by Ward, Alice
My eyes scanned the walls, widening in disbelief as they fell on Renoir, Cezanne, and Kandinsky.
“As you can see, I spent much more on the décor than the actual house,” he told me, watching me take in his collection.
“I don’t have a gallery room, I’ve just spread the collection through the house,” he continued. “I’m happy to give you a full tour, but the pieces I’d like to part with are in the guestroom.”
“Let’s see those first then,” I suggested.
“Whatever you say,” he agreed.
He led me down a wide hallway and pushed open the last door on the right. The same birch planks covered the floors and a custom platform bed sat against the left wall. The exterior wall was glass, with sliding doors that opened onto an expansive cedar deck. But like the living room, the most impressive thing about the guestroom was the artwork: a contemporary collection covered the walls, with the exception of Picasso’s “Man with a Pipe.”
“I can’t believe you’re willing to part with this,” I gasped, instinctively moving toward the painting. The man in the painting was more lifelike, less distorted than the subjects in most of the artist’s other work.
“I just bought some Impressionist pieces that I like better,” he explained with a shrug. “I like the Picasso piece, but he’s never been my favorite.”
“He’s my absolute favorite,” I replied. “I hate to sound unprofessional, Mr. Reynolds, but I’m having a difficult time understanding why you’d just give all of these pieces away. You bought them, so you know what they’re worth. And I doubt it would take more than an hour to find buyers for all four pieces.”
Asher blushed and cleared his throat. “My accountant suggested that I donate them,” he explained.
Shit. If I actually worked in the acquisitions department or dealt with benefactors, I’d have known better than to ask that question. I should have known anyway. Jackson has to give away a certain amount every year too. But still, I don’t want to do the math to figure out how much money a person has to make to warrant a hundred-million-dollar nonprofit donation.
“Of course, my apologies. Though in my defense, I warned you I’m not really the person to do this,” I reminded him.
“I understand,” he assured me. “As I said, I’m just more comfortable dealing with you. And I assume you at least understand the donation process?”
I nodded. “Just have the pieces appraised and call the museum to schedule delivery. You’ll need to speak with a woman named Elaine Brewster,” I instructed.
“Fantastic. Now that we have business out of the way, how about I show you the rest of my collection?” he offered. “And while we’re at it, please drop the Mr. Reynolds routine. I’d rather you call me Ash.”
I took a deep breath, determined to give him the cold shoulder. “I’m not sure that would be appropriate, Mr. Reynolds. After all, I’m here on business.”
He studied my face for a moment, trying to read my mood. He relaxed his shoulders and tucked his hands into the pockets of his faded jeans. His white t-shirt clung to his broad shoulders and it was all I could do not to drool.
“Look Lauren, I know you have a boyfriend. But when I saw you at the gallery, I felt strangely drawn to you. I understand you’re not interested in me in a romantic way. I’m just trying to be your friend. And as your friend, I thought you might like to have a glass of wine and see the rest of my collection. I’d love for you to stay, but if you’d like Gabe to take you home, I’ll understand.”
He met my gaze with hopeful puppy dog eyes and my resistance crumbled. “A glass of wine would be nice,” I confessed. “And I’d love to see the rest of your paintings.”
Asher smiled and held his head a little higher. “Fantastic. Follow me to the kitchen. Do you prefer red or white?”
“White, and nothing too sweet.”
He stepped up to a large wooden wine cabinet and pulled a dark green bottle from one of the diamond shaped slots. He pulled the cork, filled two glasses, and passed one to me.
“To the beginning of our friendship,” he offered, raising his glass.
I raised mine too and then drank half of the wine with one gulp. A triumphant grin crept across Asher’s face and he offered me a refill.
“Thanks,” I said with a blush. I stared out the glass wall while he poured more wine.
“I have a great view of the valley, if you’d like to see it,” he offered, nodding to the deck.
“That sounds great,” I agreed. I held my wine glass, embarrassed that I’d shown my nerves by chugging my first drink. Staring out at the view would keep Asher’s eyes off me for a few minutes, at least. He opened the French doors and I followed him to the deck railing. The sun had just started to dip under the horizon and the lights of Silicone Valley shone up at us.
“Can you see your headquarters from here?” I asked, trying to make casual conversation.
Asher stretched out his arm and pointed slightly to the right. “See that octagon? That’s our roof.”
“That’s an interesting choice in layout,” I commented.
“It wasn’t my choice. It was what was available when I was ready to buy. And there’s more than enough room to house all the divisions of the company.”
“There’s more to it than the gaming system?” I asked and realized I hadn’t bothered to learn anything about EnvisionTech while I was looking for information on Asher.
“There’s a lot more. Would you like to sit down?” He waved to the corner and my eyes fell on a set of sleek cushioned lounge chairs.
“Sure,” I agreed. We crossed the deck and settled into the chairs. I decided if I was going to hang out, I may as well make myself comfortable. I stretched out my legs and took another sip of my wine.
“So what do you do when you’re not working or admiring art?” I asked
“I spend a lot of time outside,” he explained. “I never got to do much of that when I was a kid. I guess I’m catching up.”
“You do have quite the yard.”
