Chapter Five
Poppy
My first week at Stone Gallery passes in a blur. True to Nathaniel’s word, he’s had me doing more than a little administrative work. I’ve answered phones, responded to customer emails, dealt with shipments and mail, and gone on lunch and coffee runs for Nathaniel and Roberto.
I almost feel like I’m being tested, like Nathaniel’s waiting to see if I’ll start complaining or whining that this kind of stuff is beneath someone with my education and experience. But I know better, and I can see, by watching him, that he doesn’t consider any task at the gallery beneath his pay grade, either. I’ve watched him help the maintenance guys move a heavy display case, answer the phones on several occasions, and when a pigeon flew in the back door on my second day, Nathaniel ran around with the rest of us, trying to shoo it back out before it crapped on someone’s priceless creation.
One thing I’ve learned—aside from the fact that he’s gorgeous and absolutely knows his business—is that he has a dry sense of humor. That’s like my own personal version of Kryptonite. Added to the rest of the package, it’s like some kind of cruel joke that one man ticks every single one of my “oh my God, I want him” checkboxes, and he’s my boss.
The universe has a messed up sense of humor.
I’m at the reception desk, typing up an invoice for a client who purchased two pieces from the gallery, when Nathaniel walks around the desk and stands behind me. I hear him shuffling through some paperwork on the credenza.
“Are you looking for something?”
“There was a printer’s proof of the catalog for the upcoming exhibit that came in yesterday.”
“I put it on your desk, along with the rest of the items that needed your attention from that giant, towering stack of mess. The catalog is on top.”
He gives a little chuff of a laugh. “It wasn’t that bad.”
“There were invoices and letters from two months back,” I tell him, glancing back to see him inspecting the newly-organized credenza. “I purged anything that looked like junk mail, but if I wasn’t sure, I put it on your stack.”
“Our receptionist has been out for nine weeks now,” he tells me.
“Yeah, I figured.”
He gives another small laugh. “This looks a lot better.”
“The drawers were all holding a jumble of garbage. I did not expect to find junk drawers in an upscale gallery.”
He grins, and my stomach does this stupid little flip. I try to ignore it. “So, I threw away some of the stuff,” I continue, “but I consolidated the rest of the little bits and pieces and other stuff into the drawer on the left. The other two drawers are kind of inboxes for you and Roberto so that everything doesn’t end up in a big pile again, and so you don’t have to sort through a bunch of stuff to find something.”
He opens the drawers and starts looking through them. “Are you always this organized?”
“Always.”
He gives me another small smile and nods. “I appreciate this. I spend too much time looking for things, and I hate clutter, but there just aren’t enough hours in the day. Jeannette is a lot better than Roberto and me at keeping up with it. I didn’t fully realize how much we depended on her until she started her maternity leave.”
“Sounds like she deserves a raise when she gets back,” I tease, and he laughs.
“She probably does,” he admits. “Want to come with me and grab a bite? Roberto can hold down the fort for an hour or so. And I feel like saying thank you for getting this place in order.”
“That’s not necessary,” I tell him, and he waves it off.
“Nonetheless. Shall we? I was thinking of that little French bistro at the end of the block, but if you’d prefer something else, we can do that, too.”
I nod, ignoring the fluttery feeling in my stomach. It would be so easy to start to think of this as a date—a date with the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen—and that would be a really dumb idea.
“I’ll grab my bag, and we can go,” I tell him, and he nods and goes back to looking through the newly-established junk drawer.
I make my way to the small storage room at the back of the gallery and grab my bag, then quickly touch up my lipstick and make sure my hair isn’t sticking up at any weird angles. If I can stop being all “teenage girly” around him, this would be a good chance to convince him to let me do more actual curator-related work. I’d love to shadow either him or Roberto while they work— to get a real feel for how they spend their days—but I don’t want to be annoying. I thought to bring it up with Roberto, but Nathaniel is the one who’s the boss, so I really should ask him instead.
Not a date. Lunch meeting with my boss, who I need a recommendation from once this is all over. Keep your head in the game, I tell myself as I take one more look at my reflection in the small mirror near where we store our coats and other personal items. I give myself a firm nod, then turn and walk toward the front of the gallery. Nathaniel is waiting there, and he gives me a small smile as I approach.
