by S. L. Naeole
“There’s nothing to forgive. Really.” Except maybe my wandering mind that really should just get over those beautiful lips of yours.
Just like that the cold rigidity of authority returned, honeyed gold turning to cool moss. “If that’s what you believe.”
It was impossible not to see what had just happened: he viewed my reaction to his apology as a rejection and every cell in his body was screaming against it. Oh, he might have the air of confidence and power, but like most men who do, rejection was a bitter taste in his mouth and it showed. Maybe not to everyone, but to someone like me, someone whose job it was to notice the tiniest flaws, it was like a spotlight.
“It is,” I insisted, and then said something that took atypical, threw it out the window, and replaced it with an obvious case of alien abduction. “However, if you feel that strongly about it, then do me the favor of having lunch with me after I’m better. You can even offer to pay if you want, but since I’m asking I’ll insist on covering the tab.”
Yep. That was me, incapable of bearing the touch of strange men without having a panic attack and yet still managing to ask this strange man out to lunch. Obviously, I hit my head pretty damn hard.
Doubt fanned across his face, but something else flared in his eyes, something heated and predatory before the glaze of icy impassivity returned. But then he licked his lips, just the tip of his tongue peeking out, slipping a dash of moisture to coat the center of his mouth with a delicious gleam of wetness that almost sparkled, even under the hospital lights. Reflexively, my thighs clenched together, the act foreign and shocking. “It would be my pleasure.”
Damn if the way he said pleasure didn’t make my stomach tumble and my heart squeeze just a bit. The way his mouth moved, the way his wet lips glistened as his tongue touched the roof of his mouth at the L in “pleasure”. The way he swallowed at the end of the word, as if the taste of it was something to be kept.
Then he was gone.
“What the—” He hadn’t left a phone number or email address I could contact him with. He hadn’t even said goodbye.
And then, just like that, the tumble in my stomach and the squeezing in my heart were gone, too, replaced with doubt and anxiety over my out of character impulsiveness.
I was back at work within a week. A few days later my insurance company called to inform me that the Clam was a total loss, which was no surprise. Its appraised value of under two-hundred bucks wasn’t a surprise either. What did come as a surprise was the bill the day after the call from the company that towed my car for storage and transportation—three-hundred bucks. Vonne took me to pay the bill, sign off on the transfer of ownership so that the car could be taken to the wrecking yard, and then claim my things.
As I pulled things out of the trunk, I noticed that my portfolio was missing. I staved off my panic, hoping that I’d simply forgotten it at home like I had my wallet, and that when I returned it would be in my bedroom waiting.
When we returned to the apartment, a strange car sat in the designated stall where the Clam usually parked. It was sleek, black, and foreign. I was no expert on cars so I didn’t recognize the emblem on the hood but Vonne sucked in a breath at the sight of it. When we entered the apartment, Holly was there grinning excitedly.
“Did you see it? Did you see it?” she exclaimed before taking my uninjured arm and dragging to the window that faced the parking lot, her hand pointing to the car that had somehow grown blacker, sleeker in the short time it had taken us to climb the stairs and walk through the door.
“Is that your new ride?” I asked, her exuberance almost infectious. She had been looking for a bit for a newer car, and with the dangerous lines and sexy curves, it was completely Holly’s style in every way.
She slapped my shoulder and snorted. “That’s an Audi S5. Like I’ve got that kind of cash! No, woman, that’s your loaner!”
A frown tugged at my brows and I alternated between gaping at her and at the moonroof that sat directly below us. I didn’t know what an Audi S5 was, but it was obviously something of note to Holly which meant two things: it was expensive, and it was expensive. “What?”
Leaving me there to gape, Holly bounded to the kitchen and grabbed something from off the counter. She skipped to me, her short bob flouncing around her ears as she held out a rectangular object hanging from a solitary keyring. “This hot guy showed up, said he was here to drop off your loaner, and then handed me the key. He said he was sorry it took so long but there was paperwork that had to be completed first or something. Anyway, he said it’s yours to use until you find a replacement for the Clam. Well, he didn’t say ‘Clam’, but you know what I’m talking about.”
