Page 15 of The Chase
“Would anyone like a doughnut?” I gestured to the plate in front of us.
“No, thank you.” Tobias’s jaw muscles tightened and flexed, and he swapped a wary glance with the woman.
That spark of recognition on his face last night when he’d first met me had probably come from a Huntly Pierre memo he’d read with my name on it. Realizing this made me feel a little better.
Damn, this place was fantastic. I already loved working here. The kind of clients this place attracted was astonishing.
“Ms. Arquette.” Tobias gestured toward her. “My attorney.”
“So happy to meet you,” I said brightly. “Can we get you anything?”
“I’m fine,” she said with a softly spoken Swedish accent. “Any more coffee and I’ll never sleep again. Please, call me Logan.”
“Logan,” I said, “welcome to London.”
She started to say something but Tobias answered for her. “She lives here.”
“Oh, that’s lovely,” I said.
“I’m bicoastal, Ms. Leighton.” She flashed a grin at Tobias. “Sometimes LA. Sometimes here. I go where needed.”
Her neat chignon was showing mine up—whereas hers didn’t have a hair out of place, mine looked like I’d gone for the other end of the spectrum with wisps of hair fighting for freedom.
Tobias took a step toward me, closing the gap between us, and he raised his hand toward my mouth, his intense stare fixed on mine. I leaned back slightly, but his thumb was already brushing over my lower lip in a sensual sweep and it pouted naturally beneath his touch.
My breath stilted as a rush of tingles circled my chest and my cheeks felt flushed. Time slowing...
His irises were speckled with amber. That revelation, along with his mind-altering cologne wafting my way, caused a wave of giddiness.
The shadow of his touch on my lip...
“Crumb,” he said huskily and lowered his hand to his side.
“Muffin,” I managed and went for a seat near Adley, avoiding Logan’s ice-cold glare. Tobias gripped the back of my chair and nudged me forward into the desk.
“Thank you.” I wished I’d brought a pen and notepad now so I could pretend to write. “It was a gift from Elena. The muffin, I mean.” I offered a polite smile to Logan. “Our receptionist. It’s blueberry. With blueberry bits in there.”
Logan smirked as though amused.
He didn’t seem to notice, merely rounded the table and took his seat again right next to her.
“Careful,” said Logan, “don’t up-sell Elena too much or I might headhunt her.”
Tobias swiveled casually in his chair. “Let’s leave their staff alone.”
He’d brought his left leg up and crossed it over his right, showing off those fine highly polished leather shoes, and he looked so damn confident, so relaxed, so ridiculously dashing.
“Elena’s been with us for years,” offered Adley. “We’d be lost without her. Shall we go over the details?” Adley opened the beige folder in front of him.
I settled back in my chair, pretending that Tobias hadn’t fixed his stare on me. This seemed like cruel karma after I’d ogled him for a little too long last night.
I avoided his scrutiny by showing interest in the paintings surrounding me. More fakes hung from the walls. The large Jackson Pollock to our left was breathtakingly real. The original was safe in the National Gallery, a tube ride from here. A home away from home during my student days.
Pollock, one of America’s most famous abstract artists, had left a legacy of canvases splashed with brilliant roiling lines and blotches that even today stirred a visceral response. This one, if it had been real, would have fetched at least thirty million pounds if sold today. Luckily, it was in here and off the market so some poor unsuspecting collector with too much money didn’t throw it away on a counterfeit.
I’d once watched my father throw a mug of tea at a forgery. He’d told me afterward the artist had plagiarized the heart and soul of the painter. There was only one explanation for hanging these cruel betrayals up in the east wing. They were used for training.
Dragging my gaze away from the Pollock, I returned my focus to Adley.