“We’ll be back soon, Roberto. Do you want anything?” Nathaniel asks.
“Nah, I’m good. Have a good lunch,” Roberto says without looking up from whatever it is he’s working on. Nathaniel opens the door and steps aside, waving me forward.
And he’s a gentleman. Of course he is, I think.
We walk side by side down the street, with traffic roaring past us and other pedestrians walking by. We’re not in a hurry, and I’m glad. I steal a glance over at Nathaniel. He’s donned a pair of dark sunglasses, and while I kind of miss being able to see his eyes, I have to admit that he’s one of those men who just seem to look good in everything. I can smell his cologne, and it’s a scent that already seems to have permeated into my soul.
God, I’m losing it.
He’s older than I am. Successful. Cultured. Intelligent. Polite. Other than that comment he made about my skirt during our first meeting, he hasn’t said anything even remotely personal.
And yet…
I spend more time than I should looking at him. And I’ve caught him looking at me. Unlike most men, he doesn’t do that whole “look away quickly and hope she didn’t realize I was looking at her” thing. No, Nathaniel doesn’t hide the fact that he sees me. I don’t know what to think of that, but it does all kinds of crazy things to my insides. Whether he means anything by it or not… I mean, he can’t, right? He’s probably just checking to see what I’m working on or something.
It only takes us a few moments to get to the bistro, and he opens the door for me. My eyes meet his, just for a second as I walk past him, and I feel heat rise to my face.
This was probably a bad idea.
The attendant seats us at a little table near the front windows, and we settle in.
“Wine?” Nathaniel asks me.
I smile at him. “Depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether you think they’ll card me or not.”
He gives a small frown, then nods. “Something else, then.”
“Unfortunately,” I say, and he smiles. A moment later, our server takes our order, and then we’re alone again, each of us with a sparkling water in front of us.
“You could’ve had wine anyway,” I tell him.
“It’s no fun drinking alone,” he replies in a wry tone, and I laugh.
“Fair enough.”
He smiles, then settles back in his chair, which creaks just a little with the motion. “Have you enjoyed your first week?”
“I have, thank you.”
He gives a small nod, and I feel like he maybe wanted a little more than that.
“I feel like I’ve already learned so much,” I tell him. “And it’s… being able to work in an environment like that, where I’m surrounded by art and by people who appreciate it, that’s so amazing and rewarding.”
“And you get to try to organize me, which is a thankless job,” he adds with another small smile.
I laugh, and his eyes change, just a little as he looks at me, appearing almost golden in the afternoon light. I swallow.
“Organizing you wasn’t too bad. I was mostly just afraid that you’d think I was overstepping it, but it needed to be done.”
“It did, and you came nowhere near overstepping it.”
“Well, boundaries are important,” I say with a shrug.
He studies me for a moment, then runs his hand over his chin, eyes still on me. “You haven’t come anywhere near my boundaries yet, Poppy. But you should feel free to test them whenever you like.”
I don’t know how to respond to that, so I cover my confusion by taking a sip of my sparkling water. Is he flirting with me? Testing me? I have no idea how to handle someone like Nathaniel. He isn’t like the college boys I’m used to or the older, slimy men who’ve tried to pick me up on occasion.
Men like who my father used to be.
I shove the thought aside. I’d rather not think about Bruce and his past issues just now.
“Is something wrong?” Nathaniel asks softly, and I realize I’m furrowing my brow the way I often do when I’m irritated.
I shake my head. “Nothing that has anything to do with you,” I say, recovering and giving him a little smile.
“Feel like talking about it?” he asks.
I shrug. “Do you get along with my father?”
Nathaniel watches me for a moment. “I do. He’s a loyal employee and a hard worker. I don’t quite know what he’s doing working for me, though.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your father went from being the CEO of one of the top financial firms in this city to being a driver and errand boy for someone like me? How does that even work?”
I grimace. This is not a conversation I want to have with my dreamy boss. I want to kick myself for bringing my dad up at all, but he’s always there; the specter of how unthinking, manipulative, and dishonest men can be. I know that things I’ve learned about my father have affected the way I deal with men. I grew up with a great example of why it doesn’t make much sense to put my faith, or my life, in the hands of another man. Till death do us part is bullshit.
