by Katie Allen
Her fingers fumbled a little as she entered the code to unlock the door, her flustered state caused more by his nearness than the women they were trying to dodge. “Don’t look back at them,” she whispered. “They’ll know we’re running away from them.”
The door unlatched with a beep, and she shoved the door open and hurried through, Louis so close behind her that he was practically plastered against her back. She tried to memorize the feeling to savor when she was alone and could be as sappy as she wanted about Louis with no one around to notice. The door latched behind them with a click, and Louis tapped in the code to relock it.
Letting out a long breath of relief, Annabelle met Louis’s gaze and quietly laughed. “You know this is a temporary measure. We can’t abandon our own event for long. We probably shouldn’t even be gone at all.” Despite her words, she leaned against the wall next to the door, relishing the moment of quiet and relative solitude.
“I know,” Louis said on a long, drawn out sigh. “Let’s just wait a minute to make sure they’ve moved on.”
Eyeing him curiously, Annabelle had to ask, even though she worried that the answer might hurt her heart. “Aren’t you interested at all in either of them, then?”
He stared at her, looking appalled. “Really? You think I’d be interested in Regina or Harper?”
“Why not?” Unable to hold his gaze, she picked invisible lint off her dress skirt. “They’re both beautiful.”
“You think so?” The way he said it made it sound like he didn’t agree. “They’re fine, I suppose. Not for me, though.”
Curiosity overcame her worry that she’d give away her interest, and she met his eyes. “Really? You don’t think they’re attractive?” Even she, someone who was interested in men—well, one man in particular—thought that the two women they’d just run from were gorgeous.
Facing her, he braced one hand against the door and shrugged. “I’ve known them professionally for years. It’s hard to see just what’s on the outside anymore. It’s like their personalities soak through to their skin, changing their appearance.”
“They’re not so bad.” Annabelle wasn’t sure why she was defending the women. “Regina is a little...uptight.” Louis gave a strangled cough at the understatement, but she ignored him and continued. “Harper’s sarcastic and funny, though. When she’s not chasing after you like a whaler carrying a harpoon, I get along with her great.”
He blinked. “A whaler? I’m the whale?”
“Stay on topic. Why don’t you like Harper?”
As she expected, he easily brushed off her comparison. Except when it came to his art, Louis had steel-coated confidence. “You just said it. Whenever she sees me, there’s this come-into-my-parlor look in her eye. Besides, even if I were interested, I wouldn’t mess with a gallery customer.”
“Huh.” Realization dawned on Annabelle, and she studied him silently as she worked through her revelation. As beautiful and charming as Louis was, and as interested as so many women who knew him seemed to be—including Annabelle—she’d figured that he dated a lot. Although she’d never actually seen it happen or seen any other women in his studio, she’d thought that all the action happened on the weekends when she wasn’t around. “Aren’t you interested in women?” Immediately, the total inappropriateness of her asking that question hit her like a pan to the face. “Ignore that. Sorry! I shouldn’t have asked, since it’s none of my business, and that was very wrong of me to even allow those words to leave my mouth, and I’m so sorry.” She forced herself to stop babbling when she saw he was laughing.
“You’re so adorable when you let that perfectly professional veneer of yours crack a little bit.” Before she could respond to that—or even decide how she felt about it—he continued, “I am interested in women. At least, I used to be.” Her gaze jumped to his in surprise. “I mean, I still am. It’s just that I don’t...” He peered up at the ceiling as if the words might be printed up there.
Annabelle eyed him. “Are you blushing?” It seemed like it was a night for blurting out things that were none of her business, but she couldn’t hold it back. Louis—confident Louis, who never seemed to get flustered or embarrassed—was actually turning red, and it was utterly fascinating.
“No.”
“Liar.”
“Shouldn’t we go back inside to see if the place burned down in our absence?”