I took the key fob from her hand, staring at the heavy black box resting against my palm, and then returned my gaze back to the car that sat in the parking lot. “I can’t drive this,” I said out loud, a new panic and overwhelming nervousness washing over me in unwelcome waves.
Nothing else needed to be said. Holly immediately took the fob from my hand and nodded, a grim line pulling at her lips. Vonne made her way to my side and squeezed my shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll go car shopping this weekend and you’ll get something cheap and inconspicuous.”
Relief flooded me, my hand lifting to pat Vonne’s as I gave a half-hearted smile to Holly, whose face hung with disappointment. She was already half in love with the stupid car and wanted to make love to it vicariously through me. “Want to come?”
The smile returned, her eyes glittering with excitement once more and she nodded happily. “My three favorite words!”
My promotion at MOAT included an office on the first basement level, and it was there that I had my first status meeting with Delmonico and his boss, since there were several crates containing artwork that were on their way to the Met and to another museum up in Canada taking up space there. I sat in the chair opposite of my desk while Tobias Wascomb, director of procurement, ran through the list of new pieces coming in within the week that needed assessing and assignments for restoration. All were late eighteenth century pieces from relative unknowns that were going to be displayed at another museum in Arizona that didn’t have the same caliber restorers as MOAT.
“We’ve received an eighth of the collection, the most in need of repair and restoring,” Tobias informed us as he read from his tablet. He was in his mid-fifties, with a shock of fading red hair covering his head and much darker red brows pushing down on pale green eyes. He wore the MOAT uniform—a burgundy polo paired with khaki slacks—while in his office, but often changed into a suit when he was roaming the museum. That suit always hung conspicuously on a coatrack near his office door.
“One of the pieces in this collection is extremely delicate after it was in a fire and then left to molder in a crate for another century. I want your best on it, Del.”
Delmonico—Del to his friends—looked at me, then my cast, and then grimaced. “She’s already in the room, Toby, but with her injury, she won’t be any good to that painting. I’ll get Elise or Branson to do it. They’re almost as good.”
Shame and anger hit me simultaneously at Delmonico’s words. My last piece had been completed the day before the accident and was set to be displayed next month at the Art In Theater/Theater In Art exhibit, or AITTIA. It was the largest project I’d undertaken to date, with six pieces restored over the course of four months, including a lesser-known Degas. It was that piece that took prime place in my portfolio and the one I’d hoped would have landed me that second job before the accident.
That piece had been painstakingly restored after it had suffered water damage in the owner’s home and I’d been asked specifically to do the work because of another piece I’d restored for her. Remembering that caused me to puff up with pride, and I threw my shoulders back and spoke. “I might not be able to do any detail work, but there’s nothing wrong with my eyes. I can still do an inspection and itemization of flaws that need repair and restoration. I can also do the cleaning and color mixing. No one knows color
better than me.”
Del grunted, his dark eyes filled with a mixture of pride and annoyance. “Ria, your responsibilities won’t give you time to go down to the catacombs while I’m gone. We’re already down three full-time restorers, what with Phil leaving and Allison and Parker following him. I need you here, cataloging and itemizing what we have left to do for AITTIA and making room in the HuCoStore for what we have coming in, as well as making sure the inventory lines up with our manifests for the audit next month.
“I’m flying with the pieces in my office to Montreal tomorrow and won’t be back until after the exhibit’s opening in three weeks which means you’re in charge until I’m gone.” He reached over and lightly patted my knee, his fingers just barely brushing over the curve beneath the thick khaki of my skirt. He knew exactly what was too much contact and pulled back, offering the smile of not only my boss but also the friend that had taken a little leap of faith on an unknown kid and taken me in as an intern fresh out of high school over eight years ago. The youngest ever, I might add.
