Vanessa starts rubbing up against me, and I gently put my arms on her elbows, ready to push her away from me. I don’t want to offend her. Not only do I have to work with her to get this opening off the ground, but her husband and his money help keep this particular gallery very much in the black. The last thing I need is her telling him that I’ve been fucking her behind his back for the past few years, which is something she’d totally do out of spite. I know that much about her, for sure.
But… then again, she loves her husband’s money even more than I do, and outing what we’ve done together would have her out on her ass within minutes. So, I’m not overly worried about it, but I’d still rather avoid any stupidity if at all possible. I take a small step away from her, but she follows with a glint in her eye.
“Ooh. Playing hard to get, Nathaniel? I like it. Maybe I can tie you up and have my way with you,” she adds with a smile.
“Vanessa—”
“Or… you could just take me up to your office, bend me over your desk, and give me what I need. You know it’ll be good,” she murmurs, and I glance toward the doorway to the main gallery.
“We should probably go over the final layout for the exhibit to make sure you’re pleased with it,” I tell her.
“You always, always please me, Nathaniel,” she states, drawing herself closer to me and putting her arms around my neck. Her body is plastered up against mine. And all I keep thinking is how much I don’t want this. Not with her, anyway.
Poppy’s face imprints on my brain again, and all I want to do is ditch Vanessa and go back to the penthouse so I can demonstrate to Poppy just how much I’ve missed that sweet little body—despite the short amount of time I’ve been away from her.
“I’m seeing someone,” I tell Vanessa, more abrupt than I intended.
She laughs, low and teasing, and then she lifts herself up on her tiptoes and presses her lips to mine. “So am I, remember?” she murmurs and kisses me harder.
I raise my hands to her upper arms, ready to gently push her away, when I hear someone clearing their throat nearby. Shit.
I spring away from Vanessa and look toward the door.
The first thing I see is Poppy. And though most people wouldn’t recognize it, I can tell between the raised eyebrow and the set of her jaw that she is utterly pissed. I’m already heading toward her to explain when I notice a small figure come up to stand beside her. Micah.
“Hey, buddy,” I say to Micah.
For some reason, this only seems to piss Poppy off more. She gives me a cold glare and puts her hand on Micah’s shoulder, gently leading him away and into one of the other parts of the gallery. She doesn’t even give me a backward glance, and my heart lurches. My gut twists. She knows he’s my son.
“Your new toy is a bit young, Nathaniel,” Vanessa purrs, and I catch the edge to her tone. Vanessa might come off as a bimbo, at the best of times, but she’s from a wealthy family and is educated. She’s smart enough to call out sexual tension when she sees it. “Not the smartest idea for a man of your position and wealth—to play with girls barely out of high school.”
“Mind your own business,” I mutter, and then I take off, heading toward the doorway to find Poppy and Micah.
Damn Vanessa for being so clingy.
Damn Mrs. Henderson for bailing on Micah today.
But most of all, damn my own stupidity for not at least telling Poppy about Micah so she wouldn’t be surprised by something like this.
Then another realization hits me. If Vanessa saw so easily that there was something going on between Poppy and I, does that mean others have too? Roberto? Bruce even?
Could this single event be the start of a shitstorm that I’m not sure I can weather?
Chapter Eleven
Poppy
I’m standing in Nathaniel’s office. His son, Micah, is sitting in one of the chairs, legs dangling, kicking back and forth while he waits for his dad.
His dad.
Son of a bitch.
I am officially the biggest idiot on the planet, and Nathaniel’s the biggest jackass on the planet. I should have known better. Someone that rich, that good-looking, that smooth—of course, he’s a cheater. A manipulator. They know just how to twist you, just how to wrap you around their little finger. They get what they want, and they don’t care about how their actions affect anyone else.
I know because I know my dad. Until my mom died, he never felt a single damn bit of remorse over what he’d done… what I’d witnessed him doing. And I should have goddamn known better. I was the floozie bent over the desk this time. I’ve been in Micah’s shoes before, and I feel like shit. I can’t meet his eyes.
Great. I’m a coward and a home wrecker.
And who was that woman downstairs anyway? His wife? His girlfriend? His lover? Well, his other lover? Any one of those options makes me feel sick.
I hear footsteps coming toward the office, and a moment later, Nathaniel is there. Micah jumps up and runs to his dad, and Nathaniel picks him up and folds him into a huge hug. Despite my current twisted gut, the softer part of me is smiling at the pair. It’s obvious that Nathaniel is smitten with his son. His eyes completely give him away—glazed with genuine warmth.
And, unfortunately, girls tend to eat up such tender gestures like they’re a warm, slice of apple pie.
“Hey, Micah, why don’t you go down to the front desk and see Roberto? He has a surprise for you!”
“A surprise?”
Nathaniel nods. “And then we’ll go get dinner. Okay?”
“Okay!” Micah shouts, and then he runs out of the office, leaving me alone with Nathaniel.
I can’t even stand to look at him.
He walks into the office, then steps toward me. I can smell him, and all I can think about is how much time I’ve spent with that scent surrounding me, with it on my skin from being in his arms. Beneath him. On top of him. All I feel now is used and dirty.
