“You know, I’ve been looking for an opportunity to get you alone for a while now,” Dave said.
Oh, she knew. Up until now, she’d been careful to make sure that didn’t happen. His fingertips trailed up her bare arm, and the goosebumps they left in their wake weren’t from the pleasure of the experience. She was feeling more and more unnerved with each moment that passed. Everything in her body was screaming that she should run away.
Then, his hand reached her beast. His touch was rough as he groped her, and Alessia knew she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t keep up with this charade. She was about to shove him away from her when a voice called out from behind her.
“Dave.” She craned her neck to see that it was Joe standing in the doorway.
Dave released his hold on her, and she let out a relieved sigh when he stepped back.
“What is it?” he asked Joe, irritated.
“Rocco wants a word.”
The annoyance in Dave’s expression fell away, and he walked toward Joe without another word. When he was gone, Alessia felt the tension drain out of her.
Jos remained in the room, looking at her. But his gaze wasn’t full of unwanted lust like Dave’s had been. He looked almost worried.
“You know, you need to watch out for Dave,” he said. “He’s not someone you should be alone with.”
No shit.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, tucking the scotch back in the drawer.
Joe just nodded and left. After pausing a moment to shake off the lingering disgust from Dave’s touch, Alessia did the same.
6
CONNOR
The art gallery that Alessia owned took up half a city block. The walls on the inside were a stark white, making the art hanging on them pop. There were paintings, charcoal sketches, and sculptures.
He found himself standing in front of a huge painting. The thing was taller than he was, and times as wide. It wouldn’t even fit in his house, not that he would even consider buying the thing. It was entirely red with black and gray swirls starting in the middle and expanding outward.
“Can I get you some champagne, sir?” a man’s voice asked from beside him, and he turned to look at the speaker.
There weren’t uniforms for the staff here, but he would have been able to tell that this guy was an employee even if he hadn’t just offered him a drink. He was tall and thin with green hair that was shaved on the sides and long on top. His clothing was black and clung to his body and he held himself with the air of someone with authority.
“No, thanks,” Connor said.
The man smiled. “I’m Beaux.”
“Connor.”
“Are you interested in purchasing this painting?”
Connor chuckled. “Do I look like the type to buy overpriced art?”
He gestured to his black T-shirt, faded blue jeans, and combat boots. When he arrived, he’d attracted attention from the others in the gallery, people dressed up in designer clothes and staring at art that was no more impressive than the huge thing in front of him.
“It’s hard to judge a person on appearances alone.”
“Sure,” he agreed. “And yet, you’re in the business of displaying art like this.”
“You don’t care for it?”
“It looks like something I could have drawn in fifth grade if I had a ridiculously oversized piece of canvas,” Connor said honestly.
Beaux flinched as if he’d been slapped. It looked like he’d offended the man, but he wasn’t going to take it back.
