Page 19 of Ice To Meet You

She was fun, but I had my doubts that all our conversation was strictly work-related. Still, despite Lola’s warmth, I found it impossible to ignore my boss’s presence in the room.

Esmé’s ivory neck—the delicate curve where it met the wisps of hair at her nape—pulled my attention like a siren’s song. And those legs—long, smooth, effortlessly elegant—crossing and uncrossing in ways that sent my thoughts in the wrong direction.

She’d hum softly, staring out the window, the pale sunlight catching the chestnut waves of her hair, teasing out shades of copper and gold.

She rarely looked for me—not the way I looked for her. But occasionally, she glanced my way, and it was like the sun breaking out from behind a cloud.

I approached her desk bearing an empty coffee cup. As I arrived, I reached out to stroke Claudette’s smooth tummy.Contrary to her earlier exit, she’d come back around lunchtime, meowing at the door to be let in.

Esmé had playfully muttered something about being ungrateful, and as a reward, she now lay stretched out across the incoming mail tray. Of course, she’d chosen the most inconvenient place to settle, but then … cats.

“Somebody’s made herself at home,” I said.

Esmé chuckled, and the sound curled around me like soft fingers.

“I’ve been debating if I should move her for a couple of hours now. She’s lying on some important paperwork, but it’s rare for her to come back after breakfast. I don’t want to spoil the moment, you know?”

“Well, I’m here toimprovethe moment.”

One of her brows curled.

“Lola sent me to offer you more coffee. According to my new handler, you’re an addict and we’re your suppliers.”

She rolled her eyes—not unkindly. “Then I’m grateful. Caffeine addiction is real, and trust me, no one here wants to see me go cold turkey.”

I fought the curve of my lips. “It’s good to get your heart rate up every now and again.” My voice came out quieter and far huskier than I planned, and a hint of pink grew on her cheeks as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

That gesture had become familiar to me. To anyone else, my remark might seem perfectly innocent, but I’d loaded it with as much intent as I dared.

“What’ll it be then, boss?” I asked.

She leaned toward Claudette, running a finger over the beans of her toes. “Surprise me.”

“I just might do that,” I said, wishing I could undo the clip in her hair and watch it tumble around her shoulders.

Her eyes snapped to my face, but before she had the chance to ask me what I meant, the bell above the door tinkled. BothEsmé and I looked up—as did Lola and Maurice, who’d materialised from the storage room at the back of the gallery.

A collective sigh went up between the three of them. They all wore the same pained expression.

“What?”

Lola moved to my side, speaking under her breath. “Marianne Rossi, the gossipiest operator on the Paris art scene. She lives to torment us. Exists in a bubble of cloying perfume and entitlement. She and her husband have deep pockets and enormous influence, so Esmé insists we be nice.”

“Of all the days,” Esmé muttered, standing up and straightening her blouse.

Marianne Rossi took her time circling the gallery, her gaze skimming over the artwork with practiced interest. It was impossible to tell if she was truly admiring the pieces or simply making a performance of it. Eventually, she turned her attention toward Esmé’s desk, her stride purposeful.

“Your turn,” Esmé said, speaking to Lola. “I spent almost an hour with her last week discussing the finer points of picture framing. I’m not sure she’ll ever use the info, but at least she knows how to stretch a canvas should the need arise.”

Lola looked at her boss as if she’d just asked her to master Japanese in a week. “I’m busy, sorry. Washing my hair,” she said, turning on her heels, heading back to her desk.

With a scowl, Esmé looked at Maurice. His face resembled a man asked to perform open-heart surgery with a spork. He shook his head. “If Lola’s washing her hair, I’m getting my nails done.” And just like his co-worker, he made himself very scarce, very quickly.

I gaped. What the hell? Didn’t she pay these people good money to help her? That salary must include dealing with painful customers.

“That was rough,” I said, drawing alongside her.

She moved her head in my direction, dropping her voice. “Welcome to the team. As Lola said, this is Marianne Rossi. Charming, rich, and very nosey. Keep your wits about you. She takes no prisoners. But I need to keep her on side, so please try not to lose your temper or your charm.”

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