what he couldn’t have. I have to think of him as a customer. I need that five grand. I can’t let my c**k mess with my head. His potential customer led him into the kitchen.

Mr. Clavier got right down to business. “I need the whole house painted. There is approximately seventy-eight hundred square feet, and then, the house next door needs painting after the contractor brings it up to code.” Ian stopped in his tracks.

There’s more than one job here. I could be around him for more than a couple of months. Ian inwardly jumped up and down.

Mr. Clavier hadn’t stopped talking. Ian hoped he didn’t miss anything important. “I will have two more houses to paint after you finish the one next door, the house across the street with the azaleas in the front step pots and the other four doors down from that.” Mr. Clavier looked at him expectantly.

Doing a quick calculation in his head he figured it would take him more than eight to twelve weeks to paint this house alone with custom work, maybe longer if this man wanted the special textures that Ian did so well.

“Mr. Clavier…”

“Rémy, please.” The big man leaned up against the counter.

“Rémy, I have to be honest with you. My father and brother died in an accident a week ago. I’m the only painter left on Sullivan and Sons’ payroll. It would take me more than eight to twelve weeks to paint this house alone, and that is if you don’t want custom textures—that would take longer. You have fourteen-foot ceilings with elaborately carved crown moldings. The moldings are all brushwork. I’d need a scaffold to do it right. Right now, there is no one else but me to do the work. But if you do hire me, I’d give you a break on the price because it would take so long.” Ian moved his weight from one foot to the other. He was very nervous, antsy, and he didn’t know why. “I do excellent work. I have references in my briefcase that aren’t for my father or brother, but for me, individually.”

“Don’t worry about that now. Just work out your estimate. If you need helpers, I’ll hire them and pay them myself just as long as you supervise,” Rémy said. “Would two or three helpers do it, bring the finish time down to four weeks, plus whatever extra time it takes for the custom work?”

“Yes, maybe three to four weeks, but we’ll talk about who pays them later.”

Ian observed him. The man acted strange. Most of his customers wanted their jobs finished right away and didn’t give a damn how the painter got it done. It seemed Mr. Clavier was willing to work with Ian.

“May I put my briefcase on the counter?”

“Of course.”

Ian put his briefcase down and took out his clipboard. He could swear he smelled lemons. He glanced around the kitchen. There were no lemons in sight, none out in a bowl, nor was there any dish detergent or lemon scented furniture polish on the counter that could account for the smell. His nose was going just as wacky as his c**k.

* * * *

Over the tentative mate link that started to form as soon as they touched hands, Rémy knew that something was bothering Ian, and he was determined to find out what it was.

“Let me show you the house,” Rémy said as he put his arm around Ian’s shoulder. The boy almost melted into him. Rémy was so excited, he couldn’t see straight. Ian abruptly turned around under his arm and licked his lips, moving away from Rémy. Calm down. This is a human. I can’t pounce right away like Armand did. He doesn’t know anything about mates. I have to court him. Ah, but those plump pink lips belong around my c**k. Rémy had to thump his shaft to try and make it behave.

“We’ll start at the top of the house.” Rémy took his Ian—of course he already belongs to me, the gods provided and I’m not fool enough to refuse the gift—to a hallway beside the kitchen where a small elevator was located.

“This was installed last week. I don’t want Marie Claire running up and down five flights of stairs plus a basement even if there is a dumbwaiter and a laundry chute.” He watched as Ian appeared almost disappointed when he mentioned Marie Claire.

Rémy smiled and gazed down at Ian. “Marie Claire is my housekeeper. I’m gay.”

Ian sighed, almost as if he felt relief. That caused Rémy’s inner wolf to dance.

Rémy pushed the button, and the elevator door opened on the main floor. The elevator was small and put the man and the wolf in close proximity. Rémy again caught the scent of green apples and cinnamon. Like a fresh apple pie waiting for me to devour.

The door opened on the fifth floor. Rémy stepped out into the hallway. To the left was the workout room, the right was a steam room, a sauna, and a whirlpool tub that sat four. Rémy opened a door, and Ian saw a full shower with a dressing room. The ceilings sloped gently but they were at least ten-foot high. “The purpose of this floor is obvious. It needs plain paint, no textures, maybe a very pale yellow with bright white satin trim.”

“I left the paint samples downstairs,” Ian said blushing. “But I have the texture board here.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll get to that.” They took the elevator down to the fourth floor. “My two assistants will stay in the two of the three bedrooms on this floor as well as Marie Claire and her husband, Luc, who acts as my factotum. Luc and Marie Claire will occupy the suite. My assistants won’t be living here permanently. They’ll move to the house next door, and one of them eventually to one of the houses across the street when those houses close and the contractor is finished with them.”

