Hello, Christmas.
I plaster on my professional smile, the one I use to impress clients and snobs. I shove all thoughts of Max and Casey to the recesses of my mind.
“Ms. Clarke,” he says, his tone charming. “Mr. Browne.”
I extend my hand to shake but he surprises me by bringing the back of my hand to his mouth, placing a small kiss on my knuckles. When his soft lips brush against my skin, I see Max out of the corner of my eye clenching his jaw so tightly, I swear he might crack his teeth.
“A pleasure, Lord Harrington,” I say.
“Please, call me Alexander. I insist.” He shoots me a dazzling white smile. He is otherworldly gorgeous.
“Alexander,” I repeat, and he smirks, turning to Max.
“Harrington,” Max says, accepting his handshake, and I notice his knuckles whiten. Alexander grimaces.
“Come in,” he says, waving us inside. We follow him through the grand entrance, and it takes everything I have not to balk—the interior is even grander than the outside. Polished marble covers the floor and walls. A grand staircase curves from the far right to the far left of the entrance, leaving a large open walkway through to what I assume is a livingarea. I crane my neck, inspecting the impressive space as we walk through—to a drawing room? I don’t know. I’m not fancy enough for this shit.
Max’s penthouse is impressive, but this is spectacular.
“Can I interest either of you in a drink? A tea or coffee, perhaps?” Alexander offers, looking directly at me as he speaks.
“I’d love a tea, thank you.”
He nods, fixing his attention on Max.
“I’m fine, thank you,” Max says, his voice clipped.
Lord Harrington pivots to face a staff member I didn’t even see was there. Has she been following us through the house the entire time?
“Right away, sir,” she says, dipping in a short curtsy before scuttling off.
He gestures to what appears to be a sitting room, and as we follow him, I feel the warmth of Max’s hand resting on my back, guiding me forward. His touch is light, but visible enough for Alexander to notice.
We each take a seat.
“So, Gemma,” Alexander starts, “Camille from the gallery told me you’re quite the art enthusiast.”
“Oh, no. Not me. That’s my friend, April. I appreciate beautiful art, but I couldn’t distinguish a Monet from a Manet,” I say, chuckling. “I just liked your collection. I guess I’m more into modern contemporary than I realized.”
The barest hint of a smile plays on his lips, his eyes never leaving mine. “I appreciate your refreshing honesty. It’s rare in my circles.” He leans closer. “Well, I’m certainly pleased you stumbled across some of my collection so we could meet.” His eyes darken and his voice drops. “After viewing some of my pieces this afternoon, I’d be happy to give you a private tour of some of my more exclusive paintings. The ones I like to keep to myself.”
He’s flirting with me.
I side-eye Max shifting in his seat beside me, the leather creaking underneath him. It takes everything in me not to laugh at Max’s discomfort.
“That won’t be necessary,” Max says sharply.
Alex and Max have a stare-off, and before any dicks start swinging, I interrupt to attempt damage control.
“What I’ve already seen is beautiful, thank you. I’d be happy to see more of those. Maybe another time,” I say, deliberately fluttering my lashes. “What made you decide to start a collection of your own?”
Max presses his thigh against mine.
“My father began acquiring pieces from the 1300s to 1600s,” Alexander says. “But I’ve taken the collection in a more contemporary direction since his passing. The old man was incredibly conservative. He believed art should be ‘respectable’ and ‘established.’ He called all modern art ‘graffiti’ and an abomination.” His eyes meet mine. “I suppose it’s my way of rebelling.” He chuckles to himself. “Rather juvenile, isn’t it?”
I return a soft smile.
“There’s something satisfying about attaching the Harrington name to art that challenges convention… and doing something I know wouldn’t please my father.” He gestures around the room, adorned with centuries-old paintings and old portraits of stiff-faced ancestors who stare down from fancy frames. It’s actually creepy.
