“Are you finished?”
She gripped the back of the leather chair. “Yes. I am. Will you at least wait until I can find another place to take the art before you close Vogel’s?”
“I’m not closing the gallery.”
She thought she must have misheard him. “What did you say?”
“I want the gallery to stay open—and I want you to continue to run it.”
Tense and disbelieving, she stared at him. “Why?”
“Maybe I’m afraid you’ll sell your story about our marriage to the tabloids.”
“I said I was only going to do that if you turned Robbie in,” she pointed out.
“Are you saying that I can close the gallery and not worry about reprisals?”
“Yes. I mean, no…that is—”
“Would you go out to dinner with me?”
He couldn’t be serious. And yet, his eyes were dark and intent, his mouth a straight, unsmiling line.
“I’m surprised you’d want to go out with a ‘criminal’ like me,” she said, trying to gather her scattered wits.
“I’m making an exception in your case.”
“Why?”
“Does there have to be a reason?”
“Yes,” she said decisively. “There does.”
He put his hands in his pockets. “I suppose I thought we could be…friends.”
“Friends?” she repeated in disbelief. After using her, insulting her and accusing her of trying to trap him into marriage, he wanted to be friends? She didn’t think so. “No, thank you,” she said coldly. “I’m very particular about my friends.”
He didn’t
seem offended by her rudeness. “I can be a very good friend.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I can put a lot more money into the art foundation. I can move your gallery to the fashionable part of town. I can—”
“Are you trying to bribe me into going out with you?” she asked.
“No, of course not.”
“That’s good. Because the answer is still no.”
His gaze was inscrutable. “The silent auction Stacy Hatfield arranged is this Saturday at my sister’s.”
“So?”
“You have to be there. It’s business.”
“I’m sure Stacy can handle it.”