“Don’t even,” I said. Whatever she was thinking, I didn’t want to hear it. “Let’s go a buy a TV, get you off my back.”
“Okay,” Angie replied, her voice soft. “I just want you to find happiness.”
“I doubt you’ll fit through any store doors though, after this meal,” I said, ignoring her comment.
“That’s okay. I’ll wait outside. This mac and cheese is way too good to waste.”
I pulled out my cell from my pocket and slid it onto my dark mahogany desk in my office. I had more furniture within these four walls than I did in my entire apartment, even if I did now have a television. While Angie and I’d been out, I’d also picked up some kitchen essentials, including some crystal whiskey glasses I planned on seeing Grace Astor’s lips pressed against sooner rather than later.
As she still hadn’t called to change her mind about being my consultant, I decided I was going to have to switch up my game.
I leaned back into my leather office chair and pressed call.
“Grace Astor Fine Art,” she answered on the second ring.
“Grace, it’s Sam.”
“Oh, Mr. Shaw.”
Mr. Shaw? I’d swapped bodily fluids with the woman. What was with the formality?
“What can I do for you?”
And wasn’t that the question I wanted her to answer? Kneel on the floor and take my dick to the back of her throat? Wrap her fingers around the base of my cock and squeeze just hard enough? Strip naked, bend over and feel my solid dick as I pounded into her pussy until we both came, panting and breathless?
No doubt about it—I wanted to fuck this woman. Like Angie’d said, I needed to get laid.
“I need you to come to the apartment. Your handyman hasn’t done such a good job with the installation.” I swung my chair around so I could take in the view of the city. Could I see her building from here?
“That’s not like Mr. Grames,” she said. A rustle of fabric on the other end of the line brought her into sharp focus.
What was she wearing?
“What exactly is the matter with them?”
“I’ll show you. I’ll be available after seven this evening.”
There was a second, maybe two, of silence. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said finally. “I can send Mr. Grames back and you can just tell him what you want changed.”
“I’m afraid that won’t do.” I hated having to pull the client card, after all what I wanted from her was entirely personal, and I wasn’t about to let her off so easily. I knew she found me attractive, so unless she gave me a good reason for keeping her distance, for not giving into me, I wasn’t about to give up. Quitting hadn’t gotten me to owning three billion dollars’ worth of real estate in midtown Manhattan alone. “Make this right, Grace, then we can discuss what you’ll do for me as my art consultant.”
“Mr. Shaw—”
“Grace, I’ve had my tongue in your mouth and your ass in my hand. Please, call me Sam.”
She sighed. It wasn’t wistful, more of an exasperated exhale. “Sam,” she said, her tone deliberate, as if she were addressing someone whose first language wasn’t English, “I’ve explained that I can’t be your art consultant.”
“It sounded more like a won’t than a can’t, and I don’t accept that.”
“Either way, it’s not going to happen. I’m happy to give you a couple of names, though. I have a number of contacts who would be more than willing to help you.”
“I’m not interested in anyone else helping me.” I liked the fact that Grace had tried so hard to hide the most personal art at the back of the gallery because she knew what would make money was at the front. But I’d found her secret art. I imagined she was much the same—hiding the most interesting things about herself—providing the world with a glossier version. I wanted to know her secrets.
I wanted to discover more of what she was hiding, physically and mentally.
“Well, I’m sorry, Mr.—Sam, I think it’s best if—”
“Do you have plans tonight?” I asked. I wasn’t going to back down.
“That’s not the point. I’m saying that I don’t think it’s—”
“So, you don’t have plans. I’ll be at the gallery to pick you up at six thirty.”
I hung up the phone. I’d arrive early. She wasn’t about to lock up before closing time to avoid me, and if she hadn’t come to terms with the fact she’d be coming back to my place by the time I arrived, I was pretty sure that in person I could convince her.
A kiss, maybe, to ensure capitulation.
Chapter Six
Grace
Sam Shaw had hung up on me. Typical spoiled billionaire, expecting everyone to dance to his tune, do whatever he said. I didn’t have the time or the inclination to be his art consultant. I needed to concentrate on the gallery. Steve’s show had brought us a lot of attention and I had to capitalize on that. I still had four big pieces of his to sell and there was growing interest in his previous work, which we’d agreed I’d get a higher commission rate for.
Playing nursemaid to a man who wanted nothing but someone to tell him what was going to make money wasn’t what I’d opened the gallery to do, even if he had purchased the pieces from me before he knew whether or not they were a good investment. I wanted to nurture new talent and feed people’s soul with old masters, not just make rich guys richer. Despite Steve being a terrible boyfriend, and looking back, not a particularly nice person, no one could deny he was talented. And I was proud that Grace Astor Fine Art had been able to launch his career. That was the kind of thing I wanted to focus on.
And I certainly didn’t want to be near a man I wanted to kiss. It was the last thing I needed. I didn’t trust my lips, my body, my heart at the moment. Especially with someone as spoiled as Sam Shaw.
My cell chimed on my desk. It was Steve’s new agent, who he’d signed with a couple of days after the opening. I’d never come across her before, which didn’t bode well—a bad agent could be worse than no agent at all—but it didn’t have anything to do with me anymore.
“Hi, Victoria,” I answered.
“Grace, I’m glad I caught you. I wanted to let you know we don’t need you to do any more work on Steve’s historic pieces,” she said, her voice as breezy as if she’d called to tell me my dry cleaning was ready to be collected.
My brain started to whir. “What do you mean ‘work’?”
“Just that we’ve decided to go in a different direction, and we won’t need you to sell any of them.”
My body tensed. “That wasn’t the deal I made with Steve. He said I could sell his older stuff at the standard commission rate.”
“Do you have a copy of the contract you could send me?” She knew full well I had nothing in writing. The guy had been my boyfriend. I’d trusted him.
“Steve gave me his word. Is he there? Can I speak to him?”
“He’s not here, and I’m sorry, but that’s not the way he remembers things. Grace, I’m not trying to be an asshole here, but I need to act in my client’s best interests. He needs to be with a bigger gallery.”