I gape.
Brandon shrugs, a slight blush heating his cheeks. He sets the receiver back onto the phone mount. I don’t know if I’m more in awe or annoyed. I decide on the latter.
Crossing my arms across my black long-sleeved top, I level him with a glare.
“I had that.”
“Sure you did,” he says, expression neutral.
I can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not. “Since when did you become an expert on Fiji?”
He flips his phone screen toward me, and I glimpse a list of Fijian tourist attractions.
“Work smarter, not harder, Kate.”
“You didn’t have to jump in! I didn’t need you. Idon’tneed you.”
Brandon’s gaze takes on an edge. “What’s the big deal? Did youwantto carry on that lovely chat with him? We got them to agree to dinner. Sales shouldn’t be closed over the phone, Kate. They’re better closed in person.”
“Sales?” Recollection dawns on me then that he used to managegalleries. “You’re not managing a gallery anymore, Brandon. Museums don’t work like this.”
“Money is money, whether an art piece is exchanged or not.” He puffs out his chest, and I want to three-hole-punch him.
I snatch up my purse. “I’m going to lunch.”
Brandon follows me out into the hallway. “Good! I’m sick of you being hangry.”
I ignore him as I stalk away.
Insufferable.
BRANDON
“What a pain,” I mutter at Kate’s retreating form, although my eyes linger a millisecond too long on how her hips sway in that black skirt. I bite back a groan.
How can a girl so hot be so irritating?
I rub the faint shadow of the bruise she gifted my jaw in the ring a few days ago. I curse myself for the millionth time for whatever little game that was. Did I really think that a few boxing lessons with me might be enough to change Kate’s mind about us? Am I really that stupid? Apparently.
No, what’s more likely to ensue are a few sweaty, torture-filled days that end up proving I’m every bit as pathetic at love as my mom. I curse again, ducking back into the tiny office Kendra assigned us. With my huge frame, I’m like a kid in a cardboard box.
Six months ago, I knew I wanted to ditch the gallery management life and apply to the Chicago Legacy Art Museum. Their latest exhibitions were garnering stellar publicity, and my job had grown stagnant. Sure, Val Russo’s curation assistant position wasn’t exactly the prestige I’d been aiming for, but I had planned on working my way up.
What I didnotknow was that my college ex-girlfriend already worked here.
During my first day, I had been stuck in the HR office filling out paperwork for most of the morning. But then I heard her voice drifting down the hall.
I thought it was a hallucination, no lie. Like my biggest regretdecided to manifest a phantom voice meant to torment me. A flash of dark hair and stubborn strides passing the open doorway was enough to defibrillate my heart back to life.
She was here. How was shehere?
Memory after memory seeped back into my consciousness, ones I still try desperately to forget to this day. Her fierce loyalty to the people she loved. Her sharp wit and humor. The way she so boldly forged her own path through life, even though it cost her dearly. Her passion. And above all, the way she always made me feel so valued.
I bided my time, knowing we’d run into each other eventually. I’ll never forget her expression when she blazed into the break room to talk to her friend but found me talking to her instead.
Her icy demeanor was a slap to the face and a much-needed reminder of reality.
Our two-month whirlwind romance was in the past, and she was clearlynotinterested in any form of reconciliation.