He’s standing in front of me, waiting for me to look at him. He can wait forever.
“Poppy,” he begins. Something snaps. I finally look at him, and before I realize what I’m doing, I slap him as hard as I can across the face. I can feel tears stinging my eyes, and I blink hard, willing them not to fall. I take a step back, shocked by what I’ve done. He stares at me for a moment, but the anger I expected to see isn’t there.
He nods, slowly. “I deserved that. Please, let me explain,” he says, and there’s a bit of a tremor in his voice. I’m not sure if it’s anger or what, and right now, I don’t really care.
“There’s nothing to explain. You’re a goddamn liar and a cheat. You’ve got a wife, and a kid, and a whole life you kept from me. What the hell else is there to explain?” My voice had become a shout, and I didn’t even care. I needed some outlet for the rage and hurt swirling inside me, and short of hitting him again, screaming was the only thing likely to make me feel better just now.
But damn, do I want to hit him again. And I want to lock myself somewhere and have a good, long cry because I’m a mess and I hate that he’s made me feel this way.
“Poppy—”
I start to walk away, and he steps in front of me, blocking my path. “Baby, I’m not married. Not anymore, anyway. Micah is my son. There is no wife.”
“Yeah? Then who were you kissing downstairs? Another one of your whores? Man, I’m gonna be pissed if she’s making more than me.” I go to walk away again, and he grabs me by the arms and pulls me to him, crushing me against his chest.
“Calm down. Stop acting like a child.”
That’s it. I shove him back, hard. “You’re not my father,” I snarl. “Get your dirty, disgusting old hands off me. The only reason I ever slept with you was to pay off my father’s debts. You’re nothing.”
He seems stunned, and he drops his hands. “You don’t mean that.”
“The hell I don’t.”
Before he can say another word, I run out of the office, determined to put as much space betwe
en us as possible.
Downstairs, I try to compose myself as best I can when I approach the front desk, which is unavoidable due to how close it is to the door of the gallery. Roberto and Micah are engaged in a thumb war behind the solid marble counter, and I almost manage to walk past without either of them noticing.
“Poppy, are you leaving? I thought you might here to help with the final preparations for the show tonight?” Roberto calls out when I’m literally a hairline away from the door.
I take a quick, deep breath and turn to him, spreading a convincing smile. “Ah, no. Mr. Stone said I can still have the day off. I was just, ah, double-checking that he didn’t need me.” I know it’s mere seconds away before my cheeks turn pink and give me away completely, so I swiftly add, “I’ll see you tonight though. Bye.”
But then Micah pipes up, halting me in place again. “It was nice to meet you, Poppy. You’re pretty.”
The fresh smile that lights up my face is all genuine. “Thank you, Micah. You’re quite handsome yourself,” I reply, and he giggles.
Outside, the cool air comes like a godsend, temporary relief from the beyond-uncomfortable situation I was just made to suffer through. Yet, as I head toward the subway, all I can think about is the crazy mess that I’ve just left behind me.
This is on you, Poppy. You should’ve known better than to fuck your boss… repeatedly.
But if that’s true, then why don’t I regret any of it?
Chapter Twelve
Nathaniel
I stand in my office, frozen, for a good ten minutes after Poppy storms out. There’s a dead weight in my gut and tightness in my chest. I feel like I can barely breathe.
Part of it is anger. I’m pissed at Poppy for blowing this so far out of proportion. I understand that she’s hurt, but assuming the absolute worst of me after we’ve spent so much time trusting each other in other ways just… I can’t deal with this shit right now. The woman trusts me to spank her, to punish her, to tie her up and have my way with her body, but she won’t give me five goddamn minutes to explain myself before assuming the worst? Fuck this.
And fuck Vanessa too. Though not the way she wants.
Shit.
I’d meant to tell Poppy about Micah. I wanted to. I needed to be sure, though. I didn’t want to introduce her into Micah’s life and then find myself bored with her, tossing her aside the way I did so many other women. If she was going to be part of Micah’s life, I had to be sure how I felt about her. And I was there. I was just about ready to tell her and ask her to meet him.
To tell her everything.
Get your dirty, disgusting old hands off me!
Remembering her words is like a knife straight to my heart. Hearing her tell me that she’d only fucked me so she could have my money… I mean, it wouldn’t be the first time my money meant more than anything else, but I’d expected better from her. She hadn’t seemed like the using type.
And old? What the fuck? I’m forty, and I’m in damn good shape. Or had she forgotten how, time after time in my bed, my body had served her just fine? I’d made her feel things I knew damn well no one else ever had. I’d made her fantasies come true, made her feel comfortable with the darker parts of herself.
Old, disgusting man.
I’d never intended to open myself up that way again. I didn’t think it would happen with her. I thought we’d have a fun few weeks and then part with some good memories, maybe run across each other here and there if she made it in the New York art world. But this… this need to have her, to keep her… this pain she’d caused with nothing more than a few words and a disgusted glare… this is the last thing I fucking need.
I finally move, running my hands over my face as I walk toward the windows. I look out without really seeing anything.
