“I would be honored to run your gallery for you, and I can prove to you that if you hire me, I’m worth more than the money you’re offering, and I intend to show you that.”
He picks up his mug from the Keurig machine, lifts it to his lips, and I can’t help but stare at him as he sips the hot liquid. Silence hangs heavily around us, and I’m sure I’ve fucked this up with my big mouth and sassy attitude, but then he smiles. And if I thought he was handsome before, I’m definitely sure I hadn’t really gotten the full Julian Elliot effect. The man is breathtaking.
“You’re quite a spitfire, Ms. Kinley,” he remarks as he moves toward me. Gently, he sets his mug down, and it’s as if I can see the wheels turning in his head. Perhaps he’s about to tell me to leave. Maybe he’s going to pick me up and throw me out himself.
The thought of his arms around me makes my body grow hot, and my thighs squeeze together. I’m not sure if he notices, but I feel exposed when he lifts those green pools to rest on me.
“Perhaps I misjudged you,” he tells me. “I think you should start tomorrow. Even though it’s Saturday, I would like to set up for the upcoming event. There’s a show starting next week, on Wednesday evening, and I’ve got the caterer on standby.” He waves his hand in the air, flippantly, as if this annoys him. “You can go through the plans I had typed up and let me know what else you’ll need. Would that suit you, Ms. Kinley?”
“Oh, I . . . yes, of course, I can start tomorrow.”
He offers me a sly grin before stepping closer. When he reaches for my arm, he touches the material of my blouse instead of actually touching me. His gaze burns through my clothes, causing my skin to tingle with anticipation.
I can’t deny that Phee’s words come back to haunt me right in this moment. Her teasing me about sleeping with the boss was the last thing on my mind. But looking at Mr. Elliott, I can’t deny that he’s more than handsome, which is definitely not good.
Goosebumps rise in the wake of his touch, and I want to ask him to do it again. Calm the hell down, Nea.
“You have tattoos.” It’s not a question, but I nod anyway. “I don’t like them. I didn’t want someone who’s so frivolous with her body to work for me.” His words sound distant, yet they stab at my chest. “It reminds me of a child who is rebelling against her parents.”
“The swirling sunflowers represent Van Gogh, and as you’ll notice here,” I tell him, tugging the sleeve up my arm. “I have the melting clocks over my shoulder that are synonymous with Dali. Both my favorite artists.”
He snaps his gaze to me, watching me as he tips his head to the side. There’s something more he wants to say, I can see it in his eyes, but he shakes his head instead.
“Tomorrow, be here at eight.” He turns and heads for the door, stopping only a second to glance over his shoulder. “I’ll show you out.”
I grab my bag and follow him back to the entrance. He opens the large wooden door and waits for me to step outside.
“What is that perfume you’re wearing?” he asks suddenly. The man is like a goddamned puzzle. Hot and cold.
I turn to him. “It’s something my friend bought for me while we were in Italy. A small perfumer made custom scents, and she bought me a bottle for my birthday last year. It’s a mixture of lilies and apples.”
Suddenly, he leans in, and I’m sure he’s going to kiss me, which only has my heart thrumming wildly against my chest. Confusion and a wave of desire shoot through me as he inhales the scent.
“Don’t wear it again.” His voice is a mere whisper, feathering over my cheek as he moves back. I can’t help but shiver in the wake of his command, my cheeks heat and I wonder if they’re bright red because I can feel them burning.
Shock thrums through me, reminding me he’s not my friend, and he’s certainly not flirting with me. He’s an asshole, but I need this job, so all I offer is a quick nod before I turn and leave him with a quick, “Goodbye, Mr. Elliot.”
He nods. “See you tomorrow.” He doesn’t wait for me to say anything in response before he shuts the door in my face, and I’m left on the porch of my new boss. I got the job, but what have I gotten myself into?
I can’t help enjoying the freedom from Julian’s grumpiness. Even if it’s for a short time. But even as I stroll by the interesting and colorful store windows, my mind is still locked on Mr. Elliot. I’m forcing myself not to call him Julian, because the moment he becomes too familiar, I’ll allow myself to be even more intrigued by him.
When I reach a small café, I step inside and inhale the scents of flavors that make my mouth water. I haven’t eaten yet, and my stomach is grumbling. When I walked away from the Elliot house, I grabbed a taxi all the way into the French Quarter. I needed to explore my new home and find my way around. It’s been easy enough, and with every corner I turned, I fell more and more in love with the French Quarter. I can see why my mother wanted to return.
“Hello, how can I help you?” One of the servers walks