“There’s twenty acres, total. The whole place was overgrown mountain land when I bought it. I left a majority of it untouched. I love hiking through the woods and exploring. Maybe you could join me one day. You know, as a friend,” he suggested with a grin.
“I could maybe do that,” I agreed, searching his eyes before looking back at the view. “So what other type of work do you do at EnvisionTech?”
“Nothing interesting,” he assured me. “I’d much rather hear about you. Tell me about this guy you’re seeing. What’s so amazing about him?”
“He’s a very nice guy,” I answered without thinking, a knee-jerk reaction to his surprise question.
Asher let out a whistle. “Nice, huh? That’s quite an endorsement.”
I blushed, my heart suddenly heavy with guilt. “Eric’s more than nice. I’m not sure I’d call him my boyfriend, but we’ve been seeing each other for a few months.”
“If he called you right now, would you be honest about where you are and what you’re doing?” he pressed.
“Of course I would,” I insisted. “I haven’t done anything to be ashamed of. And I have no plans to.”
“I respect that,” Asher assured me. He sat upright on his lounge and rested his elbows on his knees.
“I meant what I said, Lauren. Occasionally, I meet someone and just feel drawn to them. That happened with you. You seem like a trustworthy person. I don’t have many of those in my life. I don’t want to get in the way of your relationship, but I’d like to be your friend. Get to know you better.”
I sat up to face him and crossed one leg over the other. Sincerity filled his green eyes and I felt my heart melt a little. I understood why he had trouble trusting people. It was a universal problem for people who were as wealthy as Asher and the Montgomery’s. Even Kennedy had a hard time making new friends. She told me once it’s really hard to tell who genuinely likes you and who’s just attracted to your lifestyle.
“Just what sort of
friends do you want to be?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.
I was beyond attracted to Asher and, knowing he was attracted to me too, I knew there was no way I’d be able to stay away from him. But I couldn’t resist teasing him, just a little bit.
“Just regular friends, I guess,” he answered with a laugh. “You know, two people who explore mutual interests and enjoy each other’s company, with no kissing at the end.”
My stomach twisted at the thought of never kissing the man beside me, but I pushed the disappointment away.
“I guess I can do that,” I relented with a grin. “But aside from art, I’m not so sure we have any mutual interests. As your friend, I have to tell you that your lack of online presence is a bit annoying.”
Asher gave me a mischievous smirk. “I’d apologize, but I’m not at all sorry about that one. I find social media a bit repulsive. And I learned the hard way once that reporters will twist your words to fit their agenda.”
“Sounds like there’s a story there,” I observed.
“Not an entertaining one, I assure you,” he replied, frowning back at the view.
It was clear I’d hit some sort of nerve. Asher straightened his shoulders and gripped the stem of his wine glass so tightly, I was afraid it would shatter in his hand.
“I’m sorry…”
“No,” he assured me. He relaxed his shoulders and gave me a dismissive wave. “I apologize. As I was saying, I like to stay out of the spotlight. But I’m open with the people I care about.”
“Does that mean I’m free to ask questions?”
“You’re free to do whatever you’d like,” he replied and his eyes slipped to my lips before he looked away again. “But for the record, I think it would be more fun to get to know each other more… organically. There’s an art festival in Golden Gate Park this weekend. Would you like to go with me? Strictly platonic, of course. I’ll make you buy your own snacks and everything. We can walk around, check out the art, and just talk to each other.”
“That actually sounds nice,” I agreed with a warm smile. I’d already planned to go to the festival alone. Claire and Royce had a family wedding that day, and an art festival was the exact opposite of Eric’s idea of a good time.
“Perfect. Can I pick you up, or would you like to meet me there?”
“I’ll meet you there,” I insisted.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want Asher to pick me up. But I knew if I wasn’t driving, I’d be tempted to have a few too many drinks to ease my nerves. And I knew from experience that having a few too many drinks around a man I’m attracted to is a terrible idea.
My phone vibrated in my suit pocket. I apologized and pulled it out, stunned to see it was almost ten o’clock. I read a text message from Kennedy saying that Jackson was pitching the San Francisco idea to Jack Senior.
“Good news?” Asher asked.
“Yes, it looks like two of my good friends will be in the city soon. I didn’t realize it had gotten so late, Ash. I have to be in the office early tomorrow. Could we take a rain check on seeing the rest of your collection?”
His face lit up with a smile. “I’ll take any excuse I can get to get you back here.” His smile grew even bigger. “As a friend. Thanks for coming tonight. I’ll walk you to the door.”
“Thank you.”
Asher gave me a hand and helped me up from the chaise before walking me to the front porch. As promised, Gabe was waiting with the car.
“I’ll call you about the festival,” Asher said. He followed me down the porch steps and opened the back passenger door.
“Sounds good,” I agreed. I did my best to keep the excitement in my voice to a minimum. I slid into my seat and he ducked his head into the car.
“Gabe, please message me and let me know when you’ve gotten Ms. Matthews home safely.”
“Yes sir,” Gabe agreed with a nod.
Asher pulled himself out of the car and shut the door, giving me a final wave as Gabe pulled away from the house. I waved back casually, but inside I was squealing like a teenager.
