Page 78 of Work: Strictly Professional

I used to be on the fence about surprises, but having Derek in my life has pushed me firmly into the yes-please camp. “I hope you remember what I said about going over the top. I like being wooed as much as the next guy, but it doesn’t have to be something big. I like the small things just as much.”

“And I hope you remember what I said. You wanted to be wooed, so you’re being wooed. Being wooed is a way of life for you now, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Derek, seriously. We can’t go far this time. We better not be gone for long because we need to be back here by Monday.” Derek arranged to have Miller cover for him while we were in Venice a couple of months back, and you wouldn’t believe how long it took us to get things back to normal after he’d been here. I mean, yes, sure, a couple of his changes have been improvements, but the rest had to be undone immediately. A half-day on Wednesdays because Ryan always feels a little drained by the middle of the week? Absolutely not.

“It’s your birthday, baby. We’re celebrating in style, and there’s not a thing you can do about it.”

And celebrate in style, we do.

New York right before Christmas is one of the most magical places on Earth, and being here with Derek when he’s wrapped up in a heavy navy-blue overcoat and cashmere scarf is doing incredible things for the city’s ambiance.

We didn’t manage to leave the hotel last night, but we made it out today, and we’ve spent most of the morning stopping at various coffee shops in Chelsea and browsing the small independent art galleries we found dotted around the west side.

Christmas decorations are out in full force, lights twinkle, and the smell of cinnamon and pine finds me every time I walk through a doorway.

“It’s the light,” I say as we walk alone on a quiet street. “Don’t you think it’s the light in New York that makes it feel like this? I think it’s the color of the buildings. Something enchanting happens when the sun hits them. It makes the whole place glow and feel so New York, you know?”

“Mm-hmm.” Derek smiles. It’s not the first time I’ve said it, but he doesn’t mind. He has my hand in his, and every timesomething makes me happy, his clamps tightly around mine to let me know that when I’m happy, he’s happy.

It’s true for me too. When he’s happy, I’m happy, so we’ve managed to find ourselves in a never-ending loop of euphoria that shows no signs of stopping.

“I’m so glad we’re doing New York like this,” I say. “I’m so glad you listened and didn’t go over the top.”

“Told you, New York is your present.”

“And it’s perfect. It’s more than enough.” I lean into him and kiss the side of his neck. His skin feels cool and warm at the same time. “Just being here with you is lovely, not rushing around, just soaking it all up. It’s the best way to see the city. I’m so happy.”

“Are you?”

“Yes. I’m happy.” I look up at him, and we both stop moving. I lean up on my toes and kiss him full on the lips. He kisses me back, laughing like a teenager and crushing me so tightly against him that I hear my rib cage adjust. “I’ve never been this happy. I didn’t know it was possible.”

“I didn’t either.”

The sadness that lived in his eyes is gone now. It’s been replaced with something different. Something that makes him look like he’s about to start laughing. It’s there all the time. It’s so beautiful. It makes me randomly burst into giggles when I see it.

That’s what I’m doing, laughing, when he guides me into a tiny gallery with no discernible name or number on the door.

“Oh my fucking fuck,” I gasp. “Are these…? Oh my God, they are! These are all by Andy Montgomery, every single one of them.” I know I’m at serious risk of shrieking, so I let out a series of little yelps to mitigate the danger.

We’re in a long, narrow room. White walls are covered in faces and full-length figures. There are studies of handsand torsos, sultry eyes and twisted mouths. An entire wall is dedicated to nothing but portraits of a man with green eyes and a scar on his face.

I’ve followed Andy Montgomery’s work for years, and I’ve never seen any of these pieces before. I open my mouth to ask about it.

“They’re from his private collection,” Derek says, his ability to read my mind still firmly intact.

I have goosebumps on my arms and the side of my face as we walk around. This is more than an experience. It’s more than a gift. It’s humbling to be in the presence of work like this.

“Come on,” says Derek, opening a door at the end of the gallery.

“Should we…? I don’t think we’re allowed to do that…”

“Sure we can. I made a call.” His eyes flicker with something I haven’t seen before and he smiles, waving me in ahead of him.

It’s a small room. White like the rest of the gallery but softly lit. There’s only one painting in it.

A big painting.

A huge painting of a big man.

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