“You knew that this promotion meant leaving the catacombs, Ri.”
I did know. I had worked with my predecessor Olana a few times when Phil and the others were too busy. I’d paid attention because it was my job to. I just didn’t know that Olana’s job would eventually be mine. It had never even entered my mind that the possibility was there. Of course, I didn’t voice that to him. Instead, I nodded and stared at my phone, biting back a groan when I saw that I hadn’t started the voice app to record what was said during the meeting. I tapped the red record button.
“You’ll also need to sit down with Franco and Loriann to finalize the invitations for the soft opening for AITTIA. Speaking of which, do you know who your plus one is for the exhibit’s gala? You’ll need to put their name on the list before the end of the week so that security can issue them a badge for the tour.”
Shaking my head, I repeated what I’d always told him whenever this subject came up. “You know I never bring anyone, Del. Everyone who appreciates art the way that I do is either married, engaged, or dead, which all means totally unavailable. I could always call an escort service but I’m not sure that’s even legal.”
He grinned, ignoring the serious stare that Tobias was splitting between the two of us. “And when has that ever been a problem for me?”
I wanted to laugh with him and call him a total manwhore, but I caught the twitch of disapproval in Tobias’ gaze and cast my eyes down to my lap again. My ability to be comfortable with Del was an anomaly, which meant that the critical eye of our boss was intensified by my complete and total discomfort in his presence. Clearing my throat to reset my thoughts, “So, that’s cataloging and itemizing the remainders for AITTIA, reorganizing the HuCoStore and crosschecking with the manifests, and then going over invites for the soft opening. Anything else?”
“Yes, we have a lot of backlog for our private restorations. After the Arizona exhibit is assigned, I want you to start going through what’s been sitting the longest and get to work and assigning those out. Anything that’s been sitting for more than six months needs to be out before the end of the season.”
My mind instantly conjured up the list of restorers we had working full time plus those who freelanced. I’d seen the manifest of the paintings for the Arizona exhibit and knew that, barring any serious restorations aside from the one that had Tobias concerned, my fellow restorers could get it and the backlog done well before the end of the season. Maybe even before Del got back, and definitely before the next exhibit. The AITTIA exhibit was expected to remain open for three months, and hopes were high that it would be extended for another three given the fact that the Degas that I’d worked on was a rare find that had never been out on loan before and was being accompanied by a live interpretation featuring dancers from the theater side of MOAT. Add on few other loaned pieces that were coming in from another private collector and the mini shows the theater was putting on in conjunction to the gallery exhibit and it was a complete experience that would appeal to both theatergoers and art lovers.
“I’ll make sure it’s all handled,” I reassured Delmonico and then because I knew he felt ignored, Tobias.
Tobias nodded, though skepticism was marked in his expression. “If you don’t think your accident is going to present an issue, and as long as Del trusts you then I see nothing else we have to discuss regarding this.”
Satisfied, Del’s head also bounced in agreement before he stood and reached out to shake Tobias’ hand. I followed suit, biting the inside of my cheek as sweat began to bead against my palm and forehead. But as I moved to let go, Tobias squeezed more firmly, a hint that he had more to say to me but didn’t want to say anything in front of Del.
I bit harder, clamping down to prevent the scream building in my throat.
“Uh, you go on ahead,” I said to Del with a faint smile. “I’ll be right behind you. I just need to clarify something with Tobias.”
Del’s eyes flickered with uncertainty and then bobbed his head once in understanding before he left the large, paneled office, leaving the door open a crack. I smiled grimly.
“Now, Victoria—”
I flinched at the use of my name. He noticed.
“Before you leave, I wanted to discuss with you something that’s come to my attention. Your accident occurred fifteen days ago, yes?” He waited for me to confirm before continuing. “According to Gladys in HR, you claimed eight sick days. You know that we only provide seven.”