“Since the studio would burn down with the gallery, I think we’d have some prior warning,” she said drily. With his blushing and trailing off uncertainly, she was now dying to know what he was trying to say—or being careful not to say.
He eyed her, lifting a brow as his color returned to a shade closer to his own normal skin tone. Obviously, he was regaining some of his composure. Annabelle was a little disappointed. It was nice not being the only one who babbled and blushed when certain topics were mentioned.
“Someone could be stealing every one of Desi’s paintings right now.”
She huffed, giving up on getting it out of him...for now. She resolved to bring it up sometime after they’d been drinking. Sure, it might not be any of her business, but she was still fascinated. “Fine. Let’s head back in.”
She’d barely gotten out the first word before Louis was tapping the security code into the lock keypad. When they slipped back in, she was relieved to see that the gallery wasn’t on fire, and even more relieved that neither Harper nor Regina was lurking on the other side of the door.
“Look at us,” she said under her breath so only Louis could hear. “We’re a pair of big babies running away from two harmless women.”
“We’re not big babies.” He winced slightly as he shifted his weight, and Annabelle glanced at her phone again. There were just twenty minutes to go before they could kick everyone out. From Louis’s expression, he was as ready as she was for the event to be over. “We’re proactive and have good survival instincts.”
She couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Okay, Darwin. I’m going to take a final pass around the room and check in with Desi.”
The gallery crowd had thinned considerably, and the handful of people remaining looked like they were working their way toward the exit. She was relieved to see that Max had left, although she wasn’t as glad to see that Velvet had apparently gone with him. Annabelle had been hoping to iron out a few details about her upcoming show. She made a mental note to call Velvet first thing on Monday.
When Annabelle reached Desi and saw who the artist was talking with, she bit back a groan. She’d been honest with Louis when she’d said that she got along with Harper, but the woman’s unrelenting pursuit of Louis and Annabelle’s weary brain made her really reluctant to engage in a barbed conversation.
“Harper, good.” She hid her not-so-friendly thoughts behind a polite smile. “I thought I’d missed saying goodbye before you left.”
Harper gave her an arch look. “Yes, I thought the same thing after you disappeared with Louis. I figured the two of you were done for the night.”
Looking back and forth between Annabelle and Harper, Desi widened her eyes. “What? Annabelle, are you and Louis a thing?”
“You don’t think that they were making...art when they went into the studio together, do you?” Harper asked before Annabelle could answer.
“Really?” Desi’s voice went higher on the last syllable. “Why didn’t you tell me this? I’ve had three shows here, and I never realized you two were banging each other! I feel so out of the loop.”
“Nope.” It was past time to shut this rumor down. “Nope. Nope. Nope. There is no banging. There has been no banging, and there will be no banging between me and Louis. He’s my boss. We work together. That’s it.”
From the scoffing sound Harper made, she wasn’t about to let the issue go. “I’ve never seen two people who just work together act so touchy-feely. You were pretty much all over that man.”
<
br /> Annabelle’s face flushed as embarrassed heat seared her from the inside out. Part of her knew that Harper was just being a bitter bitch because Louis hadn’t shown any interest, but the paranoid part of her—the one that believed everyone could see her feelings for her boss written all over her face—cringed at Harper’s words. Straightening her spine, she hid that insecure part of her as best as she could.
“I had my hand on his arm,” she said coolly, trying to give Harper the same sly look that the woman had directed toward Annabelle. “Physical support only. I think you might be projecting, Harper.” Even as she said the last bit, she felt bad for the innuendo. It was just that her feet hurt and she was tired and her emotions had been yo-yo-ing all evening thanks to her interactions with Louis. She wished that she wouldn’t keep getting her hopes up every time he poked her, but she couldn’t seem to control that excited flutter in her belly when it came to Louis.
“Projecting?” Rather than look offended, Harper smiled, a wicked, curling grin. “You mean I’d like to be touching him? Oh, yeah. I’d love to rub all over that fine man.”
