Decision made, her head finally felt clearer. She could almost enjoy her low-fat cereal and milk, sweetened with a scattering of dried apricots. Almost. By the time the clock had ticked slowly to nine she had already showered, dressed, stripped her bed and remade it, and her first load of laundry was nearly ready to be hung on the line.
The machine beeped discreetly from the annexe in her garage, letting her know the cycle was finished just as she picked up her phone and punched in Josh’s home number.
The repetitive burr-burr of the ringtone was almost hypnotic. Clearly he wasn’t home, but didn’t he have staff, or even an answering machine? She was on the verge of hanging up when the phone was picked up.
“Tremont.”
The two syllables hammered down the phone with no-nonsense decisiveness.
“It’s Callie.”
Suddenly the tone in his voice changed to the warm texture of liquid honey. “Ah, Callie. Give me a minute, I’ve just got out the pool and I’m dripping everywhere.”
She heard the receiver clatter to a hard surface and a rustle of fabric. While she waited, her mind went into overdrive, imagining how Josh would look sleek and wet and straight from the pool. His dark hair would be slicked back, exposing the broad strong plane of his forehead and rivulets of water would track down the corded strength of his neck and over his powerful shoulders. She threw the brakes on her thoughts before her imagination went any further.
There was a faint scraping sound through the earpiece and then his voice filled her ear again.
“How are you this morning?”
“I’m fine. Look, I should get right to the point. I really appreciate what you did with the painting last night but I can’t accept it.”
“Why is that, Callie?” Her name rippled through the handset of her phone in his rich, deep voice, sending a stroke of something forbidden down the back of her neck. “I thought you liked the picture.”
“I do, it’s just…”
“Just?” he prompted.
How did you tell your employer that such a gift was inappropriate without putting his nose out of joint? Especially since she had to inveigle herself into his world more effectively than she had already done if she was to garner any of the information Irene would no doubt be pumping her for soon.
So far Josh had appeared to be exactly what the world expected. Charming, successful, driven—a man who gave 100 percent at all times and expected the same in return. As an employer, Callie couldn’t fault him. In fact, she’d almost begun to wonder if he wasn’t just particularly gifted at reading the market and hadn’t had to resort to corporate espionage to undermine the Palmers.
Josh continued. “You have a strong connection with the picture. Am I wrong?”
Callie drew in a sharp breath at his acuity. “No, you weren’t wrong.”
“Then it’s yours.”
“No. It’s worth far too much.”
“And if I think you’re worth that, and more?”
“I—” She faltered.
“Don’t make a big deal of it, Callie. You liked the painting, I bid on it on your behalf and my bid won.”
He made it sound so simple. She liked the painting, connected to it, therefore it was hers. The fact that the price tag had probably run into five figures had nothing to do with it. Her mind scrambled for logic, suddenly latching on to his very words to give her valid cause to return the picture to him.
“No,” she said firmly. “I can’t accept it. I do identify with the painting, perhaps a bit too much.”
“It upsets you?”
“Yes,” she lied, catching her lower lip between her teeth and biting hard before she changed her mind.
“I’m sorry. That wasn’t my intention.”
“I know,” she hurried to say. “And I appreciate the gesture, really, I do. But I’d like to return it to you. Today if possible.”
He didn’t answer at first, then she heard a soft exhalation. “Dinner, my place, six-thirty.”
“But—”
Dinner? With her boss? At his home?
“I’ll see you then. Don’t dress up.”
The rapid-fire beeps indicating a disconnected tone signalled that he’d ended the call. Did she really have to go? Callie replaced her handset in its charging station and walked to the sitting room. Her eyes fixed on the painting. If she really meant to give it back, she would have to.
Callie alighted from her parked car and tucked the rewrapped package firmly under one arm. He’d said not to dress up, but she’d felt the need to make some effort. The floating hand-painted silk panels of her pale emerald sundress swirled around her legs as her feet, clad for once in flats, marched toward Josh’s front door.