start wearing pants more. Or at least longer dresses,” I mumble, mostly to myself, shifting against the car seat. The leather sticks to every inch of the exposed skin of my thick thighs, making each movement uncomfortable. Not to mention a little sweaty.
Callum pulls his eyes away from the road to flash me a look of disapproval. “Why?” he asks, like the idea is offensive.
“My legs stick to the leather in my short skirts.” Lifting one of my legs to cross it over the other, the seat clings to the surface of my skin like it’s proving my point. So annoying. A line forms between his brows, but his cellphone starts to ring before he has a chance to respond.
“Yeah,” he answers mildly, listening to the person on the other end of the phone. “I’m pulling up to the gallery now. Meet me here in twenty minutes.” As he hangs up we’re pulling up to an elegant white brick building with tall arched windows accented in gold, turning into a parking spot right out front. How this man always manages to get VIP parking, I’ll never know.
I wait for Callum to climb out of the car to open my door to help me get out—something I’m grateful for with my dress. I’m not sure when I got used to having men drive me around and open the door for me. Between Callum and Roscoe my hands haven’t touched a car door in weeks.
Callum’s hand presses to the small of my back as he leads me through the door into the high-end art gallery. We don’t stop to admire any of the displays or art pieces, instead navigating towards the back of the gallery. A series of hallways and frosted glass doors take us into a private room.
The room is both modern and serene; with cream walls, black velvet furniture, and gold and glass accents. The luxurious simplicity of this environment screams money, which I’m assuming is intentional. Nothing loosens purse strings like feeling the desire to belong.
“Mr. Russo, good to see you.” A slender woman greets him, her red hair swept back into a classy French twist, professional dress perfectly tailored. I don’t miss how her eyes move over Callum, sparking irritation inside me. That’s not how a salesperson looks at a client.
“Genevieve.” Callum’s greeting is all business, but that doesn’t seem to deter her in the slightest. The smile she flashes him holds something more than friendliness, turning sour when her eyes move to me.
“And who’s this?” If Callum notices the condescension in her voice, he doesn’t show it. But I notice, not even bothering to give her my friendly smile when her judgmental gaze moves over me. Instead I hold her gaze boldly, lifting my brows in question. This bitch isn’t going to make me feel badly about myself.
“She’s with me.” Callum makes the statement with an authority that leaves no room for questions. There’s no denying the butterflies in my stomach when I look up at him to find his eyes already focused on me, his hand never leaving my back when Genevieve clears her throat.
“I have the piece you’re here for.” She motions to the doorway with the heavy black velvet curtain. The hand on my back has me stepping into the adjoining room with Callum only a half-step behind. Genevieve follows closely behind, closing the curtain to give us even more privacy.
An ornately framed piece of artwork sits displayed on a stand in the center of the viewing room, multiple lights illuminating the piece from all angles. I recognize the painting instantly with its unmistakable composition. The romantic painting of dancers on pointe with full tulle tutus and floral headpieces, with visibly intricate brush strokes in the rich tones, softening any harsh lines and creating elegant movement.
“This is a Degas.” My surprised eyes turn to find Callum’s. “I thought this piece was on display in the Met.” The Metropolitan Museum of Art was one of my first stops when I got to NYC, and this painting had stuck out to me. And here it is.
“It was.” Those ever-seeing eyes are scanning every single detail of the painting on the stand, expression serious as he analyzes. I’m looking at a piece of art, and he’s inspecting a valuable piece of merchandise.
“All of the paperwork is taken care of.” Genevieve extends a leather folder towards Callum, waiting a moment for him to reach out and accept it. “Congratulations on your new acquisition, Mr. Russo.”
“Thank you.” Callum’s smile is charming, if a little cold and distant. It’s his fake smile. “I want it packed for transit.”
“Of course,” Genevieve agrees amiably, trying again to flash him a demure smile with what I’m assuming are supposed to be her idea of bedroom eyes.
So unprofessional.
When we walk back through the curtain, someone’s waiting for us. “Reporting for duty, boss.” Liam mocks standing at attention, a cocky grin on his face. “Lexie, you’re always a sight for sore eyes.”
