Page 89 of Redemption

“You really don’t have to go to all this trouble,” I say, giving him an out. “I’m fine without a drink.”

“We have to toast to your success,” he insists. “I’ll be right back.”

True to his word, he’s gone for less than two minutes before he returns with two mugs filled with soda. One has a pug dog with a monocle, and the other features kittens dancing on a rainbow.

“Dog or cats?” Stephen asks.

“Cats, please.”

He tips the tiniest splash of whiskey into my requested mug. That amount of alcohol should be easily manageable. The ride back to the penthouse will take less than ten minutes, and there’s a taxi rank right outside the gallery. I can get back to Dane quickly once I down this drink.

“We used to have a mug that said, ‘Gough hard or Gough home,’ but I smashed it last week,” Stephen says as he presses the kitten mug into my hand.

Our fingers brush accidentally, and I almost spill my drink in my haste to withdraw from the awkward moment.

“Sorry,” he says with a shaky laugh. “I always get nervous around beautiful women. I’m talking bollocks.”

That comment makes me more uncomfortable, so I edge away from Stephen and take a gulp of whisky-tinged soda. It’s sweet and goes down easily.

“Ah, shit,” he continues. “I’m being awkward as fuck. I’m sorry. I spend so much time working at the gallery that I think I’m forgetting how to socialize like a normal person.”

I offer him a polite smile. There’s no need to antagonize him after all the work he’s putting in for my art, but I won’t encourage him, either.

“Have you worked here long?” I make small talk instead of reassuring him that his comment was acceptable. “You said you recently finished your PhD, right?”

I take another big sip of my drink. I don’t want to appear like I’m rushing to get away from him, but Dane really will start to get worried soon.

And I’m liking Stephen less and less with every passing minute.

His eyes flick to my lips and then back to my eyes. I pretend I didn’t notice, but I let my smile drop.

“Yeah,” he replies, chest puffing with pride. “I’m Dr. Lansing now. You know, I have a lot of connections in London. Some of my uni mates live there now. I could make some calls if you want.”

I take another sip of my sweet drink. I wish Stephen had put some ice in the mugs. It’s too warm in this cramped office, even though the temperature must be dropping outside.

“That’s okay, but thank you.” I refuse his offer. “I have plans to open my own gallery in Charleston. I won’t have time to travel to London.”

“There’s no need to be coy.” His voice drops deeper, and I don’t trust the slightly husky edge to his words. “I’m happy to help you out.”

My mug is over half-empty now, thank goodness. I’m ready to leave. I don’t like how pushy he’s being, even if he has helped me a lot today.

“Like I said, I don’t have the time. But I appreciate the offer.”

My skin is getting sticky with perspiration. I really should step outside sooner rather than later.

“Are you okay?” Stephen asks, brow furrowed with concern.

Heat rolls beneath the surface of my skin in a nauseating wave.

“Actually, I’m feeling a little lightheaded,” I admit. “I need some fresh air.”

“Drink some more. It’ll cool you down. And it’s mostly soda. The sugar should help.”

I suppose I haven’t eaten enough tonight, since this meeting is running far later than planned. Sugary soda isn’t going to help all that much, but I drain the last of my drink anyway. I’m so hot, and I need to get outside into the cooler night air.

“Stay for a little while longer,” he cajoles. “We should talk more about your career.”

He slides out of focus for a second.

---