Page 38 of Ice To Meet You

“It’s a thing of glory, isn’t it?” Maurice asked.

I blinked, my mind scrambling to refocus. “Maurice!” I hissed. “You can’t talk about another staff member like that. It’s not professional.”

He smirked, his eyebrows arching. “I don’t know about you, but I was talking about the portrait.”

The second his words registered my stomach plummeted. My face flamed hotter than the gallery lights. “I didn’t mean … I wasn’t … I don’t…” Words deserted me entirely.

Maurice chuckled, clearly enjoying my discomfort. “Whatever you say. But you’re only human.” He glanced at Lola. She wore dark glasses inside and was obviously ignoring him today. “I wish I knew his secret.” Maurice sauntered off with a scowl.

I let out a shaky breath and sank back into my chair. As much as I hated to admit it, Maurice wasn’t wrong. I dared another glance at Matteo. His focus hadn’t shifted, his chiselledfeatures illuminated by the sunlight streaming through the windows.

My stomach fluttered. Yes, Maurice had it right the first time—Matteo was a thing of glory. And, if I wasn’t careful, I’d end up as crazy about him as Claudette.

As if he heard my thoughts, he looked down and caught my eye. My heart stuttered, pressure bubbling in my chest. Without thinking, I grabbed a pen and started scribbling on the nearest scrap of paper, desperate to appear busy.

Matteo’s brow lifted slightly, his gaze dropping to my desk. A slow, knowing smile curved his lips. “Careful,” he said, his voice laced with amusement. “Even if youarean art connoisseur, I think that still counts as vandalism in France.”

Confused, I followed his gaze and froze. My pen had gone rogue, drifting off the edge of the tiny Post-it note in my haste. A long, looping scrawl now decorated my desk’s polished surface.

“Merde,” I muttered under my breath. My antique desk—an expensive investment—now looked like it belonged in a kindergarten classroom.

Matteo’s grin widened. “You might want to focus on your paperwork.”

Damn him. He knew I’d been watching him, and the merest hint of his abs made me deface my furniture. With a “tut,” I snatched the Post-it to hide the evidence. “Just testing … uh, pen durability. I’m thinking of ordering some to give away at the exhibition.” Damn the traitorous high pitch of my voice.

Matteo chuckled, his laughter rich and warm. “As long as nothing distracts you from your testing.” He punctuated his sentence with a wink. Not a leering wink, but a cute, and oh-so-sexy-Matteo-type wink.

An inferno crept up my chest and across my face. I couldn’t hold his gaze any longer. I muttered to myself,spinning my chair to face the wall.

“Focus, Esmé. Work, not angels.”

By late afternoon, Lola was testing my boundaries. She had her plus points—her popularity with customers, her education in art history, but today, nothing could please her.

She pointedly ignored me, Maurice, and Matteo, her sometimes frosty demeanour sharper than usual. Incredibly beautiful as always, today she looked tired and a little green around the gills—no doubt from too much champagne, a hefty dose of regret, or both.

I looked at my watch. Fifteen minutes until closing time. Maurice had already called it quits and left early. Under the onslaught of Lola’s scowls, I couldn’t blame him. Even Claudette had abandoned her new bed. Perhaps Lola’s mood had turned her bowl of milk sour.

I closed my eyes to daydream the rest of the day away, when the bell over the gallery door rang, accompanied by a jingle of jewellery. I looked up and my heart plunged. Marianne Rossi headed towards my desk in a cloud of white fur and perfume. She wore heels sharp enough to cut glass, and I wept for my polished floorboards.

“Esmé!” she said, her jowls wobbling with her quick steps. “I’m so glad I caught you before you closed. I didn’t want to wait until Monday. What I have to say is too important.”

I stood, my chair scraping against the floor. “Is it?”

She threw her arms around me, air kissing the space next to my ears.

“Marianne, what can I do for you? What can’t wait?” Maybe she was about to leave the country forever and stopped by to say farewell. I could only hope.

“I wanted to see how things were progressing for the exhibition.” She glanced at the test paintings Matteo had hung—then at Matteo himself. He’d put his business shirt back on and was washing his hands at the back of the gallery. “Nicely, I see.”

Her cheeks blushed a little, and I smiled. Lola and I weren’t the only ones with a crush on my new employee.

“Indeed. With all the team onboard, I’m sure the exhibition will be a success. Was that everything?”

“Sorry?”

“Was that everything you wanted to say? You said it couldn’t wait until Monday.”

She tore her eyes away from Matteo. “My husband,” she said.

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