by Katie Allen
The sound of his slightly uneven footsteps behind her brought her out of her thoughts.
“Never mind,” he said as he settled into a chair across from her desk. “Do you want to grab an early dinner before the thing at Max’s gallery tonight?”
Pausing in returning her purse to her desk drawer, she turned her head to look at him. His simple question had raised so many questions that she didn’t know which to address first. “You said that like I’m going to be attending Max’s thing tonight.”
“Because you are?” His voice went up hopefully at the end, and she closed the drawer with a little more force than necessary.
“Nope.”
“Please?”
“No.”
“I’ll pay you.”
“You already pay me.” It was a generous salary, too, enough for Annabelle to cover the rent on her adorable little house, make her student loan payments, and feed herself, plus have some money left over for fun stuff. That made her less susceptible to Louis’s occasional bribery attempts.
He was starting to look a little haunted. “You can have the rest of the week off.”
“Today’s Friday. There is no more rest of the week.” She needed to put an end to this argument before he broke out the puppy-dog eyes—the ones that had just convinced her to blow off work and go to a movie. “Besides, my work has to get done. If I took a day off, I’d just have to do twice as much the next day.”
“Please, Annabelle Shay, the best and most generous Annabelle I know?” There they were—the puppy-dog eyes. She stared at a point on the wall over his left shoulder, determined to resist him. “Don’t make me go by myself. You know I hate to go to these things anyway, and it’ll be worse if you’re not there. I won’t have anyone to gossip about Leta Grosset’s newest husband or get grossed-out with when Yuri gets pâté stuck in his beard.”
Making a face, she said, “You’re not really helping your case.”
“Please?”
She made the mistake of meeting his gaze—his wide, pleading, beautiful gaze—and grimaced. “Max is so...gross.”
“Gross?” Tilting his head, he blinked at her. “Max?”
“Yes.” She hadn’t meant to say anything, since she knew they were friends, but now that she’d started, she didn’t want to brush it off. Max was gross.
“Gross how? Like sex-gross?” He sounded so surprised by this that she wanted to poke him. How could he have been friends with Max for years and not noticed his sleazy side?
“Not really.” She tried to put the vague feeling she got around the man into words. “More just rich, entitled, snobby, condescending, and kind of oily. He’s never grabbed my boob or anything, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he had some weird fetishes or a history of sexual assault or something.” She hid a wince, reminding herself that she wasn’t talking to her friend Leah over drinks. This was her boss—and she was talking about her boss’s friend. Talking about random boob-grabbing was not professional. The hard part was that Louis had already smashed all the workplace norms, so it was hard not to follow him down that road. She needed to keep some barrier up between them, or she was going to spill something she’d regret later.
After a sputtered laugh, he said, “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say anything like that.”
Although she tried to find her stern look again, it was much more difficult immediately following a comment referencing her own breasts. “It’ll be the last time, too.”
“Oh.” Louis sounded disappointed. “I was kind of looking forward to the potential new topic.”
That made it easy for her to skewer him with a glare. “You will not be discussing anything involving this.” She made big circles in the air over her chest area.
“Of course not.” Even though he held up his hands as if to ward off her eye laser beams, he still looked much too amused for her comfort. “I wasn’t going to say a word. I would’ve just listened supportively as you said...whatever you needed to say.”
Staring at him, she wondered how they’d managed to mire themselves in this particular verbal swamp. “Back on topic...” What’s the topic again? “Oh! Right. I’m not going tonight.”
“What if I promise never to leave your side?”
She raised an eyebrow at him. “How is that an incentive to go?”
“Please?” The puppy eyes were back, damn them. “We don’t have to stay long. If you’re not there, then Max will drag Velvet over, and it’ll be so awkward. I get along with both of them separately, but Max is a man on a mission when his daughter’s there. He’s about two baby steps away from pushing our heads together, trying to get us to kiss.”
When she couldn’t hold back a laugh, Annabelle knew she’d be going to Max’s reception that night. Louis had talked her into enough things that she knew when he’d won. Not only did she feel bad for his upcoming discomfort, but she actually liked Velvet, despite her gross dad. Still, she needed to at least try to wiggle out of it. She had a phone date with her former roommate and best bud planned. They were going to watch their new favorite show together.
“Why can’t Velvet just tell Max she’s not interested in you?”
He grimaced. “Not that we’re besties who share all our thoughts and feelings, but I get the impression Velvet doesn’t want Max to know she isn’t all that crazy about penises in general.”
“That’s a pretty big leap.” Annabelle leaned back in her chair, not even bothering to boot up her laptop. It was almost time to leave if she had to get ready for the event. “Just because she’s not interested in your penis in particular doesn’t mean she’s completely anti-peen.”
When Louis snickered, she resisted the need to close her eyes in frustration. What was wrong with them today? First, he brought up the dating thing, and then she talked about boobs, and now she was flinging around the peen word? She desperately grabbed for the shreds of her professional façade, but she couldn’t seem to return it to its former impenetrable state.
