“Bree, darling!” Her father extended an arm. “Gavin and I were just talking about what a wonderful evening this was. And I have you to thank for forcing me to buy a ticket.” He turned to Gavin. “Bree has a soft spot for animals.”
Bree managed a polite smile.
“It was a great pleasure to meet you, Bree.” Gavin’s eyes met hers.
Instantly a flare of heat rushed to her face and her heart began to pound like a jackhammer. “Likewise,” she stammered.
“Are you free on Friday? The firm is having a cocktail party at the Rosa Lounge to celebrate a new campaign. I’d love you to come.”
Bree’s mind spun. Friday night? That was a serious dating night. And he wanted her to meet all his business associates? Her mouth dried.
“Uh, sure. That would be nice.” She blinked rapidly.
“I’ll pick you up at your house, if that’s okay.”
“That would be great.” She smiled as calmly as she could. “I’ll see you then.”
“See you later, darling.” Her father shot her a tight smile. “I have some friends to catch up with.”
“Sure, I’ll get a cab.”
Gavin stepped toward her. “I’ll drive you home. Then I’ll know where to come find you on Friday.”
He summoned a porter to tell valet parking before Bree could protest.
She inhaled deeply, took his offered arm and walked outside. The light mist of rain that had followed her to the Four Seasons earlier had evaporated, leaving a clear moonlit night that illuminated the sturdy bank buildings across Market Street and gave them the grandeur of real Roman temples. Stars glimmered overhead as Gavin helped her into the passenger seat of his low-slung sports car.
They chatted about the new Louise Bourgeois exhibit at the Modern on the short drive home. Gavin admitted he went often to keep on top of emerging trends so he could impress clients. He was embarrassingly gorgeous and he knew about art?
She leaped out of the car in front of her house, heart pounding. Would he try to kiss her?
Impossible.
Or was it?
Terror streaked along her veins as he rounded the car toward her. He took her hand, which was sweating slightly. A shiver of heat shot right up her arm.
“Good night, Bree.” He clasped her hand in both of his, warm and firm. Their gazes held and her lips quivered with a mix of anticipation and apprehension.
Then he tilted his head. “I’ll pick you up at seven on Friday, if that’s okay.”
“Perfect. See you then.” She flashed a smile, then turned and scurried for the door.
Once inside she literally collapsed against it. And a big, wide, goofy smile spread across her face.
She had a Friday-night date with the most handsome man in San Francisco.
And if she weren’t so freaked out, she’d be pretty darn thrilled about it.
Two
“Gavin, sweetie, how are you?” Marissa Curtis assaulted him as he entered the Rosa Lounge with Bree on his arm. She wrapped her skinny arms around him and kissed him on both cheeks, overwhelming him with that eye-watering fragrance she always wore. “I’ve missed you this week. Were you in Cannes?”
“Yes. Had some meetings.” He’d had a really good time at the film festival, and it had given him a chance to plan his campaign to win Bree Kincannon, who stood rather patiently beside him.
“Marissa, this is Bree. Bree, Marissa.”
“Oh, lovely to meet you.” The blonde smiled, revealing frighteningly white teeth. “Are you Gavin’s sister?”
Gavin exploded into a laugh. “My sister? I don’t even have a sister.”
“Oh.” Marissa tipped her silly head to the side, so her silky hair cascaded artfully over her shoulder. “I just thought …” She looked mischievously at Bree.
“That Bree and I look so alike we must be twins?” Gavin wrapped his arm around Bree. She was stiff as a board.
Catty Marissa was no doubt trying to imply that Bree couldn’t possibly be his date. After all, she wasn’t built like a twig and dressed in Prada.
“Bree’s my date.”
“Oh.” Marissa’s grimace widened. “How charming.” She widened her eyes rudely. “Must dash. I see Jake. He said he’d bring me something nice back from Cannes.”
Gavin turned to Bree. “Don’t mind her. She’s just insane.”
Bree’s sweet smile reappeared, giving him a warm feeling in his chest. He liked her smile.
“And you know, we do kind of look alike.” He rubbed her shoulder. “We’ve both got dark hair and gray eyes. Or wait, are yours green?” On closer inspection, the irises hiding behind her metal-framed glasses looked like pale jade. “I couldn’t see you properly the other night. It was so dark at the gala.” They were close enough for him to enjoy her scent—subtle and fresh, like the rest of her.
“They’re probably more gray than green.” Bree shrugged. “Doesn’t make much difference to me. I just use them for looking out of.”
“And taking pictures. I looked up your Black Book photos. Those were some amazing portraits.”
“Interesting faces.” She smiled shyly, her lips rosy and inviting. “Made my job easy.”
“Who were they?” Her crisp black-and-white image of the older couple, standing outside on a city street, their bold, cheerful countenances sunlit and their happy union obvious, rather haunted him since he’d seen it. Something about the photo made it hard to forget.
“I don’t even know. Isn’t that embarrassing? I’ll be exposed as a fraud.” She bit her lip. “They were just standing there outside the library, waiting for someone, I think. I asked if I could take their picture.”
“I’d never guess you hadn’t known them for decades.”
“That’s what everyone says.” She shrugged. “It’s a little weird, I guess.”
“It’s art.” He grinned. She was starting to relax. Good. “Hey, Elle. Come meet Bree.” He beckoned to Brock Maddox’s assistant. The slim brunette pushed past two art directors to join them. “Bree’s a photographer.”
“Are you really?”
“Award winning,” pronounced Gavin. “Can I leave Bree in your capable hands for a moment, Elle? I need to chat with Brock.”
“Sure. First we’ll get her a drink. Follow me to the bar.” Elle led Bree off into the thickening crowd.
Gavin scanned the room for Brock. He’d had a great meeting in Cannes with a hot new Czech director who might be willing to shoot a campaign for the right price. Gavin wasn’t sure Brock would go for Tomas Kozinski’s “right price,” but it was worth a try. He had a unique, hand-held style that made even the scenery come alive.
“Hey, Gavin, how’s it going? Still getting cozy with the Rialto yacht people?” Logan Emerson materialized in front of him, wine glass raised.
Irritation prickled Gavin’s neck. “Trying to.”
“That account would be a really big score. I can already see those Rialtos sailing under the Golden Gate Bridge at halftime on Super Bowl night.”
“That might be a tad predictable.”
“I guess that’s why I’m an account