“Me also.” David smiled, placing a hand on the small of my back. We started walking, the only noise the clicking of my heels on the sidewalk and the honking of horns in the distance. It was David who continued the conversation.
“I really am impressed with your work ethic, Gemma. The Ronaldo case, however, I feel might be a challenging one.”
“Oh?”
David loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt. “There are many gallery directors who have refused to work with him ever again. He’s burned a lot of bridges and his reputation isn’t great.”
This piqued my interest, and as long as we talked business, it reduced the chance of anything inappropriate. “What’s he done?”
“Ronaldo’s a known diva who expects everything and gives nothing in return. He’s often quite vocal about any shortcomings. Usually, I would shy away from high-maintenance artists like that, but Ronaldo Ruiz is like striking gold. The people love him, and his artworks have basically quadrupled in price in the past four years. I actually have one of his pieces hanging in my bedroom.”
A suggestive silence followed, and heat flushed my cheeks. I refused to take his bait, but it didn’t deter David. My discomfort was often the goal.
We came to a stop at the flight of dimly lit stairs that led down to the illuminated basement.
“I can assure you, David…” I said, getting the conversation back on track, “… if we do secure Ruiz, he and I will work side by side without a hitch.”
“Your negotiating skills would be better used in the UN, I’m sure of it.”
“You don’t have to worry. Look how well Maximus turned out, and he had some fairly interesting demands and expectations.”
David’s eyes softened, his hand lifting to tuck a strand of loose hair behind my ear. His knuckles intentional or not brushed against my skin, and I pulled slightly away, cautious to not cause offense. He was a good-looking, self-assured man and I was certain he was rarely rejected, but I simply wasn’t interested in kissing my career goodbye.
“I should go,” I said, embarrassed. David was married to a beautiful woman. He had no business trying to get up in my business, but he was a man who wanted his cake so he could scarf it down too.
He nodded, undeterred by the deflection.
“Peter still in the picture?” he asked of my boyfriend of five months.
“Yes, he is,” I answered, ignoring his scrutinous stare. “He’s away a lot with work which is why he can’t join me at the openings.”
A shoe scuff on polished cement in the basement caught our attention. We both glanced down the stairwell at the well-built man who was silhouetted by the light. He stood motionless, wearing a thick hoody on a sweltering night. He appeared to be waiting for us to go down first before he could make his way up the narrowed staircase.
“Come,” David said, taking the lead. We were halfway down when the hooded man took to the steps two at a time meeting us in the middle. He by-passed David with ease given it was a tight squeeze but made little effort to avoid contact with me. His broad shoulder knocked mine in a deliberate barge. I was mid-step when thrown back onto the dirty step, my palms scraping the concrete.
“Hey!” I snapped at his blatant rudeness. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Offering no apology or assistance, the man turned left and disappeared from sight. The only thing that remained was the sweet, spicy scent of his cologne.
“Jesus, Gemma.” David turned, somewhat startled by the altercation. Gripping my elbow, he hauled me to my feet. “Are you hurt?”
“Just a grazed palm.” I grimaced while dusting myself off and smoothing out my dress. Offering a hand, David assisted me down the remainder of the stairs. “We’ve obviously disturbed him because it’s only our two cars left here.”
“You think he was trying to steal a car?”
“Quite possibly.
“Are you okay to get home?” he asked, genuinely concerned as we stopped next to my Audi.
“I’m fine, truly. It was Charlie who guzzled most of the champagne.”
“Well,” David beamed. “Speaking of champagne, be sure you’re free on Friday night.”
Anxiety returned. What had he planned? Or more to the point, what was he trying to get me into?
“David, I’m not sure—”
“Relax…” he said, raising his hands in defense. David winked and smiled playfully while walking backward to his own car, “… everyone will be there. Not just me.”
I felt foolish and ashamed I was so quick to judge everything the man did.
“Sure,” I agreed, hoping it would get the conversation back on track without the awkwardness. “I’m free.”
“That’s my girl,” David said, winking once more before he pivoted on his heel, whistling the rest of the journey to his brand-new Mercedes. Sinking into the driver’s seat, I exhaled heavily, exhausted from the hectic day and still just a little shaken from the stairwell encounter.
A fragrance lingered. It was on my clothes. It was on my skin. It was a sweet, spicy scent belonging to the hooded man.
My stomach churned, and my eyes anxiously searched the rear and side mirrors.
I could have been overreacting.
I could have easily mistaken the situation.
I hadn’t smelled that scent in a very long time, over a decade, in fact. It and the memories it incurred were buried in my past, and that’s where I needed them to stay.
So why did I have the feeling my nightmares were returning to haunt me?
Chapter 2
“Another two, please,” Carleen cooed seductively to the young muscled-up barman. Leaning forward on the marble counter, she allowed her newly acquired double D’s to bulge from her blouse. Carleen was Pierson Gallery’s receptionist who had a love for the nightlife, stiletto heels and men half her age. She also had a gut made of cast iron, handling enough alcohol that would see four grown men out cold before the clock struck twelve.
“No more,” I begged, but it was too late. The tequila shots were already being poured, the rim coated with salt and a slither of lemon on a small plate was placed in front of us. “You’re going to hell for this, Carleen.”
“Honey, I’ll meet you there,” she practically squealed, her excitement blending in with the rest of the joviality in The Cocoon Lounge. David had chosen an upmarket lounge bar in Soho to celebrate my twenty-sixth birthday. It was a popular venue for those who worked the business district, keen to unwind on a Friday night.
“Lick, sip, suck, baby,” a smooth voice with soft lips grazed my ear. I shivered in delight as a hand snaked around my waist pulling me against a hard body.
“Hey, Peter,” Carleen cooed once again, playfully, curling a lock of hair around her finger. Everyone knew Carleen as a playful flirt and now was no different. She had no shame and wore her heart on her sleeve. This sometimes made a dangerous combination.
“Hey, Carleen,” my boyfriend replied. “Your hair looks great. New color?”
Carleen placed a manicured hand over her breast and looked through her long fake lashes. “You noticed? You’re too sweet,” she gushed before turning to me. “If you ever get bored, honey, send him my way.”
While Peter and I hadn’t been together long, our relationship, if you could call it that, was one built on a long-distance connection. He frequently traveled for work, and when he was present in the same room, he wasn’t ‘present.’ The phone calls were endless, and his duty to work was paramount over everything. But what we did have was a mutual respect for each other, and the time we did manage to spend together was always filled with laughter and sex.
Carleen’s fickle attention diverted back to her boy-toy behind the bar. “Another shot, my love,” she practically purred. With a playful smile and eyes only for his prowling cougar, he poured another shot in front of Peter.
“All right, come on, baby…” Carleen raised her glass, and we followed suit. “Happy fucking birthday, sweetheart, and if you need a good surgeon in a few years, I know just the place. A place where they give you cocktails while in recovery and a pool lapping at your toes.”