I have a feeling Asher Reynolds will turn out to be one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met. I’m flattered he’s interested in me. But I can’t get involved with him right now, even if I do break up with Eric. Asher could be the real thing. I have to handle this the right way.
In the past, I’d had a terrible tendency to jump into serious relationships and ask questions later. And the feelings that danced through my body when Asher looked at me definitely made me want to jump all in. I was glad we were going to be friends. We’d have a chance to get to know each other without sex distorting our impressions.
I have to end things with Eric. Kennedy was right. I shouldn’t have let it go on this long. I’ll call him in the morning and see if he wants to meet for drinks after work. I’ll explain that I like him as a person, but don’t feel like we have much in common. I’ll just tell the truth.
I stared out the window as Gabe steered the car down the winding mountain roads. I knew I had a difficult conversation ahead of me. But I also had the overwhelming feeling that Deacon’s success in the art world wasn’t the only thing that had started that Saturday at the gallery.
***
“Knock, knock.” Deacon stood beside my cubicle, pretending to knock on the drably upholstered half wall.
“Hey. I can’t believe you’re already out of here,” I greeted him with a frown.
“I can’t believe after five years, everything from my desk fits in a shoe box,” he replied.
Deacon took a few steps into my cubicle and leaned down into my ear.
“I need to talk to you about something, but I don’t want to be overheard,” he whispered. “How about you walk me to my car?”
“I can do that,” I agreed.
He took a few steps back and I rolled my chair away from my desk. I hung my security badge around my neck and followed Deacon out of the office. He pushed open the back exit and we stepped out into the employee parking lot.
“What’s going on, Deacon?” I pressed.
Deacon had given the museum six weeks’ notice, but upper management had him out of the building in just four days. That, combined with his stiff gait and the urgency I’d heard in his voice had me on edge.
He pulled out his keys, hit a button, and the trunk of his blue Honda sprung open. He tossed the shoe box inside, slammed it shut, and then leaned against the back of the car.
“Look Lauren, I feel like I need to warn you about David. When your position opened up, he and I both recommended people for the job. He was pretty pissed when you got it instead of his nephew. You’ve been nothing but professional since you got here, so you probably don’t have anything to worry about. Just watch your back, and don’t give him justification to try and get you fired.”
Understanding dawned. “That’s why he’s had such a shitty attitude towards me. It makes sense now. Do you know if I was more or less qualified than his nephew?”
“More,” he assured me. “It wasn’t a case of affirmative action or anything. You were given the job because you had the most impressive credentials. But I thought you should know what you’re up against, since I won’t be here to protect you anymore.”
“Thanks for the heads up. Are you still set to leave at the end of next month?”
He nodded. “You’ll have to come over for dinner some time. Gale and I can show you everything you need to know about the townhouse. And we’ll show you pictures of the apartment we rented in Istanbul. Do you have plans Saturday?”
“Actually, I do,” I confessed. “But aside from work, I’m free all of next week. Talk to Gale and figure out which night works best for you.”
“Will do,” he agreed. “Gale’s plane lands in a few hours. I guess I should get out of here. I’ll talk to you soon, Lauren.”
“Thanks for everything, Deacon.”
He climbed into his car and I turned back to the door. I held my badge to the sensor and heard the lock spring
open. When I made it back to my desk, I found David waiting outside my cubicle.
“Ms. Matthews, when I didn’t find you at your desk I thought you’d left early for the day,” he greeted me. He held his head high and looked down his nose, his hands planted firmly on his hips.
“No, sir,” I assured him. “I just walked De… Mr. Hall out to his car.”
“I see. There are a few things I’d like to discuss with you, Ms. Matthews. I’d like to see you in my office at nine tomorrow morning.”
“Yes, sir.”
He turned and stepped away without another word.
It’s fine… it will all be fine. He probably just wants to flaunt his dominance. I’ll listen patiently to whatever he has to say and then leave. Like Deacon said, I haven’t given anyone a reason to fire me.
I sank down into my office chair and swiped my mouse over its pad. My dual screens lit up with pictures of the Egyptian pottery on its way from Cairo. Before I could concentrate on my work, my desk phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Hey, I just got your message,” Eric greeted me. “I think meeting up after work is a great idea, but why don’t we go to Romano’s? My first patient of the day was late, so I had to work through lunch to get back on schedule. I’m starving.”
I don’t want to go to dinner. When you break up with someone over dinner, you’ve got to deal with the awkwardness of what to do with the food after you’ve broken someone’s heart. Either that, or you have to sit there until the plates are cleared, pretending everything’s fine. Drinks would be so much cleaner. But if I don’t agree to dinner, he’ll know something’s wrong. And he definitely deserves better than an over the phone break-up.
“Dinner is fine,” I agreed. “What time?”
“You get off in half an hour, right?”
“Yes.”
“I can leave the office now. The restaurant’s just a few miles from the museum. Is an early meal okay with you?”
“I’ll head straight there as soon as I clock out,” I promised.
“Great, see you in a few.”
I returned the phone to its cradle and took a series of long, deep breaths.