I dragged my gaze away and tapped my code into Huntly Pierre’s database and began navigating the software. Taking a bite of that delicious blueberry muffin, undoing all the good of those stairs.
“Good morning, Ms. Leighton.” Adley Huntly leaned a shoulder casually on the door frame. His friendly face beamed a warm welcome.
Brushing crumbs off my hands, I pushed myself to my feet.
His white hair gave my boss an arty flair. He was strikingly tall and slim and his tailored suit rounded out his aristocratic air. Adley was well respected in the community as one of the most successful consultants in the industry. Working for him was going to be life changing.
I made my way over to him. “Sir, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”
“Likewise, Zara.” His handshake was firm and his smile reassuring. “Do you have everything you need?”
“Yes, thank you. Elena’s been wonderful.”
“Glad to hear it. Ready to get to work?” He gestured. “We’re in the conference room.”
He led me back through the foyer and down a long sprawling hallway. I’d not seen the east wing yet and tried not to gape at the whitewashed walls upon which hung a line of forgeries of the Old Masters.
“I want to thank you again for this incredible opportunity,” I said.
“We’re delighted to have you onboard.” He checked his phone as we walked.
I paused before the stunning replica of Vincent van Gogh’s The Starry Night.
“Good, aren’t they?” he said.
“They are.” I let out a sigh of wonder as we strolled passed a Salvador Dali. “Will I be part of the Jaeger team?”
“Perhaps. The painting’s gone. Lost without a trace, apparently.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“Actually, we have a new assignment for you. A client needs an authentication on a piece he’s considering purchasing.” His face crinkled into a smile. “Thought we’d break you in slowly.”
“Of course,” I said, “Whatever you think is best.” Adley went on ahead into the conference room.
I glanced behind to take in one of my favorite paintings by John Singer Sergeant, affectionately known as Portrait of Madame X. A lifelike image of an elegant young woman wearing a long black evening dress, her hand casually resting on a small table as she stared off wistfully.
Virginie Gautreau had been an American beauty who’d garnered a notorious reputation for her rumored infidelities. The painting had caused a scandal during its 1884 debut in Paris.
My focus was captured by its guilty secret. This portrait was a brilliant forgery that could have slipped past the experts. It was that good.
“Ms. Leighton?” Adley called out.
Virginie Gautreau masked her true feelings so well. Like I was doing now.
My feet melting into the floor as my breath caught.
Adley had taken his place at the head of the table and beside him sat a stunning thirtysomething, her hair a striking platinum blond up in a neat chignon.
And sitting beside her—Tobias Wilder.
Now cleanly shaven, he’d outdone his last suit with this three-piece pinstripe number that highlighted his finely formed physique, his short dark blond hair perfectly combed and those striking eyes...were locked on mine.
What was he doing here?
There was no sign of that dashing warm smile. His mouth was fixed in a tense hard line of scrutiny and those irises were now a startling jade.
I dragged my gaze away from his and looked over at Adley.
He was studying my reaction. “Those forgeries have a knack of getting to you, don’t they?”
Catching my breath, I gestured to the paintings. “How do you ever get any work done?”
Tobias pushed himself to his feet and came over. “Miss Leighton.”
“You know each other?” asked Adley.
Tobias reached out to shake my hand. “Had the pleasure of meeting last night at The Otillie.”
Right after I’d caught him half-naked, I secretly mused, holding on to his hand for a second too long, the sensation of his touch temptingly addictive.
Cringing inwardly, I tried not to think about me unwittingly flashing him yesterday.
Casually, he tucked his hands into his pockets. “The gallery’s a favorite to visit when I’m this side of the pond. I’m good friends with Miles Tenant—”
“The Otillie’s curator,” said Adley. “Great chap. Knows his art.”
I went to ask him if it had been Miles who’d invited him to the party but thought better of it. Maybe later, when the formality of the meeting was over.
“Already broken the ice, then?” Alder’s gaze fell on me. “Good to hear.”
“One of my dad’s paintings,” I told him. “I’ve donated it to the gallery. They were kind enough to hold a reception in his name.”
“Of course, Madame Rose Récamier?” he said. “How was the reception?”
“Great,” said Tobias. “The usual crowd.”
“Got anything else hidden away?” said Adley cheekily.
I wore my best vague expression.
They didn’t need to know about my little secret stash of art gems. Amongst the collection was a tour de force from a painter who’d influenced the landscape of Western art. I’d already drawn too much attention, and what was left of our paintings threatened to disrupt the kind of peace I’d come to crave.
“Would anyone like a doughnut?” I gestured to the plate in front of us.
“No, thank you.” Tobias’s jaw muscles tightened and flexed, and he swapped a wary glance with the woman.
That spark of recognition on his face last night when he’d first met me had probably come from a Huntly Pierre memo he’d read with my name on it. Realizing this made me feel a little better.
Damn, this place was fantastic. I already loved working here. The kind of clients this place attracted was astonishing.
“Ms. Arquette.” Tobias gestured toward her. “My attorney.”
“So happy to meet you,” I said brightly. “Can we get you anything?”
“I’m fine,” she said with a softly spoken Swedish accent. “Any more coffee and I’ll never sleep again. Please, call me Logan.”
“Logan,” I said, “welcome to London.”
She started to say something but Tobias answered for her. “She lives here.”
“Oh, that’s lovely,” I said.
“I’m bicoastal, Ms. Leighton.” She flashed a grin at Tobias. “Sometimes LA. Sometimes here. I go where needed.”
Her neat chignon was showing mine up—whereas hers didn’t have a hair out of place, mine looked like I’d gone for the other end of the spectrum with wisps of hair fighting for freedom.
Tobias took a step toward me, closing the gap between us, and he raised his hand toward my mouth, his intense stare fixed on mine. I leaned back slightly, but his thumb was already brushing over my lower lip in a sensual sweep and it pouted naturally beneath his touch.
My breath stilted as a rush of tingles