Desi gave a slightly nervous giggle, glancing around as if checking to see if anyone was listening. Everyone else had left, however, leaving the caterer tidying up. Louis was nowhere in sight. “He is pretty hot.” Desi flushed at the admission, looking even younger and more innocent than she normally did.
“I’d be on that in a minute.” Harper’s eyelids lowered halfway, as if she was imagining being with Louis, and Annabelle had to stomp on her inner jealous bitch when she surged to life. “Have you seen him without...you know?” She gestured toward her leg.
Annabelle was pretty sure she knew what Harper was talking about, but she didn’t want to encourage the other woman’s train of thought. It had the potential for turning ugly really quickly. “Without what? Those hideous pants?”
Desi burst into laughter. “Every time I saw him tonight I wanted to crack up. Where did he find MC Hammer pants?”
“According to Louis,” Annabelle said, focusing on Desi, feeling her mood lift when she was offered a way out of the tense conversation with Harper, “they’re harem pants, and he got them at the yoga shop down the street.”
“Not the pants,” Harper interjected, and Annabelle felt her newly inflated mood drop again. “His leg...well, the stump that’s left.”
“Harper!” Desi scolded, wide-eyed. “Don’t call it that.”
“Why not? He did.” Harper sounded so smug that Annabelle wanted to slap her—well, for that and also for acting so gossipy about Louis’s amputated leg. She wasn’t just curious like most people who saw his prosthesis. Her tone was fascinated to a gross degree. “I’ve never done a guy who’s missing a leg. I wonder if I’ll have to be on top, or—”
“Okay!” Annabelle clapped her hands loudly, cutting Harper off mid-speculation. “Time to wrap things up. Desi, you must be exhausted. Harper, it was good to see you. We’ll be having another exhibition for Velvet’s work in a few weeks, so you’ll be getting an exclusive invitation for that. I know how much you love Velvet’s style.” At the moment, Annabelle wished that Louis would ban Harper from the gallery like he’d almost done to Max, but she knew Louis wouldn’t do it. He’d protect her but not himself. The thought made her feel rage-y, but the closest she could come to kicking Harper out was to march over to the door and hold it open expectantly, all while clinging to her polite smile.
Harper went still for a long moment, eyeing Annabelle as if she was debating whether or not to obey the silent command to leave. Just as Annabelle was bracing herself for a fight—which a tiny, violent portion of her brain kind of hoped would involve picking up Harper and tossing her outside—Harper gave a huff and walked through the doorway.
Once she was outside, Harper paused and looked over her shoulder with a smirk. “No banging. Sure. I believe that.”
With a huge effort, Annabelle kept her polite smile in place and ignored that. “Bye, Harper. Always good to see you.” Closing the door, she turned to Desi, who still looked a bit shell-shocked by it all. “Stand here and don’t let anyone in!”
She rushed to the desk, not sure why she was hurrying. After all, it wasn’t like they had hordes of people trying to stampede into their gallery afterhours. The incident with Harper had left her feeling intensely protective of Louis, though, and she was antsy to bar any predators looking to use him for their own gross interests.
The heavy thud of the dead bolt gave her a rush of satisfaction. Turning to Desi, she saw that the woman’s eyebrows had climbed halfway up her forehead. “What was that all about?”
Annabelle made a face, not really knowing how to answer. Her emotions were swarming inside her again, and she didn’t know how to handle the surge of protectiveness and possessiveness she’d felt when Harper had started talking about Louis as if he were some generic box to check off on her to-do list.
“She was being rude,” Annabelle finally said after futilely trying to wrangle her thoughts in order. “It’s been a long night, and I couldn’t hold on to my polite face for one more second.”
Desi nodded, but her gaze was speculative. “Is there really nothing going on between you and Louis?”
“Really truly.” No matter how much I wish that wasn’t true.
