Page 24 of Ice To Meet You

Claudette’s purr was the only thing breaking the silence.She head-butted the top of my arm with a meow-squeak, and I smiled. “I might be.”

Antonio chuckled. “You sly devil. Why am I not surprised? Tell me, who’s the lucky woman?”

I drummed my fingers on the desk and Claudette immediately attacked them.

“Claudette,” I said.

Antonio gave a low whistle. “Damn. I love French names. Where did you meet her?”

I chewed on one side of my lip. “I met her hanging out in the square outside the gallery. We shared coffee one morning. I offered to warm her up.” It wasn’t too far from the truth.

“Slick. What’s she like?”

Claudette currently had her teeth wrapped around my thumb. “She’s definitely playful. She knows what she wants, and she’s smart. So smart.” Warmth crept through my chest. It felt good to be able to talk about Esmé, even in code.

“Is she blonde or brunette?”

I ran my fingers over the white fur of Claudette’s belly. “Blonde. Short hair. Soft.” At that second, she went in for another attack on my fingers. “But I can tell you she’s got claws.”

Antonio’s laughter flooded my ear. “Ha. Sounds like a challenge. I hope she’s not too distracting, though. I need you fully onboard at the moment. We’re in sight of the finish line, my old friend.”

“I know, I know. We have a big exhibition in a couple of weeks. After that, I’m all yours.”

“Promises, promises,” he muttered. “Well, I look forward to meeting Claudette. Just don’t let her get her claws too deep into you. We’ve got work to do.”

A smile spread across my face as the little gallery cat wrestled with my forearm. If only Antonio knew how far Claudette, or Esmé, had already clawed her way into my heart.

9

ESMÉ

Isat at my desk watching Luc terrorise Maurice. Of course, he wasn’t really terrorising him. But my assistant’s tight jaw and bunched shoulders spoke volumes. My best friend could be stingy with his smiles.

I’d shut the gallery and put Maurice in charge of walking Luc through the hanging of his paintings. It was like a dress rehearsal. Best to be aware of any lighting or space issues well in advance.

Matteo helped, too, deciphering my notes and passing on my instructions, though he kept a lower profile.

I let out a little breath. Over the last week, he’d proved himself a natural in the gallery. He was charming and courteous to clients. After his performance with Marianne earlier in the week, he deferred to his colleagues when he couldn’t answer a question. And best of all, he had a healthy respect for my cat and my coffee habit.

Luc, all dark and brooding, was arguing with Maurice about something. I knew my friend well and the muscle that pulsed in his jaw was a tell. As his wife, Iris, would say, “Herecomes the tortured artist—someone fetch a beret and a tragic backstory.”

I smiled. Iris was somewhere in the gallery too, probably hiding behind a potted plant until all the fuss was over. She was all kinds of good for Luc. She brought him down to earth, tethered him and kept him happy. In the year they’d been together, I’d never seen him smile so much.

Right now, he looked about as far from smiling as a man could get. I shifted in my seat, ready to intervene. But before I could move, Matteo pointed at something on the ceiling. He grinned and put down my notes, shaking his head like he’d found Atlantis. They all looked up, too. I couldn’t hear what he said, but a giggle rang out, echoing around the gallery.

Lola had joined the group and stood winding her hair through her fingers, hanging on Matteo’s every word. Though the sight of her gorgeous smile directed firmly at my new assistant put my teeth on edge, it gave me a chance to study him.

He’d rolled his shirtsleeves up to his elbows, displaying the cords of muscle shifting beneath his skin. The sun hung in shards through the gallery window, and the afternoon rays bounced off the planes of his face, lighting him up like a shiny beacon of temptation. I wet my lips.

But Matteo was more than just a temptation. I often sought him out in the gallery, or sent him on little errands, just so he’d have to report back to me. He’d only been here a week, but I looked forward to our early morning coffees before everyone arrived. He’d play with Claudette and talk about the weather, politics, music … anything. In those moments, I felt like I’d known him my whole life.

The problem? I thought about him at night too—when I lay alone, curled up in bed. In those moments, I fought even harder to remind myself that, tempting as he was, he was off-limits. Just a good-looking man with a knack for bodywarmth working under me for the next six months. No big deal.

“Hello, stranger,” said Iris, materialising from behind whatever potted plant she’d chosen. Her smile filled the room. She stepped up to my desk and leaned over, kissing me on the top of the head. “It’s not like you to sit back and let the boys have all the fun.”

I chuckled. Iris knew my control-freak streak well. After listening to my complaints about my team, she’d encouraged me to set a New Year’s resolution to delegate more. “You taught me well,” I said, patting my desktop. She sat down on the corner and cast her eyes around the floor.

“I swear I saw your little cat earlier. I’ve never seen her inside before.” Iris was a cat lover, too. She’d even sent Claudette a little jacket when the winter was at its coldest. I’d almost lost fingers trying to wrestle her into it.

---