Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
He found his voice. “No dinosaurs, mermaids, or unicorns, thank you very much.”
She blinded him with her smile. “After that, San Holo runs with it. You get what you get. Which is San Holo’s vision of what you asked for.” She knocked him dead with an even more brilliant smile. “But I guarantee it will blow your mind.”
Oh yeah, his mind was blown, all right.
She crossed her arms over her delectable chest. “Tell me how you’re going to guarantee San Holo’s anonymity while working on a mural that stretches all around this building. Which is massive, by the way. This project could take months.” She stepped even closer to him, fogging his mind with the scent of fruity shampoo and mango lotion, and poked him in the chest. “That means maintaining anonymity from you too.”
He’d let Saskia have the floor long enough. “I told Adrian Fielding that part of my deal was having San Holo meet my protégé. Dylan is a foster kid. Your artist is his hero.”
Something he couldn’t read flickered in her eyes, then she gave a slight shake of her head. “Not going to happen. No matter how much you push, I’m not divulging anything about my boss. If you were to find out San’s real identity, I have no idea what you’d do with that information. I am my artist’s shield. No one gets through. If you can’t guarantee that you won’t peek while San is working, then this commission won’t happen.”
Her voice had turned almost hostile, and he cocked his head as though he might see her differently from another angle. “You’re suspicious of me and my motives, aren’t you?” He paused a beat. “Even after last night?”
She didn’t wait even a beat. “I totally am.” She gave a hard emphasis to her words. “Especially after last night.”
He had to concede the point. Sex definitely complicated things. “Fair enough. In the art world, we all know tons of people have cheated and lied and stolen.”
The hard light in her eyes said she knew that from personal experience. “Exactly.”
Christ, how he wanted to plumb her depths and figure her out. She’d talked about trust issues, and here was further evidence of them. But he changed his tack for the moment. “Okay, so let me tell you about the warehouses.”
He had a plan: introduce her to Dylan and all the other artists with studios here, and maybe the great artist would change his mind after she told him what Clay was actually doing.
She hadn’t imagined he’d be angry she’d ghosted him this morning after a night of great sex. But he was a man, and the way she’d walked out had pricked his ego. Yet, after getting out his feelings—if a man ever truly got out his feelings—he was completely businesslike, as if he really could compartmentalize his emotions. That was the word he used. She wondered if she could compartmentalize as easily.
Nor had he given up on discovering San Holo’s true identity. Maybe he’d try another frontal attack, or maybe he would skillfully glean information from whatever she said. But figure out who San Holo truly was? Like hell he would.
This could very well turn out to be a battle royal. She intended to win.
He drew her farther into the building. “This warehouse was my first, and it’s really a prototype. Over the last five years, I’ve opened another four in major US cities. Our goal is to subsidize and support artists and help promote their work. We’re also expanding globally.” He flourished a hand. “Let me show you around.”
“Sure,” she said. “Show me around.” This guy was slick and sly—so unlike the man she’d gone to bed with last night—and he had to have an agenda. Anybody this good-looking and this rich had to have another side to him even if she hadn’t seen it.
But last night had been sooo good. She wanted it again. Even if it might be very bad for her.
It was like her brain was screaming no, but her body was one hundred percent in. Her heart—well, that was a whole different matter. After Hugo, her heart was immune. But Clay’s scent reminded her of the spice of last night. Of the feel of his hair beneath her fingers, the touch of his lips on hers, the taste of him in her mouth.
If she went on like this, she’d never make it through the interview.
He was saying, “Each twenty-by-twenty cubicle has been turned into an individual artist’s studio.” He took a flight of stairs leading to a second-floor landing that overlooked the partitions.
The sight stole her breath. “There must be a hundred artists down there.”
He smiled when she looked up at him, as he stood like a giant of men. “More than a hundred. Because we have collaboration—some artists working together.” He leaned forward, hands on the railing, surveying the sea of generous workspaces. “We give each artist a stipend and pay for their studio setup. After that, they buy their own materials.” He glanced down at her. “But if anyone’s ever a little short, I don’t make them stop working until they find the money for more supplies.” A smile flirted with his lips. “They help each other too. They’re all very supportive. It’s not a horse race, where someone will win and everyone else loses.”