CHAPTER 18

GIGI STOOD NEXT TO THE brick building that housed Ink Spinners with her bag balanced on the hood of her Fiat. Since she pulled into the parking lot, she cataloged the contents of her purse while sitting in her front seat at least twice, now she was doing it again. If anything was missing, even one item, she would go home. He probably wasn’t even expecting her to come in. Which was even more reason that everything had to be right. Nothing out of place.

She’d spent two hours in the mirror painstakingly making over her messy hair into a dark waterfall of cascading curls arranged to fall over one side while the other side had been smoothed. Her makeup struck that delicate balance of temptress and business professional. As she chose her outfit that morning, a part of her wanted to drip so much pink it would make him sick to look at her. Not just a subtle reminder, but an all-out dig at the flirting she never should have done. Another side of her wanted to go severe with unrelieved black and white. That too was another kind of dig—a stark denial of everything that had passed between them.

In the end, she settled somewhere in the middle. Her high-waisted black pencil skirt buttoned up the front with a little left undone to give a hint of leg at the bottom. She paired that with a white formfitting blouse that gave a hint of the deep pink bra she’d been fully aware was too dark to wear underneath the thin top. The finishing touch that gave her the boost in confidence she needed had been the bright fuchsia heels, just couture enough to avoid being hooker heels.

Tomorrow she’d scale it back, or maybe next week. If she was going to brazen this out she wanted to make it painful for him, at least for today. Her mother had the right idea—no man would bring her down. Gigi wanted this job and if she had to look at Roman, then so be it. She didn’t just need this job to pay her bills—she’d been good at it. She loved running the gallery space and elevating the shop’s marketing potential. Being the boss’s girl would have to be a benefit she learned to live without.

Gigi slicked on a final coat of Moxie Mauve lipstick, like war paint. She placed it carefully back in its designated side pocket, and took her first steps forward with her head held high.

“Shoulders back, girlfriend. Put some hip action into that strut.” Gigi breathed in through her nose and on her exhale, she repeated her new mantra. “If mom can leave John Duval, high-powered attorney, I can do anything.”

A low whistle sounded from across the shop. Roman looked up to see their new apprentice, Jasper, slack-jawed with his eyes fixed on the front window and then over in time to see Gigi through the glass seconds before she entered the shop in all her audacious glory. Hot damn—she had fire in her and she was here.

Declan, good friend that he was, took care of the kid by delivering a swift kick to the shin.

“Hey—what was that for!” The kid bent over grabbing his leg. But more importantly, he was no longer looking at Roman’s girl, not that he had any right to call her that.

Declan turned his back to the room, directing his words to the kid. “Respect, asshole.” His gruff timbre carried anyway. “There’s a lady in the room. I know it’s difficult, but try to act like you’re out of puberty.”

Roman returned his focus to where it always should have been—Gigi. As she moved around the desk putting her things away to begin work, he couldn’t help but let his eyes rove the lush curves that her black and white ensemble emphasized. Starting from the shocking heels, the shot of pink that made him painfully hard as he recalled the last time he let himself search for it, his fingers twitched to caress the silky curve of her calf.

His pencil moved over his sketchpad, allowing his imagination to trace what in reality he couldn’t have. It might be the only way he got to touch her after all the accusations that she hadn’t deserved. He didn’t even merit this solace. Didn’t matter—he couldn’t help himself when she displayed her body like art, and that tease of color—he could almost see it taunting him through the thin material of her blouse as his pencil mirrored the rise of her perfect breasts. She knew exactly what she was doing. That’s why she ran a gallery so well and ensnared his artist soul.

He had to have her back—had to make it right. And if she deigned to give him that elusive second chance, he’d spend the rest of his life groveling to make her Mrs. Bishop. To let her know that she was seen and that he could learn to listen instead of judge. The last thing she’d ever needed was his judgment.

The sharp squeak that came out with Gigi’s indrawn breath broke Roman’s flow. He blinked at the rush of his surroundings now that he’d fractured the tunnel focus she’d stirred. Her chair rolled back as she stood. “Dad. You shouldn’t be here.”

“No. You shouldn’t.” Her father’s hand shot out as if to strike her, but she sidestepped him. Without John Duval’s plastic blonde and the benefit of shadows he barely resembled the carefully put together lawyer he appeared to be at the event. Shit rarely did look good under the scrutiny of daylight.

“Get your things, you’re coming home where you belong.” He gripped her arm in one hand and scooped up her bag with the other, holding it out to her. “You are going to pay for that poison tongue and recant whatever vile lies you told your mother. I never should have let you think you had choices. You had your chance. Now I’m putting you in your proper place.”

