Chapter 11

Lanie

“Lanie Jacobs?”

The knock on my open office door drew my attention away from the computer screen, where I’d been looking up resources to help a student applying for weekend classes at community college.

“Yes?” My jaw dropped at the sight of the giant package the delivery man had leaning against the wall opposite the door. “I’m sorry. Who is this for?”

“For you. Sign here.” He handed me the little device, and I quickly signed my name.

With him gone, I stood in the hall and gaped at the long, thin package. Who would send something to me at school? And what could it possibly be?

Nearly shaking with excitement, I carefully ripped a corner of the brown paper. The edge of a black frame came into view. More delicate ripping and pink appeared.

“No,” I gasped.

But, yes. It was the painting from Saturday night. The one Andrew had also said he liked.

Noticing the little envelope taped to the far end of the frame, I ripped it open, unable to read fast enough.

Dear Lanie,

Thank you for a wonderful night with two special women. I hope you will accept this painting as a token of my appreciation.

Sincerely,

Andrew.

Shameful and girlish as it was, I couldn’t stop myself from pressing the card to my chest.

“Oh my god,” I whispered.

I glanced down the hall, checking to make sure no one had seen me freaking out. The coast was clear. It was the last period, and the bell would be ringing in a few minutes.

Wanting to get the painting into the car before I had to lug it through a sea of students, I kept the rest of it unwrapped and carted it outside. Luckily, it fit across the back seat.

Standing with the car door open, I took a moment to stare at the painting. I still couldn’t believe it. No one had ever sent me such a gift before. Fake jewels and flowers, those were the only things men had ever sent me. But Andrew Marx had shipped over a painting, and we weren’t even dating.

Not yet, anyway.

I bit down on my lip to stop the squeal from escaping. No way had I imagined the chemistry. It was there, completely real and begging to be paid some attention. I closed my eyes and lost myself in the memories of Saturday night and the way he’d brought over wine and chased that guy away. It had only been a friendly chat. The man wasn’t my type at all.

But the attitude Andrew sent had been clear. He wanted me. He showed it the other night, but this painting was confirmation. Not even a self-deprecating, self-doubting, ball of nerves such as myself could deny it.

Behind me, the last bell rang. I turned and watched from across the parking lot as students spilled through the front doors. She probably wouldn’t appear, but I looked for Raven anyway. Her file had said she rode the bus. Those were in the back of the building, but sometimes the students walked around the side to get there.

A smile tugged at my lips. Andrew Marx, a self-assured billionaire who put his daughter in public school and had her ride the bus. That simple act made me like him twice as much. But those eyes and that firm jaw certainly didn’t hurt my feelings toward him either.

Since I’d brought my purse with me, I climbed into the car, ready to go. One thing had to be done first, though.

Speed-dialing Erica’s number, I put her on the car’s speakers.

“Hey, you,” she answered. “Speak to me.”

“Guess what?”

“You’re on your way to Hawaii,” she snapped back.

I didn’t even stop to address that. Erica had a witty response to everything. “Andrew Marx gave me one of the paintings from Saturday night. He had it delivered to the school.”

“No,” she gasped. “You’re kidding.”

I turned around in the seat to look at the painting again, just to make sure it truly was real. “Nope.”

“Which one?”

“The pink one, by Anna-Maria what’s-her-name.”

“Anna-Maria Rawlins! Those are fucking expensive.”

“Yeah.” I slowly realized. “They are.”

“Like, several thousand dollars.”

“Yeah.” I bit the side of my thumbnail. “Do you think it means—”

“That the picture of a giant flower means he wants to pollinate your flower? Yes. Absolutely.”

As stupid as the way she put it was, the thought had a tingle going from my head to my toes.

“I hope he’s not trying to impress me with money,” I said.

“Who cares? I think it was just a nice gift. Something to thank you for what you did.”

“Yeah. You’re probably right.”

“Oh, and to subtly let you know he wants to bang you.”

I sighed and dropped back against the headrest. “You should have seen him. He’s even hotter in person.”

Erica groaned. “God, why does Matt have to take so long in the shower? I swear he’s the chick in this relationship. I’m in and out in five minutes, and it’s always an hour for him.”

I laughed over that, thinking about Matt taking his sweet time shaving and using Erica’s fruity body scrubs. They’d arrived at the gallery not long after Andrew and Raven had left it, but Erica already knew close to every word that Andrew and I had shared.

“Did you call him yet?” she asked.

“No. I just left school.”

“Call him. Don’t wait.”

Anxiety wound its way into my heart. “And say what?”

“Thank you.”

“Oh. Right.”

“And yes, when he asks you out.”

“You don’t know that’s going to happen,” I protested, though another smile already made my cheeks sore.

“Uh-huh. Yeah. Talk to you later.”

She hung up, leaving me with a silent car, a giant painting, and one shit-eating grin.