As if he could sense that the gallery was now Harper-free, Louis emerged from the back room, toting a tray with three champagne glasses on it. Despite his obviously sore leg and the champagne he’d already imbibed, he managed to make it across the room without spilling or dropping the tray. Annabelle was impressed.
“Did Gwen leave?” she asked, reaching for one of the glasses before Louis was even close enough.
“Yes, and aren’t you an eager beaver?” Despite his teasing, he stepped closer and lowered the tray so she could grab the champagne. Desi took the second, and Louis held up the third for a toast. “Here’s to Desi, for her crazily beautiful paintings and yet another successful opening.” They toasted, and Annabelle started to take a sip as Louis added, “And congrats for not spewing beforehand.”
“Hey!”
Desi’s indignation made Annabelle laugh as she tried to take a drink, and she covered her mouth so she wouldn’t spray champagne everywhere. “I told you so,” she said once she finally got herself under control.
Knocking back the remainder in her glass, Desi glared at them. “I hate you both.”
“We love you, Desi,” Louis said with his sweetest smile, and Annabelle finished off her own champagne to hide how she got all mushy when she saw that expression, even when he wasn’t aiming it at her.
“Yeah, yeah.” Desi was obviously trying to sound grumpy but failing miserably. “And I love both of you...although I don’t love those pants.”
“Even the pants’ mother couldn’t love them,” Annabelle said.
“Hey, now.” Louis smoothed his hand over his thigh and posed, making both women laugh. “It’s obvious that neither of you has an eye for upcoming fashion trends.”
“That’s okay. If more of those are coming down the pike,” Desi said, “I don’t want to know about it. I’m taking off, because I’m flying high right now but I know the crash is coming, and I’ll want my pillow when it does. Thank you both.” She gave Annabelle and Louis each a hug. “This was wonderful, and you two are high on my list of favorite people.”
“You need a ride home?” Louis asked, but Desi shook her head.
“I texted my friend fifteen minutes ago. He’s picking me up.” As if on cue, headlights lit up the front of the gallery as a car pulled into one of the diagonal parking spaces. “There he is. Have a good night! Don’t do anything Harper wouldn’t do.” With a final laugh, she used the key still in the door to unlock it and headed out into the night.
Chapter Six
Silence settled over the gallery. Although Desi had been joking with her last statement, the thought of Harper ch
urned up Annabelle’s anger and unsettled emotions again.
“There’s still half a bottle of wine back there,” Louis said. “Want to split it and leave cleaning the gallery until tomorrow?”
“Yes.” The answer was out even before Annabelle considered the question. It probably wasn’t wise for her to drink with Louis, especially with the two of them alone in the closed gallery, but that didn’t change the fact that more wine sounded really good at the moment.
As Louis went to retrieve the leftover wine from the back room, she turned off all but the security and window display lights and relocked the door, returning the key to her desk. By the time he returned, she’d reactivated the alarm and was holding the studio door open for him to pass through.
“Let’s go to my place,” he said. “The couch is more comfortable, and my crutches are there. I’m dying to take my leg off.”
“Why are you so sore tonight?” she asked, ignoring the panicked voice in her head that was squealing how bad of an idea it was to drink with Louis inside his home. Sure, it was right next door to the studio—in the same building, in fact—but sitting with him in a room right next to his bedroom was probably not smart if she wanted to maintain that professional distance.
“I was dumb.” He seemed completely relaxed, so obviously his internal alarms weren’t blaring like hers were. “The leg I use for running—the one with the spring foot—is in the shop getting tweaked, so I wore this one when I went for a jog this morning. Now I’m paying for it.”
“Ugh. Sorry.” She wasn’t too surprised he’d decided to do it, anyway. Louis was a bit fanatical about getting his run in.
“No major damage done.” He unlocked the door to his living area and held the door for her. His living room and kitchen were open with high ceilings and comfortable furniture and other people’s art on the walls. Although she’d been inside a few times before, they’d all been brief visits. There’d never been any wine-drinking on his couch.
