GRACE DIDN’T KNOW what was bothering Roman. He’d been different since his short trip to San Diego. He should be excited about the gallery show in Laguna Beach. Instead, he’d become quiet and introspective. He stayed in his studio sketching, but wasn’t making headway. She heard him swearing more than once, and the last time she’d entered his domain, wads of paper had lain helter-skelter around him. When she started picking them up, he told her to leave them.
The doorbell rang, a simple ding-dong rather than the melodious chimes that had irritated Roman. Grace hurried from the office, but slowed when she heard heavy metal music coming from Roman’s exercise room. He was running on his treadmill again. She expected to find Talia at the front door, eager to go over last-minute details for Roman’s show at the Laguna Beach gallery that evening. The poor woman had been as nervous as a backpacker facing a grizzly the last time she talked with Roman. The invitations had gone out, and responses flooded in. Talia would be serving champagne and canapés. Roman said he didn’t care if she handed out beer and pretzels. Talia had asked Grace what was eating him, but Grace had to admit she had no idea.
It wasn’t Talia ringing the bell, but a tall man with short white hair and intelligent hazel eyes. He had a suitcase in his hand and a look of surprise. “Well, hello.” He extended his hand. “I’m Jasper Hawley, and you are . . . ?”
“Grace Moore, Roman’s personal assistant.” The older gentleman had a firm handshake and an easy smile. “Come in. Please.” She stepped back. This must be the man who wanted a bed in the guest room.
“By the look on your face, Roman forgot to tell you I was coming for a visit.” He laughed low. “He also forgot to tell me about you.”
“He has a lot on his mind.”
“I’m sure that’s not the reason.” Jasper stopped in the living room. “Do I have a bed this time, or shall I get my sleeping bag and pillow out of my car?” She showed him down the hall to the guest room. “Holy cow! Look at this place! This is better than a suite in a high-class hotel.” He put his suitcase on the end of the king-size bed. “I think I’ll move in.”
“Don’t bet on it.” Roman stood in the doorway, toweling perspiration from his face. He looked like a professional athlete in his running shorts and wet T-shirt. Grace wished he had more clothes on—preferably, a sweatsuit that covered him completely. Roman’s gaze shifted to her. Her heart did an alarming flip.
Jasper looked around. “Bare walls? I thought you’d have every square inch painted by now.”
Grace found that a curious statement.
“I do enough painting on canvas these days, Hawley.”
Jasper ignored him and looked at Grace. “I’ll bet he’s never told you about his graffiti work.”
Grace looked at Roman. “Oh. Is that what you meant about tagging?”
Jasper raised his brows slightly and started to say something, but Roman gave him a quelling look. “Are you here to make trouble?”
Grace turned to go. She wanted to leave them alone to sort out whatever problem seemed to have reared its ugly head.
Roman put his hand on the doorframe, effectively blocking Grace’s exit. “Have you heard from Talia?” He was close enough for her to breathe in the scent of healthy male sweat.
“Not yet, but she said she’d probably come by this morning.”
He said a word she hadn’t heard since the first day she came to work for him. “I wish I’d never gotten myself into this thing.” He lowered his arm to let her pass.
Grace overheard Jasper as she headed down the hall. “How is it you never mentioned Grace?”
“She’s my personal assistant.”
His dismissive tone hurt. What did it matter? She’d known what sort of guy he was the minute she saw him. She was putting on a pot of fresh coffee when Jasper came out of the guest room and joined her in the kitchen.
“Roman will be out in a few minutes.” He sat on a barstool as she filled the carafe. “How long have you been working for him?”
“Four and a half months.” She gave him a wry smile. “Sometimes it feels longer.”
He chuckled. “I don’t doubt that. He’s a hard nut to crack.” She wanted to ask why that was, but doubted Jasper Hawley had any answers. And if he did, why would he share them with her? He studied her. “You’re not going to ask any questions about him, are you?”
“No. I’m not.”
“He must like you if you’ve been here almost five months. So, tell me about yourself, Grace.”
“Not much to tell. Roman hired me from a temp agency, then made it full-time. I answer correspondence, field phone calls, pay bills, run errands.” She shrugged. “I’m here to make Roman’s life easier.”
She looked toward the wall of glass. “It’s a beautiful day. Would you like to sit on the patio, Mr. Hawley?” Roman might object, but Jasper Hawley was the guest, and what he wanted took precedence.
“Call me Jasper, please, and the patio would be perfect.” When they were both settled with fresh coffee, he studied her over the mug of steaming brew. “It’s quite a view, isn’t it?” He nodded toward the canyon. “Makes you wonder why he never paints it.”
“I’ve wondered the same thing.”
“The boy is complex.”
The boy. Like Talia, Jasper said it with tolerance and affection. She gave a soft laugh. “I wouldn’t call him a boy.”
“Depends on your definition. And he’s been called a lot of names by a lot of people.”
Having fielded calls over the last few months, Grace knew that only too well. The most recent woman had a few choice things to say about him, none Grace wanted to hear. “You’re the only guest Roman has had here since I started working for him. Other than Talia Reisner, who only drops by.”
“She would be the gallery owner where the party is being held tonight.”
“Yes. She’s very nice. And interesting. She thinks Roman has great potential.”
“And you?”
She didn’t know what was behind his question. Thankfully, the sliding-glass door opened and interrupted their conversation. Roman came out, wearing jeans and a red T-shirt, hair still wet from the shower. He took a seat and looked between the two of them.
Jasper’s smile was half-teasing. “You appear to be in tip-top shape, Roman.”
“Just trying not to get old and flabby like you.”
“Still running? Or can I hope you’re training for the real marathon?”
Grace sensed undercurrents in the conversation. She started to get up. “I’d better get back to work.”
Roman gave her a quick glance. “Sit.” It wasn’t an invitation, and she didn’t care for being addressed like a dog on a leash.
“Grace was just telling me you met her through a temp agency.”
“What did you think? I picked her up in a club?”
Grace’s face filled with heat.
Jasper looked surprised, then annoyed.
Wanting to escape, Grace rose again, determined this time. Roman didn’t say anything as she headed for the house. She sat, elbows on her desk, face in her hands. It was a few minutes before her cheeks felt cool again. Was it the show that had him so tense? Was he worried people wouldn’t like his art?
She busied herself with Roman’s correspondence and answered several telephone calls. The doorbell rang at one. Talia swept in, her mass of curly hair tied up with a colorful scarf.
“Where is he? Most artists drive me crazy wanting to know every detail of what’s being done for their show, and Roman couldn’t care less!” She waved her hands in the air and spotted him on the patio. She marched through the sliding-glass doors and went outside to join the two men.
Safely back in the office, Grace breathed more easily. She finished her work and called Selah to check on Samuel. “He’s playing on the rug. He’s crawling.”