My mouth fell open because I hadn’t been the one to file anything. Del and Vonne had seen to that. But before I could say anything, Tobias continued, his body leaning forward in the chair, his arms resting on my desk so that only his elbows were touching the blotter on its deep cherry surface. His hands were joined together just beneath his chin, one thumb stroking across the top of the other. My heart stopped as dread began to course through my blood. “Fortunately, Gladys also informed me that you hadn’t used up any of your sick days since you’ve been a full-time employee, nor have you used any of your vacation days. So, given how much time off you have accrued, I’m willing to overlook this on one condition.”
Instantly, cold fear shrouded everything in the office and my palms filled with sweat, rivulets of it coursing down the backs of my knees and pooling in my shoes. Tiny tremors began to move through me and I inhaled sharply. I’d known Tobias since my first day here at MOAT, but I’d never been this up close to him, or this alone.
“Wh-what is that?”
Something that looked like pleasure moved over his face as his eyes glittered and his mouth pulled up in a slow, lazy smile. “Convince Yvonne to go as my plus one to the AITTIA gala.”
I blinked.
And then I exhaled, my heart stuttering back to life in my chest. “Vonne? You’re interested in Vonne?”
He eased back in the chair, his arms dropping down as he nodded in agreement. “I’ve been trying to get her to go out with me for months now but she keeps turning me down, saying that she’s too busy. I know she lives with you. She’ll listen to you. I’m only asking for one date, the gala. No strings, no expectations. Just a nice evening between the two of us and if things don’t progress beyond that then, well, I guess that’s that.”
A nervous chuckle pulled away from my lips and a burst of moisture covered my skin as a brief gust of relief hit me. “And you’ll look past the discrepancy of the sick leave?”
Tobias’s lazy smile pulled wide in a full grin. “I already have.” Suddenly, his face pulled tight with seriousness as his eyes took in the slight sheen of sweat on my skin and the shallow breaths that slipped in and out of my nose with soft whistles. “Oh, no. No, you thought—no, Victoria. I’m so sorry. What a stupid, stupid mistake. I apologize. I—”
I waved my hands in front of me, trying to somehow physically wipe away the fear that I’d felt and the guilt that he now clung to. “It’s okay. It’s okay, Tobias. We both know you didn’t mean any harm.”
&n
bsp; Deciding that staying would only make things more awkward between us, I reassured Tobias that I would speak to Vonne before thanking him for not seeking to discipline me for the sick leave issue, even if the fault wasn’t even mine to begin with. Less than a minute after he stepped out of my office, Del entered, concern staining his features.
“What happened?”
As Del took a seat beside me, my own chair now sitting empty behind my desk, I explained what Tobias wanted to speak about, not missing the darkness that streaked Del’s face as I did so. “I had no idea he was interested in Vonne,” I couldn’t help but say with a laugh.
Delmonico didn’t laugh with me. In fact, his expression was decidedly morose. “He knows better than to pull shit like that with you, Ri. If he’s not man enough to ask Vonne out on his own then he doesn’t deserve her.”
The protectiveness in Del’s voice didn’t come as a surprise to me, but the possessive way he said Vonne’s name did. Before I could ask if he was mad because of what Tobias did or because of his interest in Vonne, my phone buzzed in my lap. I looked down and saw that I’d received a text message. Ignoring it, I lifted my head to see Del pacing the tight confines of my office.
The walls had been stripped of decoration, phantom shapes of where Olana’s framed artwork revealing the original paint color as the surrounding areas faded from age and the tiny sliver of sunlight that peeked through the thin, narrow windows that lined the top of the far wall behind the desk. Del noticed this and muttered something about finding spare paint to fix things up. He stopped in front of the empty bookshelf that sat to the left of the desk and wiped his finger on the top shelf. He then muttered about someone coming in to dust in here for me.
“Del, what’s wrong?” I asked before he looked down and noticed the massive stain on the carpet and start planning on having the whole thing ripped out.
Stilling, he lifted his eyes and I bit back a soft moan of concern as I saw in their dark depths pain. Actual pain. “Del?”
