by Lia Lee
“I always knew I wanted a gallery. There’s a certain satisfaction in curating as well, and I did some of that early in my career, but owning a place like this, being able to offer a personal touch to both the artist and my clients… that’s a thrill. And you can’t get more intimate, in terms of art curation, than providing a space like this and getting to experience the art up close, getting to know the artists and help bring their visions to life.”
Why the hell am I talking so much? This is her interview, not mine.
She nods. “That’s kind of what I was thinking, too.”
“So, you want your own gallery someday?”
She shrugs. “Right now, I think I’d be very happy as a curator. But who knows? Maybe that will change eventually.”
I nod. It’s a reminder of how young she is, despite her confidence and feistiness. I had no idea what the hell I wanted at twenty.
I glance up at her, and she’s looking at me, her dark eyes seeming to see far too much.
For a spell, I wonder how much she knows about my history. If she’s as intelligent as she seems, then surely she would’ve done some research on her new boss? But how far back, and deep, would her curiosity have taken her?
I’m inclined to think that if she knew about Danneel or Micah, I would’ve seen pity in her eyes. So, it’s best that she doesn’t know anything beyond what she needs to. I don’t want anyone’s pity. I swam myself back up into life after my wife’s death, and I don’t plan on loving a woman again. Besides, Poppy’s only here for two months. What am I even having such thoughts? She’s just an intern, and I’m just her boss.
Remember that, Stone. Keep it professional, and you won’t have any problems.
Chapter Four
Poppy
I know three things now.
Number one: I am going to love it here. Nathaniel seems like he’s actually prepared to teach me more about art curation and gallery management than I’d hoped. He doesn’t expect me just to be a gopher, and I’m so grateful for that.
Number two: he’s going to be a demanding boss. I can tell from hearing him talk that he expects a lot from his staff, and he seems like a bit of a perfectionist. I’m not worried about this too much. It’ll keep me at the top of my game. But since my goal is to impress him so much that he writes a letter of recommendation when the time comes for me to get a job, I’ll need to keep this in mind.
And number three: I have never wanted to ride a man so badly in my entire life. Just sitting here talking to him is like some kind of magical aphrodisiac, like getting shot with Cupid’s arrow, and like a touch of insanity all rolled into one. His voice has continued to be deep, rich, and smooth, but when he’s talking about something he’s really interested in, like the Dutch masters, which seems to be his own little private area of interest, his voice takes on this energy that’s practically contagious.
He looks at me with those hazel eyes of his, and it feels like he can see straight through me. I know I’m staring at him, but I can’t seem to stop. His eyes go from almost green to almost gold with his moods and as the light in the room changes. Someone should paint him, catching the different moods of his eyes. They should probably sculpt him, too, because the more I look at him, the surer I am that that would be an absolutely stunning work of art.
I need to stop these wild thoughts.
This man is at least fifteen years older than me. He’s rich as sin. He’s my dad's boss, for crying out loud, and for the next two months, he’s my boss, too. My future depends, at least a little bit, on earning his respect.
I glance at his hands, which are currently shuffling through my paperwork. No wedding ring. Good.
Oh, my God. Enough, Poppy!
I can’t get all lust stupid over this man. I can’t be distracted. Even if he weren’t my dad’s boss, which would add another level of weirdness to anything happening between us, I need Nathaniel Stone to respect me enough, to trust me enough, to let me learn as much about his business as possible. He won’t respect or trust me if it’s clear that I want to jump him. I’m not here to open my legs, even though I know a few women who made that particular method work to their advantage. I’m still a virgin too for goodness’ sake. I’m here to learn from him and hopefully earn his professional respect. I can’t mess this up.
I take a breath and answer a couple more questions. I’m just grateful at this point that he’s hit the refresh button on today. Not exactly a great first impression; telling him off and telling him he’s rude. Even if he did deserve it.
“All right. I think we’re good here,” he says, standing, and it’s clear that I’m being dismissed. “I’ll see you at ten tomorrow morning, then.”
I stand as well and reach out to shake his hand. “Yes. I’m looking forward to it. Thank you so much for this opportunity.” There. That sounded almost professional.
He nods and releases my hand, and I pick up my bag and turn to leave.
“Oh, and, Poppy…” he says. I like the way he says my name. A lot.
Damn it, there you go again.
I turn back to him. “Yes?” The large office feels somehow smaller now that he’s standing in it, and I force my eyes to stay on his face. That perfect, chiseled face that could rival even the most vivid description of Dorian Gray.
“If you wear anything shorter than that skirt during your time with me, we are going to have one hell of a problem.”
My jaw drops. What does that mean? I recover as quickly as I can and manage a weak, “Okay,” before hurrying out of the office. I can’t even begin to figure out what he meant by that, and he had this unreadable look on his face…
Was I being chastised for my clothing? I glance down at myself as I walk down the stairs. No. This suit skirt is totally work appropriate.
Maybe he’s a prude? I think as I nod to the other guy who had been in the gallery. Now that I’m really looking at him, I recognize his face. He’s been here in the past when I’ve visited. I guess he’s Roberto, Nathaniel’s curator.