“You’re talking about the house with the azaleas and the one four doors down from that?” Ian asked.

“Yes, and I’m also going to make offers on the three in the middle.”

“Will you want estimates on those homes right away? I’d need to see the inside.” Ian made a note to get the addresses before he left.

“We’ll talk about those later, once they’re empty. Now, I’ll be picking the colors for the rooms on the fourth floor with the exception of these rooms.” They walked into a large self-contained suite with a sitting room, bath, a large bedroom, and a small galley kitchen with space for a table and two chairs. The suite was located in the back of the house near the kitchen stairs. “Marie Claire and Luc will pick the colors of their own quarters. Make the other rooms on this floor the same yellow as upstairs with no texture.”

Ian seemed to like the house. His eyes glinted in appreciation as he enjoyed the elaborate crown moldings, some in white, some in the original wood finish. Rémy thought Ian’s hands itched to paint the walls.

They climbed down the front stairs and arrived on the third floor. “The master suite is this way. It has a sitting room and a breakfast nook as well as a very large bathing area. There are two other bedrooms down the hall.”

Rémy pointed out the dumbwaiter and the laundry chute in the same area as the elevator. “There is a total of eight full and three half baths. Most baths are associated with a bedroom. The colors of the bathrooms can complement the room attached because all of the bathroom fixtures and tile are white. I want to go with lighter or darker shades of the same color as the bedroom depending on how much light the room receives in the daytime.”

“Do you want the insides of the closets painted?”

“Yes, I do, with a white that’s easy to clean. I think that way, I won’t have to do them again for a number of years if I decide to change the color of the room.” Rémy watched as Ian mumbled, counting closets.

“How many linen closets and clothes closets do you have?” Ian asked, busily making drawings on the graph paper attached to the clipboard.

“There are linen closets in every bathroom, and the ballroom has a big linen closet in the butler’s pantry, another linen closet is outside of the family dining room on the first floor. We also have storage cabinets for cutlery, china, and serving dishes in the butler’s pantry on the second floor. As far as clothes closets, there is one in every bedroom, the master’s suite has two walk-in closets as does the suite on the fourth floor, and there is a large coat closet on the second floor with the ballroom and two at the entry on the first floor. A large closet sits in the basement to hang up ironed clothing from the laundry until it goes upstairs.

“Let’s go down to the second floor.” On the second floor, Rémy showed Ian the library, his study, the ballroom, and the formal dining room with the butler’s pantry.

They got down to the first floor. “On this floor are the family dining room and two large parlors. The half baths are on this floor and the floor above.”

They took the backstairs to the kitchen. “This is the basement level where you entered the house. The basement isn’t underground. It’s a walk-out basement. The laundry area is to the left. To your right is the media room and wine cellar and an additional bath.”

As they walked up the back stairs, Ian went over his notes. “Do you intend to use special finishes throughout the house?” He opened his briefcase and took out the board with the paint textures.

Rémy glanced at the board. “Paint the master suite in blue metallic stripe and use a white on pale blue wide stripe for the baths—you can carry that blue theme into the study, the hallways, and the library.” Ian added some figures.

“The ballroom will have same metallic stripes as the master suite but in white on white. Can you put a fleur de lis pattern in the ballroom?”

Ian nodded his head. “I can do it with a stencil in a subtle but darker white.”

“That sounds perfect.” Rémy smiled. His wolf was jumping with joy. This job would take weeks, long enough for him to court his boy.

“I want the parlors and the family dining room to be the same color, above the wainscoting also with the metallic stripe.” Ian marked that down on his pad.

“The whole basement should be more modern. I’d like the brushed suede finish, but the color of the inside of a shearling coat rather than the dark brown leather color you show on the board. Even with all the windows, those rooms don’t have as much natural light as the rooms upstairs and I don’t want it to be dark during the day. I think that does it.” His little mate’s head seemed to be spinning with the amount of work to be done. He’s going to get all the help he needs.

“I can work up an estimate for you this afternoon and give it to you either tomorrow or Monday at your convenience. I’ll need half of the money when you sign the contract, the other half when the job is finished.” They walked back to the kitchen.

“Why don’t you have dinner with me tonight? I’m staying in a friend’s townhouse on Washington Square. Marie Claire is making beef bourguignon.” Rémy’s turquoise eyes were gleaming.