“I didn’t know you were going to be here Liam.” I’m not mad about it either, he always brings the entertainment. Getting Callum and Liam together is always fun to watch—Callum tries to remain serious while Liam annoys the shit out of him. It usually ends with Callum threatening violence of some sort, something that never seems to keep Liam from coming back for more.
“I would’ve gotten here a lot sooner if I knew you’d be here too. Traffic is a real bitch.” The way his eyes move over me makes me think he’s not entirely joking. His appraisal is cut short when Callum’s large frame steps between us, partially blocking me from view. Liam’s smirk turns knowing and he shoots me a wink. I don’t hide my laugh of amusement, irritating Callum even further.
“Once the painting is packed, I want it brought to the vault. Send confirmation when it’s secured.” Callum’s tone carries the edge of violence that seems almost exclusively meant for Liam.
“You know I live to serve,” Liam replies, unfazed. Ignoring the giant standing between us, he leans towards me as if we’re conspiring together and his eyebrows jump mischievously. “Lexie, now that you’re here I can tell you all of my favorite embarrassing Callum stories.”
“You have stories? I’d love to hear them, especially the embarrassing ones.” I could use a few humiliating stories about Callum right about now.
“Oh, I have plenty. Remind me later to tell you about the time he accidentally called a mobster’s daughter a frog in Russian and almost had New York City going to war.”
My laugh has Callum’s arm reaching behind his back to grasp my wrist, keeping me tucked behind him as he walks us towards the door. “That’s enough, Liam. Just do your fucking job.” The warning in Callum’s voice only has the playboy’s smile widening.
“Bye Lexie, we’ll have to do this again soon,” he calls after me. I turn to flash him an amused smile over my shoulder, even as Callum tugs me out of the room.
“Bye Liam,” I laugh. As soon as there’s enough space, Callum pulls me against his side, his hand sliding around my waist as we walk back through the gallery. It’s funny, but now that he’s gotten me out of the same room as Liam we don’t seem to be in such a hurry anymore.
“You shouldn’t encourage him,” he grates, his mouth so close to me ear it sends a shiver down my spine.
“I think he’s funny. Plus, he always seems to make that vein in your neck pop out, it’s kinda hot,” I tease, reaching up to poke him in the neck. Callum’s lips twitch in what I assume is amusement before he squashes it. When he looks down at me thoughtfully, his expression sobers instantly, his eyes intense as they search mine.
“Is that really all it is, you think he’s funny? He would have you in a heartbeat if you let him.”
“Oh come on, he was joking. We were just talking, and he was trying to get a rise out of you. Clearly it worked.” The charming bachelor has been playful and flirtatious, but I don’t take him seriously for a second. Giving me a little extra attention is obviously just a way for Liam to poke a little fun at his friend. “It’s just harmless flirting.”
“It pisses me off.”
“I know, that’s what makes it fun.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“And yet, here you are. Suffering,” I shoot back sweetly, batting my eyelashes. My eyes snag on a painting we’re about to pass, the vibrant colors and detailed brushwork making my step slow. “That’s beautiful. Do we have time to look around?”
“Not today, Dewdrop.” After toting me back outside, he helps me into the car before climbing behind the wheel. The engine roars to life, and I can’t help but watch his strong hand grip the steering wheel. I never thought I’d find the way someone drives arousing, but the way he handles the classic car is unbelievably sexy. “We’ll come back another time when I can arrange it to be just the two of us.”
“Just the two of us?” I repeat, blinking at him as I process what he’s saying.
“There are a lot of things I want to do with you, just the two of us. Starting with going to dinner.”
“Are you…” I say, my brows raising. “Asking me on a date?”
“Yes,” Callum responds simply, calmly watching me.
“You do know that we already live together, right? And we’ve had sex. More than once.”
“Is that your final answer?”
“No,” That’s not the word he wants to hear, so I quickly clarify. “My final answer is yes.”
“Good.” Leaning closer to grip my chin, he draws me in to capture my lips with his. “Be ready tomorrow night at six.”
“Do I get to know where we’re going?”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
“You don’t do fun,” I point out.
“No, but you do.” There’s no hiding his self-satisfied smile now. He’s enjoying this.
“At least tell me what to wear.” I’m basically begging at this point, but I have no choice. The man is giving me nothing to work with.
“Wear something impractical.” With that, he’s pulling out into traffic and zooming through the city back towards Columbus Circle.