I need to talk to her. Tonight. Once this opening is over, she needs to go. She can have her money, since it’s clear it’s all she’s ever really wanted from me, anyway. And then I need her out of my life.
***
The gallery is full. I usually love times like this, when people who don’t ordinarily come here show up to support an artist they know. There’s always the chance, during opportunities like this, to turn someone from a person who doesn’t “get” art into someone who truly appreciates it. A lot of these people are here to support Vanessa, but they aren’t all necessarily art people. I do my best to chat those people up, to try to help them see the more exciting aspects of her work.
I give it my all, but I’m just not feeling it tonight. I spent most of the afternoon alternately brooding and raging over Poppy, and then trying to appear as if I don’t care at all, knowing I’d probably see her here tonight.
And I have to give it to Poppy—she’s a professional. She’ll do well in this business, which is two parts art knowledge to one part schmoozing. She’s standing near the entrance to the gallery with a tray of champagne flutes in her hand, and she welcomes each person who comes in with an offer of a glass and a few words about the artist and her work. Considering what she walked in on earlier, she’s doing a magnificent job of sounding like a genuine fan of Vanessa’s work.
It’s hard for me to keep my eyes off her, no matter how pissed and hurt I am. She’s wearing a long, emerald-green evening gown. It’s not an expensive dress, but it’s one that plays up every one of her assets—from her smooth curves and round breasts to the smooth milkiness of her skin. Even though I know things are different between us now, and they have to be, I can’t help thinking about how rewarding it would be to slide that dress down her body, freeing her perky breasts, then kissing my way all the way down her body…
I jerk my eyes away, and toward the guests I’m talking to. That won’t be happening. Even if I hadn’t decided that this had to end, she’s apparently already decided it for me.
When Micah and I returned to the penthouse after our dinner, I’d found that the few articles of clothing she’d had in my room, as well as her toiletry bag, were gone. My key was on the nightstand. She hadn’t bothered with a note. There wasn’t much point, was there?
I move from one attendee to the next. Vanessa is standing by what she considers to be her best piece, her husband at her side, talking animatedly to the group of tuxedoed men standing there. I suppress an eye roll and look around more. Roberto is doing his thing, answering questions about the art as best he can and being charming. He is good at that. Not too far from him, Bruce, Poppy’s father, is chatting with an older couple. The man cleans up quite well, and I’m glad I’d invited him, even though this feels awkward as hell—being around him after everything that’s happened behind his back between Poppy and me. Still, like the rest of us, Bruce has worked his ass off getting this show ready, and he deserves to enjoy it.
I spend a lot of time deliberately trying not to look at Poppy, but I can’t help it. The only thing I notice, aside from how gorgeous she is, is that not even once do I catch her looking at me. This bothers me probably more than it should, but less than twelve hours ago we were fucking like hormonal bunnies, and now she won’t even look at me?
I turn away as I feel my temper rising. No woman has ever messed me up this badly—made me feel like such an emotional fucking mess. I enjoy them and walk away, eventually. It’s what I’ve done since Danneel passed. I never even once considered opening my heart to anyone else, and I didn’t expect to do that with Poppy, either. Yet, it happened.
I guess it makes sense. She doesn’t look a thing like Danneel, but in personality… apparently, I have a type, and it’s sassy and a little bit cocky and curious and creative. My wife had been a quieter woman, though she had every bit of Poppy’s addictive confidence.
I turn back to look at Poppy without really thinking, and I do so just in time to see a dark-haired man sidle up to her. I pretend to be looking at the brochure in my hand, but I can’t help watching. He’s talking, and she’s laughing, and then she’s talking animatedly to him, and I can see that the fucker is absolutely enthralled.
Before I know what I’m doing, I set the brochure down and stride over to where they’re standing. Poppy gives me a disapproving glare, which the guy doesn’t see because he’s looking at me. I give them what I hope is a benign smile.
“Ms. McAdams. May I have your assistance with something, please?”
She gives me another glare but quietly excuses herself. I head toward the stairs up to my office, and she follows, then I wave her past. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do; to let her go first.
Of course, I should have thought of the fact that now I have her walking up the stairs ahead of me, her round ass and shapely legs are in front of my face. And Poppy’s ass is one of my favorite parts of her body. I love that she likes it when I spank her and that she’s been adventurous enough to let me have my way with her in that way, as well as every other way—no. Thinking this way isn’t a good idea. I need to get my shit together.
She walks into my office. I follow, closing the door behind us.
Chapter Thirteen
Poppy
The sound of the door clicking shut behind me is deafening. I can barely see straight, I’m so angry with Nathaniel, not just for that dumbass jealous move he just made, but for everything before it, too. The looks when he thought I wasn’t looking… that need in his eyes… as if I actually mean anything to him.
I cross my arms over my chest and turn to him, determined not to show him what I’m feeling.
“I wanted to get this out of the way now. I think we can both agree that we can’t work together anymore. Your services are no longer needed, but you’ll be paid in full. I transferred your full payment into your account right before the opening.”
I didn’t answer. I mean, I was expecting to be let go. The payment part of it, I hadn’t even thought of, except to use it to throw in his face earlier.
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