As I step outside into the cool autumn air, my mind still races with that damn comment. Nah. He didn’t seem like a prude, either.
It could be the other end of the spectrum. Maybe he was being sleazy.
I walk toward the nearest subway station, mulling that over, and immediately discard it. He’s egotistical and arrogant, for sure, but I didn’t get the sleazy vibe from him. I know what that feels like, and this wasn’t that.
Another thought hits me, and it has me grinning. Maybe tall, dark, and grumpy was indicating that he finds my legs distracting. Maybe seeing my legs every day at work would leave him almost as hot and bothered as I was, just from being around him.
I laugh to myself. I like that idea. And either way, every business suit I own has the same length skirt, so he’ll just have to get over it.
The idea of him lusting over me, even a little bit, increases my good mood even more. I know that, once that original awkwardness had passed, I did a good job in my initial meeting with him. I know that he was impressed by the fact that I’d volunteered for so long, and he actually seemed interested in what I’d said when I was talking about some of the projects I’d undertaken. Smart, cultured, and sexy as hell? Sign me up.
Boss. He is my boss. And my dad’s boss. I grimace at that. Working with my dad is going to be… a little weird. We’re not exactly close, and I know him helping me get this internship is at least partially out of guilt. It’s been a long, long time since I’ve been daddy’s little girl and this will be the most time I’ve spent with him in years. It’s not that Dad’s a bad person—and a part of me will always love him regardless—it’s just… thinking about that situation has me reflecting a bit more on my own reactions and behavior, and how easy it is for powerful men to take advantage of women who work for them…
I should know better right now. I shouldn’t be contemplating any sexual thoughts of my boss because, despite my dad’s history, my mom raised me to respect myself, and others.
&n
bsp; So, I won’t think about any of it anymore—especially not what it would be like to ride Nathaniel, grinding into him, cowgirl-style.
Because he’s my boss.
I need to keep reminding myself of that, especially if he’s going to keep making comments like that. For all I know, he either flirts with every woman he comes across, or he really did just disapprove of my skirt length. He never has to know that I’m already picturing him naked and that it’s entirely possible that he’ll be starring in my sexual fantasies for the next few weeks, at least. No one has to ever know about that but me.
Oh, shoot. Listen to yourself, Poppy. You can’t even banish him from your mind for one second.
It’s a hopeless cause, yet it’s one I apparently don’t seem to mind. I guess I’ll just have to grin and bear the hot, handsome bossman.
Chapter Five
Poppy
My first week at Stone Gallery passes in a blur. True to Nathaniel’s word, he’s had me doing more than a little administrative work. I’ve answered phones, responded to customer emails, dealt with shipments and mail, and gone on lunch and coffee runs for Nathaniel and Roberto.
I almost feel like I’m being tested, like Nathaniel’s waiting to see if I’ll start complaining or whining that this kind of stuff is beneath someone with my education and experience. But I know better, and I can see, by watching him, that he doesn’t consider any task at the gallery beneath his pay grade, either. I’ve watched him help the maintenance guys move a heavy display case, answer the phones on several occasions, and when a pigeon flew in the back door on my second day, Nathaniel ran around with the rest of us, trying to shoo it back out before it crapped on someone’s priceless creation.
One thing I’ve learned—aside from the fact that he’s gorgeous and absolutely knows his business—is that he has a dry sense of humor. That’s like my own personal version of Kryptonite. Added to the rest of the package, it’s like some kind of cruel joke that one man ticks every single one of my “oh my God, I want him” checkboxes, and he’s my boss.
The universe has a messed up sense of humor.
I’m at the reception desk, typing up an invoice for a client who purchased two pieces from the gallery, when Nathaniel walks around the desk and stands behind me. I hear him shuffling through some paperwork on the credenza.
“Are you looking for something?”
“There was a printer’s proof of the catalog for the upcoming exhibit that came in yesterday.”
“I put it on your desk, along with the rest of the items that needed your attention from that giant, towering stack of mess. The catalog is on top.”
He gives a little chuff of a laugh. “It wasn’t that bad.”
“There were invoices and letters from two months back,” I tell him, glancing back to see him inspecting the newly-organized credenza. “I purged anything that looked like junk mail, but if I wasn’t sure, I put it on your stack.”
“Our receptionist has been out for nine weeks now,” he tells me.
“Yeah, I figured.”
He gives another small laugh. “This looks a lot better.”
“The drawers were all holding a jumble of garbage. I did not expect to find junk drawers in an upscale gallery.”
He grins, and my stomach does this stupid little flip. I try to ignore it. “So, I threw away some of the stuff,” I continue, “but I consolidated the rest of the little bits and pieces and other stuff into the drawer on the left. The other two drawers are kind of inboxes for you and Roberto so that everything doesn’t end up in a big pile again, and so you don’t have to sort through a bunch of stuff to find something.”
He opens the drawers and starts looking through them. “Are you always this organized?”
“Always.”
He gives me another small smile and nods. “I appreciate this. I spend too much time looking for things, and I hate clutter, but there just aren’t enough hours in the day. Jeannette is a lot better than Roberto and me at keeping up with it. I didn’t fully realize how much we depended on her until she started her maternity leave.”
