Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Have you changed your mind?
Adrian didn’t call her, but the texts were pressure enough.
After another night with him blowing her mind, then this morning’s elaborate breakfast of bacon, eggs, fried potatoes, and fried tomatoes that reminded her of a full English back home, she didn’t know how she could say no. She didn’t want to say no.
But she wasn’t sure how she could say yes, with all her lies choking her.
When the door of Clay’s apartment opened and an unfamiliar man walked into the loft, Saskia jumped like a frightened rabbit and almost knocked over her juice glass on the breakfast bar.
“Sorry,” Clay said. “I should have warned you. I saw him coming on the monitor and opened the door for him.” It had been automatic to push the button on the end of the bar to unlock the door. “Saskia Oliver, this is Gareth Tate.” He clapped his best friend on the back.
Her shock clearly fading, Saskia bounded from the barstool and stuck out her hand. Before Clay could say that Gareth was just dropping off some contracts for him to sign, she jumped in. “You must be one of Clay’s artists. What’s your medium?”
Clay tensed. He’d told her only part of the story the other night—that his friend’s parents hadn’t appreciated his art. She obviously didn’t realize Gareth was that friend. Or that his art was a closed subject. Back in university, Gareth had been a prolific painter. Clay had even helped him mount a show for his work. It hadn’t gone well. No, that was too mild. Gareth’s work had been trashed. The lighthearted, artistic Gareth had disappeared after that, turning into this buttoned-up, executive-style man before them. Even his rich, coffee-colored eyes had become a simple brown.
But Saskia was already going through a litany of artistic endeavors. “Sculptor, metal artist, potter, painter?”
Clay thanked heaven that Gareth didn’t freak out. Instead, he flapped a hand as if he were trying to ward off everything she said. “Oh no, I don’t paint anymore. I’m Clay’s lawyer.”
She looked first to Clay, then back to Gareth. “Oh,” she said with obvious disappointment. “So you used to paint, but don’t anymore?” When Gareth didn’t answer, she asked, “Why did you stop?”
Clay cringed, having no idea how to avert this disaster. He wasn’t a helpless man, but he felt helpless now.
Gareth shrugged his wide shoulders beneath the tailored suit jacket. “Long story. The art world just wasn’t for me.”
She tucked her chin, gazing at Gareth as if she were a cat trying to figure out why he didn’t immediately bend down to scratch her ears. “Really?” Then she puffed out just a sound. “Hmm.” She looked him up and down, from his short lawyerly auburn hair to that buttoned suit jacket to his shiny loafers. “Because you’ve definitely got that artist vibe about you.”
Having seen her take in his appearance, Gareth admitted, “I dabbled in college.”
She touched him, just a sweep of her fingers across his forearm. No one had seen Gareth’s artwork since their university days. He’d hidden it all away, taken back everything he’d given Clay to put in the show. Clay was pretty sure he’d destroyed it all.
But Saskia was so enchanting. Whatever Gareth felt in that touch made his tension melt away. She cocked her head again, as if the careful animal in her scented that Gareth wasn’t a threat and that maybe he was about to give her a treat.
She asked softly, “Do you display it in your house just for you to see?”
Clay felt jittery, his gaze flashing between the two of them. Gareth would walk out now.
Instead, his friend smiled. A real smile. Not a trapped smile. A smile that reminded Clay of the Gareth of ten years ago. When he’d been a happy artist instead of a staid lawyer. Then his friend shocked the hell out of him by saying, “No. It’s all in a storage unit.”
Clay barely stopped his jaw from hitting the floor. How had he simply assumed Gareth had gotten rid of it all, even as he mourned its loss?
But Saskia, that amazing woman, had drawn it out of him. She was incredible. A miracle worker.
She blew Clay away yet again by saying, “I’d love to see it sometime.”
Then Gareth did the most staggering thing. He pulled out his phone, scrolled through the contents, and finally said, “I have pictures.”
Saskia stepped inside his personal space to look at his phone. Clay couldn’t move. He wasn’t merely astounded—he was completely dumbstruck. Not just by Saskia and how she’d gotten Gareth to open up in less than ten minutes, but by Gareth himself. Clay wanted to horn in on their moment, to gaze at the photos. But he stood back watching, when normally he would never have allowed himself to be a mere observer.