Page 24 of Painted in Love

After Hugo, Adrian thought a change would be good for Saskia. And for herself as well. Adrian’s mother was American, hailing from San Francisco. Why not visit her aunt in the States? Adrian and Saskia had never left. It had been a great decision—a clean break for Saskia, a new beginning for them both. Adrian had fulfilled all the requirements and passed the California bar exam. Saskia had let Lynx go and become San Holo, bigger and better than ever.

Adrian had to admit that she’d done very well by Saskia’s and her other clients’ work too. Legally. Without embezzling. Making sure contracts were solid, getting their work out there with gallery showings, commissions, publicity. In fact, Adrian had been able to buy a flat on Nob Hill. Whereas Saskia had never lived large despite her wealth. Though she had a beautiful Victorian in Haight-Ashbury, she still shopped at thrift stores. Mind you, she found some exceptionally cute clothing that suited her perfectly. Saskia also gave a lot of money to nonprofits, especially those related to artists.

It had been a long road for Saskia to get where she was. Adrian didn’t want to see her screw it up with Clay Harrington either. But that glow on Saskia’s face when she talked about the man said maybe it wouldn’t be a bad thing. Adrian didn’t think he was the ogre Saskia was afraid of. Her friend didn’t trust anyone who could potentially abuse artists—she barely trusted anyone anymore.

Adrian would watch out for Saskia. The first inkling of something going sideways, and she’d pull the plug. But she didn’t think it would go sideways at all.

For Saskia’s sake, she hoped it was full steam ahead.

Chapter Eight

Since she’d gone straight to Adrian’s office after leaving Clay, Saskia had to go home to shower and change. She didn’t dress to wow, but she loved the flowery tunic sweater she’d chosen over her favorite pair of comfy leggings. Gosh, she loved thrift stores. She’d found the sweater in a tiny shop in the Haight. She could afford to buy designer clothing, but she didn’t care about that. The thousand dollars she’d pay for anything by a designer would help a lot of starving artists like she’d once been.

She arrived a few minutes early at Clay Harrington’s warehouse. That was how she needed to think of him—as Clay Harrington. Not Clay, who’d done all those incredible things to her body last night.

She had to keep a cool head around him. He was just too good-looking, and even the thought of him—and last night—made her shivery.

She wanted to do everything all over again. And more.

But she had to act professionally and maintain control. Because he would push her relentlessly to find out who San Holo was. If all that sensuality took over, she might let something slip. She might actually tell him.

The warehouse in the Mission District took up an entire city block, with two stories and lots of windows. All that natural light was perfect for artists. Though she mostly worked at night with the stars and the moon to light her way.

She patrolled the entire perimeter. By the time she made it back to the front, her heart was racing. It was totally doable. In the wider spaces between some of the windows, she could do something grander, but she imagined filling up even the narrow borders between each window set like the spines of books. It would be fabulous. She’d never done an entire building before. This chance had dropped in her lap like a gift.

She surveyed the front entrance, where a massive latticed window had been installed above the double doors. It struck her that she could paint on the glass, something she’d never done before. She’d have to research the right paint to use and how to treat the glass so the paint neither faded nor chipped. The challenge beat deep inside her.

She’d come here wanting to learn more about Clay’s artists’ platform, Art Space, wanting to prove whether he was on the up-and-up, as Adrian believed. The way her heart wanted to believe. If he was as caring with his artists and their work as he’d been with her body last night, then she wanted this commission. Her heart begged for this commission.

She threw open the front door, and the sun through all those windows lit up the lobby like a spotlight on a magnificent sculpture that took center stage. She could only stare and marvel.

A small bronze plaque at the bottom named the piece and identified the artist as Charlie Ballard. She was familiar with Charlie Ballard’s metalwork. The woman was a genius. Saskia had gone to Sebastian Montgomery’s corporate headquarters just to see The Chariot Race. The stunning piece dominated his lobby, different facets showing up as the sun moved across it. Saskia had stayed over an hour to watch it. But this was beyond anything. It shot straight through to her artist’s heart.

Charlie had welded together The Discus Thrower out of gears, sprockets, springs, bits of pipe, and more, while shaping the face in bronze. But the discus itself was the crowning jewel. Shaping it like a palette, Charlie had filled it with a mosaic of all the colors a painter could possibly want. As the sun struck the disc, the mosaic seemed to glow. Perhaps Charlie had placed it just so, much as she had with The Chariot Race, making the sun part of the art.

She walked slowly around it, taking in its grandeur from every angle, then once again coming to a stop beneath the palette.

It was only then that she saw Clay. She had no idea how long he’d stood there while she’d been engrossed in Charlie’s work, but he did nothing more than stare at her. Even as their eyes met, he still said nothing.

He must be wondering how the woman from last night had ended up here at the exact time San Holo’s assistant was due to arrive.

She had to take control. Now.

Stepping forward, she held out her hand to introduce herself as if they hadn’t just spent the most miraculous night together. “Hi. I’m Saskia Oliver, San Holo’s assistant.” She gave a nod toward The Discus Thrower. “Charlie Ballard is an amazing sculptor.” He didn’t take her hand, and she let it drop, rushing on before he could answer. If he even intended to. “It’s a truly magnificent work.”

As the silence went on, her heart beat harder, faster, and her blood roared in her ears.

Would he let her in? Or throw her out?

It took a lot to throw Clay off. But Saskia Oliver had managed to shock him.

How the hell could his dream woman of last night be standing here in his warehouse? Sure, he’d been determined to find her again. But she had found him.

Was it destiny?

His heart pounded hard, his breath stuck in his throat, and even his vision blurred around the edges as he looked at her. Christ, she was beautiful, all that gleaming dark hair falling over her shoulders, those deep cocoa-colored eyes, and the long, flowered sweater draping her beautiful body. Even the combat boots woke primal urges inside him.

Damn her for doing this to him.

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