The notoriety alone gives me goose bumps. Anonymous or not, the Astor name is one of wealth and affluence—it opens the kind of doors I’ve dreamed of in the past but never had the opportunity to walk through. He owns and oversees each of his galleries worldwide and is known to broker deals for politicians and those with obscene amounts of money looking to add an original piece from some of the greatest minds to pick up a brush.
“What are you thinking about?” Theodore’s voice cuts through my mental giddiness, bringing me back to the present where all eyes are on me. Heat rises to my cheeks just as my palms begin to sweat. “What do you need to make this happen? Name your price.”
“Three months,” I blurt out instead, and he merely raises an amused brow. Clearing my throat, I will my breathing to remain calm and stray my eyes toward the paper once again. “What I am trying to say is that for the amount of pieces you require and all of them being new, I’ll need the extra thirty days. There’s a concept already forming in my head, but I’m also realistic, and while excitement is a heady motivator, I’ll need more time.”
“Done.” At Theodore’s quick response, I snap my eyes to his and find them watching me intently. “We aren’t due to show this exposition until mid-August so it won’t affect us really, but we will need your help with the lighting setup. We will just use mock pieces until yours arrive...is that something you can agree to?” My nod is his answer, and those smoldering amber eyes look toward Tero who’s taken the folder and is busy amending it by hand. “Anything else?”
“You do understand that I will attend opening night, but not as the artist. My name—my legal name—is never to be leaked at any point, or I will sue.”
“Gabriella!” Elise hisses out, her tone low but full of a fury I ignore. “You can’t—”
Theodore’s glare is enough to silence her rant before it begins. “If you interrupt us again, I will ask you to leave, Miss Scott. Understood?”
“Yes.” Low. Meek. Yet, the hold she has on her fork displays the fury simmering beneath the surface. “It won’t happen again.”
“Good.” Grabbing the papers from Tero who’s finished, Theodore places the sheet once again in my line of sight. And damn them, I almost laugh out loud at what greets me because in large and bold letters it states: Gabriella Moore will remain anonymous and will stay that way or the owner will fine himself. Stipulation is non-negotiable. “Does that appease you? If you say yes, I will have the contract re-typed and sent over via courier to your home or your place of choosing for signature tomorrow morning.”
“It does.” My poker face is strong, but inside I’m squealing like a prepubescent tween at a boy-band concert. This is really happening. “And you have yourself an artist for the show.”
“I never thought otherwise.” Removing the file from the table, he passes it back to a waiting Tero while nodding toward my plate. “Now eat. Everything else can wait until tomorrow.”
“Thank you.” And then silence falls on the table as we eat, eyes staying on the plates even though I know Elise is pissed. Her posture is stiff, the skin around her eyes and mouth taut.
“Well, that most certainly hit the spot this morning,” Tero says when I push my plate away, having eaten every last bite, which isn’t the norm for me. To be honest, this is the best meal I’ve had in months, and I feel great. No nausea or discomfort of any kind. Is there such a thing as birthday luck? “Thank you for allowing us to eat with you this morning, Miss Moore.”
“Please don’t. I should be thanking you.”
“You should be,” Elise says under her breath, and by the way the man beside me tenses, Theodore heard her. “Now, if that’s the end of this meeting, I’d like to steal the lucky girl away for a mani/pedi and some much-needed shopping.”
“Then we won’t hold you.” Theodore stands first, extending a hand out toward Elise who eagerly shakes it, leaning toward him while slyly adjusting her top—exposing a little more skin. He doesn’t look, but Tero does and his expression is one of disgust until he notices I’m watching and schools his features. The only two men I’ve ever met that are immune to her charms. Mr. Astor pulls his hand back and then holds it out to me, waiting for me to take it and I do so after a second, letting him tug me gently to my feet.
We are close. So close that his warm breath skims across my forehead and I take a step back, creating the space needed so I don’t embarrass myself. Because this man smells good. He feels good this close, and that makes me nervous.
More than.
Taking in a deep breath, I hold it for a second and then offer him a smile. An honest one. “Thank you so much for everything today. This opportunity means the world to me, and I promise to not disappoint or be difficult. If you have any questions or doubts or just need to see the progress, please don’t hesitate to call me.”
“The pleasure is all mine, Miss Moore.” Theodore brings my hand to his lips and kisses the middle knuckle, lingering there for a second while his chest expands once quickly. Then, he lets go and I feel a coldness sweep across every limb and settle on my chest. The hell is that? Moreover, I’m so lost in that thought that I almost miss what he says. “...need that phone number to contact you later today regarding the contract.”
“You can always call me.”
Once more he ignores Elise, this time holding his hand out. “Your phone, please.”
“Of course,” I say instead of telling him a business card would be fine, handing over the device that’s almost always on silent. Especially when working. Then there’s the tiny spark I feel when our fingers touch, this sensation that crawls up my arms and to my chest, settling into a warm buzz. What is that? A question I swallow back, turning my attention to Tero for a second who has a smug look on his face. This is getting weirder by the second.
The device pings in his hand before he passes it to me. “Expect a call around nine tomorrow, Gabriella. We’ll meet where it’s convenient for you.”
“No need to go out of your way. I can meet you tomorrow at the gallery—”
“No more business talk on your birthday. Tomorrow, we’ll agree and sign...sound good?”
I’m nodding before he’s done talking. “Thank you for the opportunity.”
“Remember what I said, Miss Moore. Pleasure is always mine.” With that, he steps back and at once, I miss the feel of him close. And more embarrassing is the smile on his handsome face, as if he somehow knows my thoughts that are inappropriate and confusing and dangerous for my psyche. He’s a danger to my tranquility. “Please enjoy your day in that pretty dress. The color suits you perfectly.”
Theodore nods at Tero, who drops a few bills on the table that more than takes care of brunch, and walks away without another glance while I’m left blushing. I finger the lace edge, and there’s an urge in me to thank Elise for the dress but I don’t.
Something is telling me to remain quiet. To wait.
Neither man addresses Elise before leaving nor has she been included in any future plans, something I’m sure she’ll complain of soon enough.
Moreover, she does the moment they step through the cafe’s door after coming to my side, her grip on my arm tight. “How could you ruin this for me? After everything I’ve done for you.”
“What have you done for me?” I ask, because my mind is reeling and her reactions today don’t make sense. Yes, she’s my friend, but I’ve never asked for anything. I’ve never used her. Instead, Elise has used my name and inserted herself in my career without asking.
Pushy. Judgmental. Yet, I’ve taken her as is and never once made her feel anything less than my best friend.
“Who set this meeting up?” Her tone is acerbic, her face pinched tight. “Who did the homework and flirted with his staff for insider information—”
My head turns to her as I pull my arm from her grasp. “Did I ask you to?”
“You’d never get into a place like this without my help.”
“That’s not the answer to the question I asked, Elise.” The table near us looks over, but I ignore the curious looks and maintain a neutral expression. “Because we both know I didn’t. We both know I’m not a person who flaunts or likes to attract attention—”
“Could’ve fooled me with what you’re wearing.” Those seven words make me freeze as the blood in my veins turns ice cold. “Since when do you wear lacy dresses and show off skin? You knew who was coming and tried to show me up. How could...”
The rush of happiness is gone sooner than it came, and I’m left repeating her words over and over again. Not because I’m upset over her accusation or the embarrassing behavior I’ll deal with later, but because the garment I’m wearing—the lacy gift left inside my home, in my room—didn’t come from her.