“We don’t have to talk about it,” Nathaniel says, seeming to sense my discomfort.
“It’s fine. When my mother passed away, he kind of…” I shrug. “He kind of lost it. His drive, his sense of humor… he just kind of shut down. There were things between them that were unresolved,” I say. I can’t look at him, so I look down at my glass of water. I’m fidgeting with the corner of my napkin. “The only thing that finally forced him to get back out there was the fact that we were about to lose even the inexpensive apartment we’d moved into. By then, he had no desire to do much of anything. He lucked out finding work as your driver. He seems to enjoy the work.”
“He must have loved your mother very much,” Nathaniel says, and I bite back the bitter laugh I want to release.
“It was a stressful time,” I say instead.
“I’m sorry,” Nathaniel tells me, and I nod. Seeming to sense that I need a change of subject, he leans forward, seeking out my gaze. “I was thinking that next week maybe you could spend some time shadowing Roberto as he works.”
I smile. “Have you been reading my mind?”
“I wish, Poppy. I wish.”
Thank God he can’t actually read my mind. About 90 of the time when we’re at work, I’m envisioning all of the very filthy things I’d like him to do to me. I don’t know what it is about him that brings out this side of me. I mean, I’m hardly innocent, but I’ve always been very much a ride ’em and leave ’em type of girl. Quick and straight to the point. Him, I envision all kinds of insanity with.
“Probably a good thing you can’t,” I tell him. Our food arrives at that moment, and we thank our server and start to dig in.
“Let me guess, you spend a ton of time thinking about what a dick I am,” Nathaniel says, then takes a bite of his salmon.
I laugh and receive a smile in return. “Gosh, boss, you caught me,” I tell him, digging into my salad. “How’d you ever guess?”
“Lucky guess,” he replies, and I laugh again. “So, you spend your days thinking I’m a dick and that I’m horribly unorganized. What else?”
I take another bite, buying myself time. I do not think he’s a dick. I think about his…
Nope. Not going there.
“Mostly, I complain to myself about how much my feet hurt,” I tell him.
“Ah ha. Torture in the name of beauty, eh?”
“Worth it. These shoes make my legs look freaking fantastic,” I say, glancing down at my legs.
“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” he says under his breath, and I force back a smile.
I’m not the only one paying attention, it seems. And then it hits me that my hot as hell boss might just be having the occasional impure thought about me as well.
A smart woman would not even consider playing this game with him. I’m smart, but I also, sometimes, like to live dangerously.
“They hurt, but I feel about a thousand times hotter wearing them,” I tell him. “People always think women wear shoes like this for men, and sometimes we do, but do you want to know the truth?”
The corner of his mouth lifts, and he’s watching me again. There’s something insanely hot about being the focus of Nathaniel Stone’s attention. “Tell me,” he says, and a little shiver goes through me at the gentle command.
“The truth is, we like looking at ourselves when we look good. It’s hot as hell to look in the mirror and see this sexy, confident chick standing there in front of you. It affects the way I feel for the rest of the day. I feel unstoppable, like I can take on the world and win.”
His eyes have gone dark, and my stomach twists. My entire body feels warm, and I’m pretty sure my panties are soaked, just from sitting here talking to him like this. I know I’m playing with fire, as this can’t go anywhere, but there’s something almost addictive about the fact that this gorgeous man is affected by me. I want more.
He clears his throat and sits back, looking away from me. “That’s a very good reason,” he tells me, and I smile.
He glances up, meeting my eyes again. “I have my own version of that.”
“Do you?”
Nathaniel nods, and I see a little devilish glint in his eyes.
“Feel like sharing?” I ask him.
“Maybe some other time. It’s a little personal to share over lunch.”
I nod and bite my lower lip.
I want to fuck this man senseless. But the chance of that happening is pretty much zero. I’ve never pined after anyone, and I don’t think I’m pining now, but… ugh.
I force myself to talk about other things with him for the rest of our lunch, and by the time we finish, a lot of the tension that I’d felt hanging between us has lightened. Still there, of course, but I feel less like I’m drowning in it. I think the most I’m ever going to get from Nathaniel is that he thinks I’m kind of cute. And that’s probably for the best. The last thing I need to do is fuck my boss.
Believe me: I’ve seen how that ends up for women who find themselves in that situation.