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Piper

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If I knew that I’d run into Griffin again today, I would have taken an extra five minutes to do something with my hair. I stand out of his view in the office as I attempt to tuck the uncooperative strands back into place atop my head. It’s useless.

I skim my hands over my cheeks to chase away the heated feeling that rushed through me as soon as I turned and saw him.

He looks just as irresistible as he did this morning. The only difference is that he’s lost his tie, unbuttoned the top two buttons of his dress shirt and the shadow of stubble that was on his jaw earlier is gone. 

My lungs expand on a deep breath as I pick up the four frames that are sitting on a table in the office. Bridget showed them to me yesterday before I went to the studio for my class. She had helped herself to my sketchpad again and the results were stunning.

Each of the frames contains a sketch that I’d long forgotten about. Two of them are of the same woman. The others are of a man I drew years ago. His back was to me as I sketched every sharp detail of his body.

They all have unique traits that make me adore them and even though I feel a bittersweet twist around my heart at the thought of selling them, I know that it’s a step forward in my career.

“I have these four and there’s one on the portrait wall,” I say as I walk back into the gallery cradling the frames in my arms.

Griffin’s head pops up. His fingers stall on his phone’s screen when he sees me standing a few feet away from him. “Let me help.”

“I’ll put them here.” I motion toward a rectangular table with my elbow. Bridget uses it when she’s cataloging new inventory. It’s also the perfect place for her to sit while she talks about art over a cup of coffee or tea with a potential buyer. I haven’t done that yet since the only thing I’ve sold is one sculpture and that was to the mother of the artist.

I place the frames down carefully, adjusting them until they line up.

Griffin’s gaze sweeps over my face before he studies each sketch. His index finger trails over the bottom of the frames. “I have no idea which one to get.”

I try to contain my smile. I point at one of the drawings of the woman. “If Joyce liked the sketch you have in your office, I think she’d be happy to have this one.”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “She’d be happy to have any of them. Last year on her birthday I got her a ferry ride out to Ellis Island to see the Statue of Liberty and a box of cupcakes.”

I catch his eye. “I’m sure she appreciated it.”

“She didn’t.” He laughs through his response. “The ferry ride was free and the cupcakes were dropped off at the office earlier that day by a client as a thank you to me for a job well done.”

I shake my head and bite back my own laughter. “So you’re trying to make up for last year by buying her something she actually wants for her birthday this year?”

“You could say that.” He turns to face me. “I’ll take the one you suggested although I’m tempted to buy them all.”

I look up at him. Bridget priced each sketch at more than I ever would have. The cost of all four together is twice my monthly rent. “That would be one hell of a birthday present.”

His arm brushes against mine as his hand dives into the inner pocket of his suit jacket to tug out his wallet. “I’m only giving one to Joyce. I have someone else in mind for the others.”

Who? I want to blurt out, but he didn’t offer, so I won’t go fishing for details.

I take the credit card. “I’m sure they’ll appreciate the gift.”

Goosebumps crawl up my skin when his hand touches mine. We linger like that, our fingertips pressed against each other, his card dangling between my index finger and thumb.

“I’ll be sure to tell them all about the artist.”

“You don’t know much about me.” I finally slip my hand away from his although the heat of his touch lingers on my skin. “What will you tell them?”

His eyes close as he sucks in a deep breath. When he finally opens them, he narrows his gaze. “I’ll say that you’re an incredibly talented, beautiful woman.”

He thinks I’m beautiful.

“I’ll say that I’m fortunate to be in your class even though I’ll never master the finer points of figure drawing.”

“There’s always hope,” I whisper. “I see promise when I look at your work.”

“You’re lying.” His gaze drops to my mouth. “Your lip is quivering.”

Before I can bite it, the pad of his thumb is on it. He slides it along my bottom lip, slowly, so painfully slowly that I almost moan.

“I’m not taking your class to become the next Sem Jansen.”

I smile against his thumb. “Why are you taking it?”

“You know why.” His breath whispers across my lips.

I lean closer wanting him to kiss me. His hand drops when my lips part and just as my eyelids flutter shut, the bell above the gallery door rings.

I close my eyes wishing that whoever walked in just now would turn around and walk out.

“I take it you’re Piper?” An unfamiliar male voice asks.

I look briefly at Griffin before my gaze slides to the door and the man standing just inside the gallery.

Oh, shit.

“You’re Brighton Beck.” I push out the words through a wave of anxiety. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

***

Black hair, piercing blue eyes and a full sleeve tattoo. All of that is standing in front of me in the form of Brighton Beck, or Beck, as he prefers to be called by his friends, according to Bridget.

I go for the safe approach. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Beck.”

He looks down at the black T-shirt and jeans he’s wearing. “I don’t seriously look like a Mr. Beck to you, do I?”

How am I supposed to answer that? I haven’t exactly made the best first impression. When Brighton walked in, I was just about to kiss Griffin. Brighton’s presence pulled us apart and as I finished up the sale for my framed sketches and arranged for them to be delivered to Griffin’s office, I didn’t glance at either man. They were involved in a discussion about the weather that effortlessly slid into a shared appreciation for the New York Yankees.

Griffin walked out with a smile on his face because Beck invited him to a home game next month. 

The man I’m crushing on handled meeting my boss with humor and grace. I wish I could say the same. I silently fumbled with Griffin’s credit card before I walked away to ring up his purchase.

“I’m teasing you, Piper.” Beck flashes me a brilliant smile. “I want you to call me Beck. I also want you to forgive me for breaking up that moment between you and your boyfriend.”

“Griffin isn’t...no, he’s not...I like him, but,” I stammer my way through that before I stop to catch my breath. “Griffin is one of my students. He was here to purchase a gift for his assistant. I’m not his girlfriend.”

“My mistake.” He walks closer to where I’m standing next to the table that my sketches are sitting on. “This is your work, isn’t it?”

I nod exuberantly. “Yes. I drew these. I just sold all of them to Griffin.”

“He’s got a great eye.” He taps one of the frames. “You’ve got immense talent, Piper. This is impressive. It’s good to have you on board.”