On the drive home, my pulse pounded in my ears. Thankfully, I had a ground-floor apartment. Trying to get the painting up a flight of stairs would have been awful.

Once inside, I set it against the living room wall and finished ripping off the rest of the paper.

Gorgeous. Amazing. Perfect.

There weren’t enough adjectives to properly describe it.

I’d have to get some nails into the wall later, but right then, a more pressing issue commanded my attention. Drawing up Andrew Marx’s number on my phone, I gave him a call.

I’d already programmed his digits in earlier that morning, just in case there was a disruption with Raven and I needed to get in touch quick and, also, maybe for other, more personal reasons.

As it rang, my breath stalled in my throat, terrified to go up or down.

“Hello?” came the smooth, deep answer. My legs shook, and I quickly sat down on the couch.

“Andrew, hi. It’s Lanie Jacobs.”

“Lanie.” His tone changed right away. The deep timber was still there, but a hint of flirtation entered his voice as well. “How are you?”

“Good. Especially since I’m looking at my brand-new painting.”

“You don’t say?”

“Yeah. It looks great in my living room.”

Maybe it was because we were on the phone or because I was sure at this point that he liked me, but a confidence I’d never before felt had entered my soul. Gone was the shy, uncertain Lanie. Thriving in her place was a person who felt capable of anything.

And how could she not? Andrew Marx, a perfect package of a man, was showing me attention. The world felt like a ball of putty in my hands.

“I hope the delivery went all right,” Andrew said, “and it wasn’t damaged.”

“No, it looks great. Thank you. Really, really thank you. This wasn’t necessary at all.”

“Of course not, but I wanted you to have it.”

Him not being able to see me didn’t stop me from blushing and pressing fingers to my lips.

“I’m sorry we didn’t get to stay long on Saturday,” he continued.

“That’s all right,” I quickly said. “I’m so glad you were able to come. How is Raven doing now?”

He hesitated. “It’s hard to say. She hasn’t spoken to me much since Saturday night.”

“Teenagers are surly,” I pointed out. Feeling like I was getting too much into counselor-talk, I looked for a new direction to veer the conversation. I was at home, not at work. As much as I loved my job and cared about all the students, this phone call was about something else entirely.

“I can send someone over to hang up the painting,” Andrew rumbled.

The sweet act touched my heart. “That’s very nice, but you don’t have to do that. I can handle it. Thank you. I know I keep saying that, but wow.” I looked over at the painting. “It’s that beautiful.”

“Maybe I’ll get the chance to see it sometime.”

My heart literally skipped a beat.

“That would be nice,” I croaked.

“I can even put it up for you if it’s not on the wall by then.”

“Okay.” I sounded like a robot, but my normal voice had up and vanished. Andrew was outright flirting with me. Not smiling at me, or telling me it was nice to see me, or sending me a painting. He wanted to come over to my place.

“What are you doing Saturday night?”

I licked my dry lips, ones that already burned to know what it felt like to be kissed by Andrew Marx. “Nothing.”

“Go out with me. How about dinner?”

“That sounds great,” I answered, only able to half-conceal my giddiness.

“Great. I have to run. I have a meeting in a few, but let’s talk more about it soon.”

“Yeah. Sure thing.”

“Bye, Lanie,” he breathed, his intoxicating voice traveling down the line and wrapping around me.

I tried not to sigh my “Bye” before I hung up the phone.

Falling back onto the couch cushions, I gazed at the painting. From now on, every time I looked at it, I’d think about him.

In my hand, my phone buzzed with a text from Erica.

How did it go?

I swear, she was psychic. Still too elated to move, I set the phone on the coffee table and sighed in contentment as I closed my eyes and relaxed into the couch. I’d text her back later. For now, I wanted to bask in the moment. All this time waiting around, and, finally, I had an exciting date.

With a man who was my type, at that.

I didn’t care that he was a little older. To be honest, I kind of liked it. Knowing he had years of experience on me gave me a feeling of security, something I’d never had with other men.

The way I saw it, the only slight issue was that he was a student’s parent. While there were no hard and fast rules about me socializing with parents, it could still be a gray area. Since I was new at the high school, I would have to be extra careful to keep my personal life quiet.

But other than that, everything was perfect.

Cracking my eyes, I peeked at my painting and remembered Erica’s joke about Andrew wanting to pollinate me.

What was he like in bed? If I had to guess, he took his time, making sure that the whole experience was a special thing. Unlike some guys, who only showed up to get to the happy ending, I had a feeling Andrew savored each second spent with someone.

My skin ached to be that someone—his only someone. I barely knew him, but there was a fire roaring deep in me. I needed to get that man’s hands on me, to taste him in places that other people weren’t even allowed to see. Once that happened, I’d be happy.

Not satiated, though. I already knew Andrew wasn’t the kind of man I’d be happy getting one serving of.