I’m sitting in my tiny office in the Sutten gallery, reviewing new pieces I’m having shipped here, when the bell to the gallery chimes. My eyes fall to the time in the corner of my monitor screen. It’s barely seven in the morning. We aren’t open yet. We aren’t open at all today. Almost every piece of art had sold at the opening over the weekend. And anything that didn’t sell that night sold on Monday. It’s Wednesday, so the gallery is empty, and I won’t have new inventory until this weekend.
Sighing, I push my chair away from my desk and head down the hallway. I hadn’t bothered locking the door to the gallery because I thought the closed sign on the door and the lack of lights would inform anyone curious enough to wander by that we were closed.
I’m ready to tell the customer I have nothing to sell them when my feet come to a halt. It isn’t a customer in the gallery. It’s Pippa.
She doesn’t notice me, her eyes trained on a piece of art on the far wall that isn’t for sale. It was one of the first pieces Margo ever did for me. I’d wanted to keep it because of her take on an artist’s life. I’d always displayed it in the Manhattan gallery, but for some reason, it feels more at home here.
Pippa stands a safe distance away from the drawing. I can see her profile, but I’m tucked away in the hallway enough for her to not notice me yet. I welcome the few seconds where I can take her in without either of us having our armor on. I’m sure the moment she notices me, we’ll be back to the thing we’ve created where we throw insults at one another. But for a moment, I forget about all of that.
She holds two coffee cups, one in each hand. The pink lids look out of place in the stark white gallery. She’s the one bit of color in here, the white floors and white walls—and muted colors of Margo’s painting.
My eyes trace over her hair. It seems lighter than the last time I saw her, but I’m wondering if maybe it’s just my eyes playing tricks on me. The first thing I notice after the possible change in color is that her hair looks tame for once. It isn’t in her face, and it isn’t messily knotted at the top of her head. It’s sleek and smooth. If I were any closer, I might be tempted to reach out and run my hand through the locks just to discover what they feel like.
The unwelcome thought has me ripping my eyes away from her because it’s Pippa. This is the woman who spilled an entire pitcher of beer on me, who ruined my suit for Beck and Margo’s wedding with an array of different-colored icing. The one who isn’t shy about making it known her feelings toward me—or lack thereof.
Despite the bad blood between us, as a fan of art, I can’t deny that she’s a work of art herself. Her skin is effortlessly sun-kissed, like she’d spent a lot of time outside during the summer. I can’t help but wonder what she does in her free time, what her hobbies are. The glow of her skin tells me that whatever she was doing, she spent time outdoors. She wears a baby pink shirt that cuts off right above the waistband of her light denim jeans. I can only see the side of her, but the square neckline shows a good amount of her cleavage. There are so many beautiful lines to her body. Her high cheekbones and upturned nose. Her breasts that seem to be a perfect handful. Hips that slightly curve out at her waist and all the way down her legs. My eyes catch on the way the jeans hug her body perfectly. I could spend hours getting to know every slope and curve of her body, beginning with her thighs and getting lost in between them.
I clear my throat, catching her attention. Her features harden, the wistfulness she had in her eyes as she stared at Margo’s painting was all but gone.
My eyes blink repeatedly as I attempt to wipe the thoughts I was having of her. It really isn’t any use; those dirty thoughts of her are ingrained in my mind forever when they absolutely shouldn’t be.
“Why are you looking at me weird?” Pippa questions, coming to a stop in front of me.
I swallow, trying to avert my gaze from the way her breasts almost spill over the top of her shirt. It’s her exposed skin above the fucking ruffle catching my attention and tempting me, even though it’s the one person in this town I can’t tolerate standing right in front of me. At least I didn’t used to tolerate her. Now, I don’t understand why the sight of her doesn’t completely ruin my morning. In fact, I think it excited me a little to see her here.
“Nice jeans,” I counter, trying to ease the tension between us. It doesn’t help.
She smiles, looking down at them. “Funny story. A giant box full of ten pairs of my jeans showed up at Wake and Bake.”
“I told you I’d replace them.”
Her head cocks to the side as her eyes roam over my face. “I looked online. They still say that they’re sold out.”