“That’s the problem, Annabelle Shay.” He’d recovered from his fit of man-giggles, although the corners of his mouth still twitched every now and again, revealing his underlying amusement. “Velvet not being interested in me is a dead giveaway that she prefers women.”
“What? No, it’s not.”
“Sure it is.” He lazily swept a hand down his body. “Who could resist this pieced-together, Frankenstein-esque form? There’s no way this—Louis Dumont served up on a platter for her enjoyment—could be set in front of any straight woman without her dying to partake of this magnificence.”
She frowned. His tone was light and amused, as always, but his words made her wonder if he was as supremely confident as he seemed. “Are you joking?” The words were out before she could consider them.
His teasing expression faded, leaving a flash of uncertainty that disappeared as quickly as it’d come. “About which part?”
Instead of answering, she studied him for a long moment, wondering if this was a trap intended to get her to extol his beauty, something she didn’t think she could do without revealing her obsession with him. If she admitted that she thought he looked like a fallen angel, with his dark hair kept ruthlessly short, and his almost-black eyes with their outline of thick lashes, and his wide, mobile mouth that curled up at the slightest provocation, and the strong line of his jaw, and his sharp cheekbones, and his broad shoulders and muscular chest and rippling abs and—
She tore her gaze away from him, studying the details of her desk drawer pull in an attempt to get her breath back and regain her composure. When would she learn that allowing herself to stare at him only led to embarrassment? Clearing her throat, she met his gaze again. His guarded expression reminded her of their current conversation.
“Do you really think no woman could resist you, or are you mocking the idea, since you think that every woman could resist you?” she as
ked, and his slight smile fell away completely.
His gaze was serious for a moment, just long enough to make Annabelle’s stomach twist in sympathy and a need to grab him and force him to realize that he was indeed irresistible—with her mouth, if necessary. Then his merry smile was back. “The first one, of course.”
“Of course.” She wasn’t sure anymore, though, and her stomach refused to untwist. It was the final push she needed to capitulate completely. “If I go with you tonight—if!” From his pleased expression, she knew that they were both aware there was no “if.” She’d caved. Leah would have to wait to watch the latest episode of Succubi in Space, and she wouldn’t be happy about it. Annabelle was going to get an earful, as well as a lecture on the importance of standing up to her boss. Despite knowing she was going to the reception, she continued with her demands, needing at least the illusion of control over her evening plans. “You are not going to leave my side, got it?”
“Got it.” It didn’t help that he looked positively giddy at getting his way.
“Not even to go to the bathroom.”
“I will hold it until I burst, if necessary.” He drew a cross over his heart, and Annabelle hated that she found it cute.
“Well, that’s not healthy. Let’s just not stay very long, so it doesn’t become an issue. We’re also going to the diner on Seventh Street for pie afterward, and you’re paying. I might get two slices, depending on how creepy and pushy Max gets.”
“Deal!” Standing abruptly, Louis bobbled a little and put his hand on the wall to regain his balance. He quickly recovered and made for the doorway. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“Why so early?” It came out as a wail, but she didn’t care. Despite the pie, the evening was going to be miserable, she just knew it.
“Dinner first, remember?” he shouted from the studio.
Annabelle wasn’t about to complain about a meal out. “What should I—” the door between the studio and Louis’s living quarters thumped closed, and she was just talking to herself now “—wear?” Obviously, he’d decided to run before she could change her mind. “Smart man. That’s a definite possibility.”
With a sigh at her lack of spine when it came to her boss, she retrieved her purse yet again and headed out the door, making sure to lock it behind her before starting the mile-long walk home. It was a perfect day, sunny but not unbearably hot. The studio was in the middle of the tourist-heavy downtown, and Annabelle wove through the window shoppers and casual strollers. The jovial Friday-afternoon mood was usually infectious, but she couldn’t seem to get out of her own head.
She turned onto the walking trail that ran most of the way from her office to her house. The fifteen minutes of peaceful time in the trees after work was usually one of the best parts of her day. She loved her new town, loved how vibrant and active and yet laid-back it felt. As soon as she saw the place for the first time from the plane window, the small city tucked cozily inside its ring of mountains, she’d felt like it was home. Every time she walked to and from work, she was reminded of this feeling. Normally, she was fairly relaxed by the time she reached her front door.
Today, however, even the beautiful day and the chirping birds and dappled sunlight didn’t quiet her spinning mind. The conversations she’d had with Louis replayed over and over, and the dread building in her gut had nothing to do with the reception she’d be attending. As friendly and chatty and irreverent as her boss could be, he’d never given any indication that he was interested in her except in an employer/employee sort of way. If she messed up and somehow revealed to him how very, very interested she was in him, then everything would come crashing down.
She loved her job and her new city and the studio and her office and the little house she’d turned into a home. If her boss found out that she had a stupid crush on him, then this whole wonderful, fragile life she’d built could come crashing down.
By the time she was climbing her front steps, she was newly resolved. No more slips. She’d treat Louis like she’d treat any other boss, and eventually that tiny little crush would fade—easy-peasy.
