“They’re stunning.” Malcom held each sketch at arm’s length, turning them toward the light. “These will fly off the walls. People can hang them anywhere—bedrooms, offices, nail salons, boutiques. Brilliant!” His eyes twinkled as he looked at me. “I’ve always pegged you as a feminist. These women in power suits and sky-high heels definitely carry that attitude.”
I swiped sweat from my forehead. My paint-stained cutoffs and snarky T-shirt withI’m not anti-social, I’m anti-stupidspelled on it weren’t exactly gallery chic.
“I don’t know about that.” I chuckled. “I’m a special type of feminist, the kind who pays her own way, enjoys kissing my guy’s feet as well as his ass, but still expects him to behave like a gentleman, open the door for me, and let me step into the elevator first.”
Malcom barked a laugh. “Fair enough. You are special, Jesse. I’ll give you that.”
Once we had everything arranged, he took my hands, his smile warm. “This is a spectacular collection. The exhibit is going to be incredible.”
I exhaled, squeezing his fingers. “God, I hope so. I’ve invited everyone I know, and their friends. Lily has a patient who’s a journalist, so we might even get a little press.”
“Don’t worry about that,” he said, smug. “There was already an announcement in the New York Times last week.”
I blinked. “What? I didn’t see it.”
“You’ve been buried in deadlines. But trust me, the word is out.”
Gratitude caught me off guard. “Thank you, Malcom. You’ve been a saint through all this chaos.”
“It’s an honor. Have you prepared your speech?”
I gulped. “Sort of. Don’t worry, I won’t embarrass the gallery.”
His doubtful look nearly made me laugh, but before I could tease him, my phone rang. It was Sebastian.
“Sorry, I need to take this.” I waved goodbye as I rushed out.
“Hi, Princess.” Sebastian’s voice came bright and sunny through the line. God, I loved that about him—he was a walking ray of optimism.
“Hey. Just dropped off the last pieces at the gallery.”
“Good girl. How about you pick me up from work?”
“Sure. Want to grab food after?”
“Yeah, but…” He hesitated.
I narrowed my eyes. “What?”
“Well,” he said carefully, “I was thinking we could eat out. And maybe… meet my sister for a drink. She really wants to meet you.”
He sounded as though he was holding his breath. I looked down at myself and sighed.
“Sebastian, I’m in my work clothes. I can’t meet your sister like this.”
“Don’t worry, she won’t care. It’s only a drink, not a gala. We’ll go toRumors.” He named the neighborhood bar where the girls and I used to grab cocktails after work.
I rubbed a hand over my face as I walked toward the garage, the heavy summer air baking my skin. “I don’t know. Can’t I just go home and change first? Please?”
He hesitated. “I sort of promised Jan we’d meet her in an hour. I didn’t think it would be a problem.”
I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly tripped. “Of course you didn’t. Men never think about this stuff. You splash water on your face, rake a hand through your hair, and call it done. Meanwhile, I look like an extra from a bad construction commercial.”
He chuckled, clearly not repentant. “Um… I’m sorry?”
“Like hell you are.” I snorted. “You called me instead of telling me in person because you knew I’d strangle you if you tried this ambush face-to-face.”
“Exactly.” His grin was audible.
