And there she noticed a golden glow, a faint ray of sunshine slanting across the sky; on the bare tree branches were the tiniest of green buds. Of growth and renewal. Of hope.
For the first time in many years Callie suddenly felt completely inadequate. She’d have given her entire collection of shoes to be able to bid what this painting was worth to her on a personal level. Even then she’d barely scrape the surface. No, no matter how much she wanted it, there was no way she could reasonably bid on the picture. Anything less than five figures would be laughable in an atmosphere like tonight’s.
With the discipline of years of practice, Callie resolutely turned her back on the picture and on all it portrayed.
The balance of the evening continued smoothly, but her feet had begun to ache in their designer splendour by the time the silent auction winners were to be announced. Many guests had moved on to other, more social, activities, and the gallery no longer seethed with the press of those who wanted to be seen to be doing the right thing. Callie let a sigh of relief slide from her lungs. The evening would be over soon enough and she’d be home.
Josh was up on the podium, ready to complete his part in the formalities, and his commanding presence brought the room to a hush. From her vantage point near the back, Callie let her gaze roam over him. He was all too easy on the eye. He spoke for fifteen minutes, although it felt more like five as his deep, strong voice held the attention of the guests effortlessly and she found herself falling under his spell. He outlined the purpose of the gallery and pledged Tremont Corporation’s renewed financial support to the scholarship fund—all to great applause.
After handing the proceedings over to the gallery director, he threaded through the crowd to where she stood.
“Come on, let’s go,” he said, bending his head to speak quietly in her ear.
“But the auction results,” Callie protested.
“Does it matter? Did you bid on Hope?”
“Hope?”
“The oil you were studying earlier.”
“No.”
Josh gave her one of his rare smiles, the type that appeared to shine from deep in his blue eyes, as if he could see directly into her soul. “Why not?”
Callie paused under the intensity of Josh’s gaze, unsure of what to say or what to do. Her pulse kicked up a beat and her lips and throat suddenly felt dry. The noise of the crowd around them faded away until the only person in the room with her was Josh. The entrancing scent of his cologne drifted around her, luring her into its sensual snare. Eventually, she managed to force her words past her lips.
“To be honest, I didn’t think I could bid high enough to do the artist justice.”
Josh stepped in closer, his arm sliding around her waist, his hand resting on her hip—burning a brand of possession she didn’t want to argue.
“I know what you mean. Let’s head out, then, hmm?”
He guided her out of the gallery. Once past the crowds, his arm dropped back away from her side, and suddenly she felt as if she’d been cast adrift. It had been all too easy to fall into step with him, to savour the brush of his hip and thigh against her own, as they walked from the gallery. But she’d been imagining there had been more between them. She was there to do a job—specifically, a job for his uncontested rival. A tremor of regret rippled through her.
“Cold?” Josh asked as one of the parking valets brought his car purring around to the front of the building.
“No, I’m fine.”
But she was anything but fine. Tonight had proven that no matter how hard she’d fought against it in the office, she was painfully and irrevocably drawn to her boss—and that made what she was there to do, and the time in which she had left to do it, doubly more difficult.
She was silent on the journey home. Oblivious to the streaking lights passing them by from other vehicles along the road. It wasn’t long before they pulled up outside her town house. Josh turned off the ignition, the growl of the Maserati’s motor lingering like a discordant echo in the still night air.
“Thank you for this evening,” Callie said, opening the door herself and alighting from the car as quickly as she could.
She didn’t want to wait for him to step around the vehicle and open her door or even have him touch her, because she didn’t want to question too deeply what she’d do if she did.
She’d been working for him for a fortnight now. Two weeks where she’d done her best to complete her tasks to the highest standards. Fourteen days where—instead of looking for an avenue to lead to answers as to who the Palmer Enterprises leak was—she’d been battling her growing attraction to a man who was, without a doubt, the one person on this planet to whom she shouldn’t be drawn.