“I like being with you.”
“But I hate myself for even thinking about being with you,” I spat out before I could help myself. “I let you use me. You certainly aren’t the first man and I can’t even really blame you. Hell, most men wouldn’t turn down pussy with no demands.”
“I’ve never seen you as just a piece of ass.”
“Do you love me?”
He jerked as if I’d hit him.
“Do you see a future with me?” I demanded. “How about babies?”
“Oh, for the love of God, Casey. Aren’t you a little old for fairy tales?”
“No, I’m a little old for sex games.” I tossed the perishables onto the first empty shelf of the fridge and slammed it shut. “I’m too old to get a three a.m. phone call from a man who just wants his dick sucked.”
“Fuck you, I never asked you for that.”
I laughed at his indignant tone and expression. “No, I don’t suppose you did. But you certainly didn’t turn it down.”
“Well, I’m not daft. Just a little stupid when it comes to women.” He sat down on the couch when I sat down in my favorite chair. “I don’t think I’m built for love, Case.”
He’d called me Case for so long in his clipped British tone that it almost made things feel normal. As if I’d never heard him talking on the phone that night.
“You just aren’t built to love me,” I whispered softly; relieved that I’d never come close to being in love with him. “We’re using each other and it’s got to stop. It has to go away, Connor. I can’t take it.”
He stood, walked to me, and knelt on the floor in front of me on both knees. I glanced down at my hands as he took them and kissed the palm of each one carefully.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?” I asked softly.
“For not being the man you need or deserve.”
I leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “We just aren’t good for each other. But we can move past this and it can be like it was before we went to bed together.”
He laughed softly. “Don’t be naïve. I’ll never look at you without remembering you spread out on my bed waiting to be fucked.”
“Dirty boy.” I grinned and relaxed. So, maybe things could get back to somewhere civilized.
2
My new neighbor is a jogger. The kind of jogger women plan their mornings around. I encountered him, sweaty and wearing a pair of little red shorts, when I was leaving for work. He’d held the door for me, told me I looked great, and disappeared inside. For the love of God, I had no idea how I was going to get anything done, ever again.
By the time I’d gotten to the gallery, I’d managed to push Shawn and Connor both out of my mind enough to actually think. The few looks I’d caught from people told me that everyone was curious about my sudden departure and return; but the only people that needed to know why knew and even understood. I glanced toward Jane’s office. The blinds were open and she was staring at her computer screen like it was cursing her out. She looked out at me and motioned me to come in.
Great, she was going to share the pain. I grabbed my handheld and went into what most of the staff considered the lion’s den. Jane was a great boss, but she was also something of a taskmaster and some people found her difficult to please. I pulled the door shut behind me and sighed.
“Inquiring minds?”
“No questions as yet.” I walked to the grouping of chairs in front of her desk and picked one out. “What are you staring at?”
“Kenneth Victor.”
Yuck. I hated that guy. “No.”
Jane chuckled. “He’s good money for the foundation and you know we can’t ignore him. James wants him in here for a special focus show at the end of summer, which means, being the anal-retentive person he is, he will be here tomorrow to measure the space he has and make plans with us for it.”
I could feel it coming and I wanted to get up and bolt from the room before she had time to say it. I slouched down in the chair. “Just say it and get it over with.”
“He’s requested to work with you while he is here.”
Sorry bastard. Of course he had. He’d done two other shows with the gallery and both times, I’d had to work with him at his request. Keeping a high-ticket artist like Kenneth happy kept the foundation in money. Since the Holman Foundation funded an arts academy, a halfway house for abused women, a cancer hospice facility, and several youth centers throughout the city of Boston, I couldn’t very well do anything to damage its chances of making money.
“This sucks.”
“I know, and I’d do it myself but he’s such a diva when he’s crossed. You don’t have to have contact with him outside of the gallery, and if he tries to even hold your hand you’re to report it immediately.” Jane pursed her lips. “I don’t like it, you know. I realize that Milton forced you to play hostess to him and you can tell me ‘no.’ He’ll make do with me or Mercy.”
“You know he won’t.” I frowned. “I guess I can take one metaphorically for the team. But if he touches me, you’ll know about it from the wails of pain you hear.”
“Understood.”
She didn’t look comfortable; and I knew she wasn’t very happy with herself for even asking me. It made it easier to think about doing. Because at the very least she was as angry about it as I was going to be in the morning. Kenneth “barely human” Victor had a reputation for being irrational and very difficult to work with. Anybody that didn’t jump to the snap of his fingers was working against him and that was his most charming quality.
“Men don’t take rejection well.”
“No one takes rejection well,” Jane corrected. “I take it you had another conversation with Connor?”
“Yes, he came by my apartment. I guess he was hoping to talk me out of it.” When I’d first started working directly for Jane, I called her Ms. Tilwell, and never got personal with her. Now, a year and a half later, she knows just about everything. She’s one of those women who inspire trust and faith without even trying.
“You’ll both move past it eventually.”
“Well, I had two weeks alone to think about what I wanted in my life. He spent the last two weeks trying to figure out what he could say to make things right again.” I shook my head and stood. “I need to clear out my schedule for tomorrow.”
“Give me anything you can’t pass to the admin staff.”
“I sure will.” And I was going to start with the ladies’-club luncheon I’d agreed to attend. We all hate them, and I’d drawn the short straw last month when we’d decided who would go. “The club luncheon is tomorrow.”
She sat up straight in her chair. “You’re kidding me.”
“Nope.” I smiled sweetly and walked to the door. “At least the food will be good.”
“Who could enjoy food with all of those rich ancient socialites?”
I left with that question unanswered. Jane had her issues with the profoundly wealthy and it was a subject we’d disagreed on in the past. I grew up with my maternal grandparents,