“Sounds like she deserves a raise when she gets back,” I tease, and he laughs.
“She probably does,” he admits. “Want to come with me and grab a bite? Roberto can hold down the fort for an hour or so. And I feel like saying thank you for getting this place in order.”
“That’s not necessary,” I tell him, and he waves it off.
“Nonetheless. Shall we? I was thinking of that little French bistro at the end of the block, but if you’d prefer something else, we can do that, too.”
I nod, ignoring the fluttery feeling in my stomach. It would be so easy to start to think of this as a date—a date with the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen—and that would be a really dumb idea.
“I’ll grab my bag, and we can go,” I tell him, and he nods and goes back to looking through the newly-established junk drawer.
I make my way to the small storage room at the back of the gallery and grab my bag, then quickly touch up my lipstick and make sure my hair isn’t sticking up at any weird angles. If I can stop being all “teenage girly” around him, this would be a good chance to convince him to let me do more actual curator-related work. I’d love to shadow either him or Roberto while they work— to get a real feel for how they spend their days—but I don’t want to be annoying. I thought to bring it up with Roberto, but Nathaniel is the one who’s the boss, so I really should ask him instead.
Not a date. Lunch meeting with my boss, who I need a recommendation from once this is all over. Keep your head in the game, I tell myself as I take one more look at my reflection in the small mirror near where we store our coats and other personal items. I give myself a firm nod, then turn and walk toward the front of the gallery. Nathaniel is waiting there, and he gives me a small smile as I approach.
“We’ll be back soon, Roberto. Do you want anything?” Nathaniel asks.
“Nah, I’m good. Have a good lunch,” Roberto says without looking up from whatever it is he’s working on. Nathaniel opens the door and steps aside, waving me forward.
And he’s a gentleman. Of course he is, I think.
We walk side by side down the street, with traffic roaring past us and other pedestrians walking by. We’re not in a hurry, and I’m glad. I steal a glance over at Nathaniel. He’s donned a pair of dark sunglasses, and while I kind of miss being able to see his eyes, I have to admit that he’s one of those men who just seem to look good in everything. I can smell his cologne, and it’s a scent that already seems to have permeated into my soul.
God, I’m losing it.
He’s older than I am. Successful. Cultured. Intelligent. Polite. Other than that comment he made about my skirt during our first meeting, he hasn’t said anything even remotely personal.
And yet…
I spend more time than I should looking at him. And I’ve caught him looking at me. Unlike most men, he doesn’t do that whole “look away quickly and hope she didn’t realize I was looking at her” thing. No, Nathaniel doesn’t hide the fact that he sees me. I don’t know what to think of that, but it does all kinds of crazy things to my insides. Whether he means anything by it or not… I mean, he can’t, right? He’s probably just checking to see what I’m working on or something.
It only takes us a few moments to get to the bistro, and he opens the door for me. My eyes meet his, just for a second as I walk past him, and I feel heat rise to my face.
This was probably a bad idea.
The attendant seats us at a little table near the front windows, and we settle in.
“Wine?” Nathaniel asks me.
I smile at him. “Depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether you think they’ll card me or not.”
He gives a small frown, then nods. “Something else, then.”
“Unfortunately,” I say, and he smiles. A moment later, our server takes our order, and then we’re alone again, each of us with a sparkling
water in front of us.
“You could’ve had wine anyway,” I tell him.
“It’s no fun drinking alone,” he replies in a wry tone, and I laugh.
“Fair enough.”
He smiles, then settles back in his chair, which creaks just a little with the motion. “Have you enjoyed your first week?”
“I have, thank you.”
He gives a small nod, and I feel like he maybe wanted a little more than that.
“I feel like I’ve already learned so much,” I tell him. “And it’s… being able to work in an environment like that, where I’m surrounded by art and by people who appreciate it, that’s so amazing and rewarding.”
“And you get to try to organize me, which is a thankless job,” he adds with another small smile.
I laugh, and his eyes change, just a little as he looks at me, appearing almost golden in the afternoon light. I swallow.
“Organizing you wasn’t too bad. I was mostly just afraid that you’d think I was overstepping it, but it needed to be done.”
“It did, and you came nowhere near overstepping it.”
“Well, boundaries are important,” I say with a shrug.
He studies me for a moment, then runs his hand over his chin, eyes still on me. “You haven’t come anywhere near my boundaries yet, Poppy. But you should feel free to test them whenever you like.”
I don’t know how to respond to that, so I cover my confusion by taking a sip of my sparkling water. Is he flirting with me? Testing me? I have no idea how to handle someone like Nathaniel. He isn’t like the college boys I’m used to or the older, slimy men who’ve tried to pick me up on occasion.
Men like who my father used to be.
I shove the thought aside. I’d rather not think about Bruce and his past issues just now.
“Is something wrong?” Nathaniel asks softly, and I realize I’m furrowing my brow the way I often do when I’m irritated.
I shake my head. “Nothing that has anything to do with you,” I say, recovering and giving him a little smile.
“Feel like talking about it?” he asks.