“I pulled some strings. It’s not a big deal.” I clap my hands together, wanting to change the subject. She doesn’t need to know how hard it was to track down the brand and get some early stock from their next launch. Trisha spent almost an entire day doing it when I pay her for far more important things. “Why are you in my gallery when we’re closed?” I ask, guiding the conversation in a different direction.
“It’s weird. I have this very vivid memory of you showing up at my business when I told you multiple times we were closed.”
My lip twitches, wanting to smile at her response. I fight it tooth and nail, not wanting to show her that maybe she’s thawed my icy defenses just a little. “You’re not welcome here.”
She beams. Her teeth are perfectly straight and white. I could easily reach out and trace the cupid’s bow of her top lip. It’s pronounced, like a flashing neon light bringing attention to her perfectly kissable lips. “I’m welcome anywhere I want, Camden.”
“You sure about that, shortcake?”
She pushes one of the coffee cups my way. “I brought you coffee.”
I look down my nose at it. “Is it poisoned?”
Her laugh echoes off the wall. It’s sweet and sultry, another jab at the wall I’m trying to build to keep her away. “I’d never ruin my reputation over you.” To prove a point, she lifts the coffee to her lips. My gaze is locked on the way they curve along the lid. She tips it back, swallowing dramatically.
There’s a lipstick stain on the lid as she pushes it into my chest. “See? Not poisoned.”
“What if it’s a slow death? I still don’t think I can trust you.” I want to press the cup to my lips. To place mine on the same spot as hers. And I don’t know how fucked up that makes me.
“Well, you’re going to have to try something new and trust me for once.”
“Trust you? That’s pushing it.”
“Better get comfortable with it. Because you’re going to have to trust me all day today.”
I take a long drink of the coffee. It’s made perfectly. It isn’t bitter at all, but the espresso flavor is rich with small hints of the syrup. She makes a damn good coffee. There’s something else in here that makes it different from my typical order, but I can’t quite place what it is. I’d ask her about it, but I’m too hung up on her idea that we’re spending the day together.
“Why would I have to trust you all day?”
“Because I’m here for my real payment, obviously. Today’s your lucky day, Camden. You get to spend the entire day with me and the beautiful town of Sutten.”
The sigh that escapes my body is long and drawn-out. I’d forgotten all about her silly little stipulation for her assistance during the opening. I’m a man of my word, and no matter how badly I want to tell Pippa to forget about it because I have a thousand things I have to do before returning to Manhattan tomorrow, I try to hold my tongue.
“I have a lot of things to get done today.”
She raises one of her tanned shoulders. “I had a lot of things to do when you asked me to slave away for your event—where I was insulted by one of your rich friends, in case you forgot—so excuse me if I don’t care if you’re busy or not. You’re coming with me for the entire day—and maybe even the evening. I’ve got so many fun things planned for us.”
“Your plans were to watch disgusting reality TV. Do you know how much of that shit is actually scripted?”
Her plump bottom lip peeks out in a pout. “Don’t ruin it for me. I quite enjoy reality TV. I’ll never be able to look at it the same.”
“Maybe we can rain check our little Sutten Mountain adventure?” I ask sarcastically. “And by rain check, I mean never doing it.”
Pippa clicks her tongue before taking a drink of her own coffee. “You aren’t getting out of this. You have five minutes before you need to meet me outside.”
“What about my work?” My argument is futile. I know enough about her to know that this isn’t an argument I’ll win.
“Work can wait!” she muses. The glee on her face can only be because she knows she’s about to torture me for an entire day.
Why did I agree to this again? Surely the guests didn’t need food at the opening this bad.
Regretting ever saying yes to her, I groan. “You aren’t letting me out of this, are you?”
Her eyes twinkle. The light from the floor-to-ceiling windows catches the gold rim around her pupils. “No, I’m not. Tick tock, Camden! You now have four minutes until you have to meet me outside.”
With that, she pretty much skips out of the gallery. I can’t see where she disappeared to, but I’m confident she hasn’t traveled very far. She wouldn’t miss the opportunity to torture me for a day.
I walk out the door fifteen minutes later just to piss her off, not at all prepared for whatever she’s about to put me through in this town.