“This is my job. My place,” she spat in a sharp whisper that carried nevertheless. “You’re making a scene and I’m a grown woman. I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Roman stood, moving without thought to loom behind Gigi. Declan was at his side without needing to ask. He was the kind of man Roman needed in a crisis. Based on what little Gigi had shared when she’d attempted to explain her family, before Roman’s assumptions had gone and fucked it all to hell—this was about to qualify as such.

Unable to resist the excuse to touch her, Roman removed her father’s hand and left his own in its place. A gentle touch, one he meant to be reassuring. Her fingers ghosted over Roman’s and then fell away.

“Is there a problem, sir? The lady just got here. We should allow her to settle into her day.” Roman forced a smile that he was certain came off more like an evil grimace based on the pinched expression of Duval. “We would be happy to help you, wouldn’t we, Declan?”

Declan nodded; his arms crossed in from of his chest, bulging his corded muscles so that they strained the rolled up sleeves of his white dress shirt.

Duval stood impossibly erect, as if he had a stick shoved so far up his ass he’d been walking on his tip toes. His neck was back, nose in the air, attempting to look down on them as he spoke, despite being the smaller man. “This is none of your concern. My daughter is no longer employed by this establishment.”

“See, that’s a problem for me. Last time I checked, I write the paychecks and she hasn’t lost her voice.” Roman took a step closer, crowding himself into the other man’s personal space. “I’m not inclined to let you walk out of here with my Gallery Director and Marketing Manager. You see, sir, I need her. And I’m not about to allow you or anyone else to take that choice away from her.” He hoped she could read between the lines of that statement because she went still under his touch, as if she couldn’t bring herself to breathe.

The balding bastard turned six shades of red. “You can’t be serious, calling this a gallery? No daughter of mine is going to waste a Bachelor in Art History and Business working for a dirty tattoo parlor. I don’t think you know who you’re messing with young man. I will have the health inspector so far up your ass—”

“Try it, old man.” Roman stepped in until Duval walked backwards towards the door to avoid physical contact. Gigi’s hands gripped Roman’s arm, nails digging in through the white cotton shirtsleeve. “Leave my business now. And do NOT bother Gigi again. Next time I will not ask nicely and I’ll have more friends.”

Duval opened the door, putting it between his body and Roman’s. “This is not over.”

“Yes. It. Fucking. Is.” Roman’s fist lashed out, slamming on the doorframe beside Duval’s head.

He squeaked out his cowardice as he fled, the door thudding closed in his wake. Gigi wilted, stumbling backward on her towering heels until her searching hands gripped the edge of the desk. She used it like a toddler trying to stand, working her way back to her seat to collapse.

Gigi leaned forward, scooping up the purse her father discarded on the floor. Her hands shaking, she carefully put her planner back in the bag, then her phone before retrieving her keys from the door where she’d stashed them. “Declan, I’m gonna need another day off. Can you walk me to my car? I don’t think I should go out there on my own.”

“Beautiful, are you even okay to walk right now?” Roman moved towards her.

“Don’t call me that.” Gigi’s hand flew up like a stop sign, repelling Roman’s advance.

She hadn’t listened. Hadn’t read between the lines or she hadn’t processed it yet. He was hoping for the latter. Now, seeing in living color the example she’d been set for how a man treated a woman, it was no wonder she had so many walls up about having a relationship. Roman’s actions yesterday, his false accusations were a fresh wound that proved her convictions dead-on. That’s what he was up against.

“I’m so sorry.” It wasn’t enough, but he said it. Odds were her father never said those words to a woman, especially his wife and daughter. That made it more important for Roman to say it. He’d tattoo the words to his body if that’s what it took.

“Why don’t we call you an Uber? I can bring your car by when I close up tonight.” Declan held his hand out for her phone.

She nodded, her eyes fixed on some point Roman couldn’t see as she handed over the device from her purse.

Declan met Roman’s questioning glare with a level one.

His friend continued in an even cadence. “Don’t worry, Gigi. You’re one of us now and we’re gonna take care of you. No matter what you decide, you have a place here, okay?”

Her head bobbed once more. Gigi seemed to focus in on her own shaky breathing. Whatever was happening inside her must have been a tangled mess because she looked as if she was ready to come apart at the seams. The sass she’d come in with had snuffed out. He should hold her until it was all right again. Knowing he couldn’t take care of her the way he had before burned like the hell that was no less then he deserved.

Declan, not Roman, held her elbow to steady her as she walked on wobbly legs to meet the car. They stopped at the door and she turned back. Her gaze held Roman. In that drawn out moment, he felt the pull to sweep her up, to carry her away from it all. And her eyes—it was wishful thinking—but their sparkle of unshed tears shone like Gatsby’s green lantern on the end of the dock, guiding her former lover back to her.

Her teeth sank into her full bottom lip. When she released it, her faint words turned out to be Roman’s true beacon in the dark.

“You know where I am if you need me.”

Then she slipped out the door, as if she’d never been there to give him the salvation he’d been searching for.