Page 30 of Painted in Love

Her smile radiated down on him. Before he lost total control and kissed her in full view of everyone, he flourished a hand for her to climb the stairs ahead of him.

When she walked through the door he opened for her, she gasped. “This is your office?”

“My office and my living quarters.” He closed the metal door, cutting off the hubbub from below, the thick walls giving him privacy while allowing the artists to work at all hours without worrying they’d disturb him.

She gaped at the space he’d created for himself. Skylights took advantage of the afternoon sun, sparkling on the polished concrete floor that wasn’t covered by area rugs. He’d designed an open plan, one grouping of sofa and chairs centered around his massive flat-screen TV, another around a fire pit he’d installed with an exhaust above for the smoke. Off to the right, a full kitchen contained all the amenities, as well as a breakfast bar and a dining table that seated twelve when extended. The only places partitioned off were his bedroom and the two bathrooms, one for him, one for guests. His workspace, desk, cabinets, files, and computers were all open to the rest of the flat. Two large monitors on the desk allowed him to track his investments, do research, and conduct business.

She put a hand on her hip. “Aren’t you a billionaire or something? Yet you live in your warehouse?”

He laughed. “It works for me. When clients visit, we have comfortable sofas to sit on and technology at my fingertips.” Then he said seriously, “I like to be close to the artists.”

She eyed him. “That means if…” She stared him down. “And I do mean if San decides to take the commission, you’ll be here all the time. How can we expect you to keep San a secret?”

“When your boss and I come to an agreement, I have no intention of spying on him.” Then he smiled. Many had called it a shark’s smile. Maybe it was, but for San Holo, not her. “I’m still hoping to change his mind about meeting Dylan.”

The reminder was a dig at her, because he’d seen how much she liked Dylan. How much she wanted to help him. Maybe she could persuade San Holo to do the right thing.

But that was all for a later discussion. With a hand on her elbow, he guided her to the sofa. “Take a seat. Would you like some water? A soda? Some wine?”

“Tap water is fine,” she said. “No ice.”

He poured two glasses, utilizing a filtration system that made his tap water as pure as anything out of a bottle, then carried both to the sofa.

She’d boxed herself into the sofa’s corner, and instead of pushing himself on her, he sat on the opposite end.

She was so beautiful with the sunlight streaming down on her. Sexy. Desirable. Fascinating. His heart and his body wanted to jump her right now, stake his claim, kiss her senseless. But his brain had to remain in control.

She took over the conversation. “You’ve been going on about Dylan meeting San Holo.” There might be a bit of snark in her tone. “But if you want San to work with you, we need to know your basic idea for the mural.” She spoke as if she and San were a team. She relayed what the client wanted, and San Holo executed. “Before you tell me, let me explain how San works.” She pointed at him. “You say what you want.” She swirled a hand in the air, encompassing the building. “Say, a mural having something to do with artists. Just basic stuff. No ‘it has to be this or that.’ But you also get to say what you’d absolutely hate to see. San’s not going to add something that makes you want to throw up. Once that’s all nailed down—” She arched a brow. “—you have to let it go.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off. “You get the version that comes out of the artist’s heart and soul. Can you accept giving up control like that?”

“Quite honestly,” he said, “I want what San Holo thinks will represent my artists. I want it to be inclusive. Here, we have all genders, all orientations, all ethnicities, all manner of artistic endeavors. Not just physical art, but the work of writers, poets, dancers, comedians, actors. Any artistic endeavor. I want people to see the mural outside and understand the spirit of what we’re doing on the inside.”

For a moment, she said nothing. Perhaps he’d blown her away. Until finally, she said, “I believe San has waited a long time to do something like this.”

Maybe she wanted San Holo to do this.

And Clay wanted her.

Chapter Ten

Clay hadn’t forgotten his original mission. “I need to meet the man first. How can I trust that I’ll get what I want if I don’t meet him?”

Saskia shook her head, her lips beckoning him. It took all his concentration to stay focused on her words. “Total anonymity,” she said. “Take it or leave it.”

Her chocolate eyes were even darker now, the color of rich earth.

He didn’t back down. “What if I hate it?”

The smile seemed to grow across her face, first her lips, then her cheeks, then crinkles at the corners of her eyes. “Then you don’t have to pay.” Finally, the smile surfaced in her gaze. “But you won’t hate it.”

“You must have worked with San Holo for a long time to be able to say that.” He liked her confidence. Even if it was confidence in her boss. Still, he kept pushing. Next to getting her into his bed again, his major goal was to fulfill his promise to Dylan. “San would really give up a lucrative commission—” He raised an eyebrow. “—and I will make it worth his while—because he refuses to meet with me?”

She shrugged. The answer was obvious. Yes, San Holo would walk away.

They were at an impasse when Saskia’s stomach rumbled. He realized the sun had fallen behind a building. Rather than pointing out the sound, he said, “I’m hungry. Shall we eat while we’re negotiating? What would you like?”

She put a hand to her stomach, acknowledging the growl. “I’m starving. Whatever you want. This is your area. You know all the best restaurants.”

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