Even as she thought it, though, a little voice in her head laughed mockingly, and she muffled a groan. There’d be no easy-peasy. Over the past six months, Louis Dumont had somehow managed to jam himself deep into her brain. Getting over this infatuation was going to be brutal.
Chapter Two
“Look.”
“No.”
“C’mon, Annabelle Shay. Look at him.”
“No.”
“He’s going to turn around soon, and you’ll miss your chance. You’ll kick yourself later, because you’ll have missed it.”
“I won’t kick myself later if I miss it. I’ll kick myself now and later if I see it, because then I won’t be able to get the sight of liver pâté stuck in Yuri’s beard out of my head, and that image will ruin my next ten meals or so, which means I won’t enjoy my pie later tonight.” Despite her words, it was annoyingly difficult not to sneak a glance over her shoulder to see what Louis had just described in avidly vivid detail. It was like a train wreck of grossness; she was drawn to look, even though she knew she’d regret it.
“It’s not really in his beard,” Louis said, eyeing Yuri over her shoulder. “It’s more in the mustache hairs.”
“Ugh.” She tried to control her expression, but she could feel her mouth being drawn down into a grimace despite her best efforts. “How does he stand having it that long and untrimmed? I can’t handle having a stray hair get in my mouth. With that mess on his face, it must be a constant battle of spitting out beard hairs.”
“I don’t think he battles it anymore. I believe he’s given up. The beard has won.”
Her mouth tightened again, this time in a semi-successful attempt to hold back a giggle.
“Max incoming,” Louis whispered, and her urge to laugh was quickly extinguished.
“Louis! My second-favorite artist!”
Schooling her expression into something more or less polite, Annabelle turned to face Max.
She regretted the effort when Max gave her a quick up-and-down glance before plastering on a wide smile. “Ah. Annabelle. How kind of you to bring your girl Friday with you, Louis.”
“She’s my gallery manager,” Louis corrected before she could decide whether it’d be worth spending the oxygen. Max knew perfectly well what her job was, but he was just being bitchy. “I don’t think I’ve heard the term ‘girl Friday’ except for in an old black-and-white movie. You might want to retire that, Max.” Leaning close to the other man, Louis lowered his voice. “Don’t want people thinking you’re older than you really are.”
Even as he gave a jolly-sounding laugh, Max’s neck turned an ugly red that quickly worked its way up his clenched jaw. Contrarily, the sight of it made Annabelle cheerful again. Even in the short time she’d been acquainted with Max, she’d learned how extremely vain he was. Although she was fairly certain he was pushing sixty, he’d fought against every sag, wrinkle, and gray hair with personal trainers, cosmetic surgeries, and salon visits.
“Good to see you again, Max,” she lied through her teeth, very carefully keeping her gaze away from Louis’s. He was amused, she just knew it, and now was not the time to look at him and dissolve into uncontrollable giggles. She was an adult, darn it, not a kid snickering with her best bud.
“Yes, you, too.” Turning toward Louis, Max’s face lit up with true enthusiasm.
“Did you see that Eli Goodhue’s widow’s going to be auctioning off some of his early sketches?” Max asked, his voice low as if he wanted to keep the news a secret.
“Really? Sketches of Hawk in Flight or one of his other works?” Louis shifted closer, as eager to hear the art-world gossip as Max was to share it, and his shoulder brushed Annabelle’s. She fought to keep her reaction from showing as she gave herself a mental lecture. Something as minor as a
shoulder brush shouldn’t send sparks of sensation shooting down her arm. This crush was aggravating, and it was only getting worse the more time she spent with Louis.
Max waved a hand dismissively. “What other works? Hawk in Flight was the only thing Goodhue did worth looking at. I’d love to have that sculpture in my collection. Too bad his widow donated it to MoMA.”
A huff of amusement escaped Annabelle before she could stop it, and both men glanced at her. “How is it too bad that millions of people get to see it every year? Would it really be better for the piece to be hoarded by one private collector?”
“Good point, Annabelle Shay.” Louis smiled at her. This time, when his shoulder lightly bumped hers, she knew it was intentional. “Hawk is incredible, and as many people as possible should be able to experience seeing it in person.”
“That’s true.” Max looked a bit pained as he said the words. “You have to admit that it would be satisfying to have such a unique piece in your personal collection, though. Getting to see Hawk every day?”
“Well, sure.” Louis lifted his hands in a shrug. “But when it’s displayed at a museum, everyone gets to experience that, even if they can’t afford to own it.”
“You’re such a socialist,” Max said, but his tone was fond. “Velvet’s the same way—too softhearted for her own good. Have you seen her yet tonight? She has some exciting news to share.”
“Not yet.” At the slightest hint of panic that sparked in Louis’s eyes, the image of Max trying to force Velvet and Louis’s faces together into a kiss popped into Annabelle’s head, and she fought a smile.
“Well, no wonder, with the two of you hiding in this corner. I’m sure she’s not far.” As Max turned to search for his daughter, Louis and Annabelle exchanged a look. She would’ve been happy hiding in their corner for the rest of their hopefully short time there. From Louis’s expression, he shared her feelings.
