I must stare for a beat too long because he quirks a brow. “Can I help somehow?”
Mr. Handsome rescues the rolled prints from my hand. His gaze drifts down to the cold mess spattered over the top of my shirt and cleavage.
Great.
“I’m not really sure how you could.” I bend down to set my useless cup on the floor before quickly fastening a button. I can pretend to salvage at least some of this.
“You didn’t get burned, right?”
The concern in his rich, buttery voice is dreamy.
Who is this guy, Henry Cavill’s long-lost cousin?
“I’m fine.” My shoulders heave with a sigh. “I just got this…”
“I can buy you another coffee. It’s the least I can do.”
Such a gentleman. “I meant my shirt.”
“Oh.” The stranger’s eyes drift down to my chest and linger, darkness flickering through the brown depths. “Yeah, that’s a shame. A masterpiece like that should be preserved in a museum.”
My face warms. Is he…attracted to me?
Of course. He’s just a man, and I’m practically flashing him in my damp white blouse. What else can I expect?
You’re at work, Cat!As the curator’s assistant at a museum, a wet t-shirt contest definitely messes with the bougie vibe.
My laugh rings high and false as I swipe uselessly at the setting coffee stains. “I really should take care of this. I’ll just grab those.”
He pulls the prints just beyond my reach. “How about I follow you to the restroom and keep hold of these so you can clean up?”
“That’s very kind, but I’m sure you’re also busy.”Please, just go and leave me to my misery.I want nothing more than to lock myself in my office for the rest of the day.
“I can spare a few minutes.”
My attention falls to his hands. Beneath the prints, I spy a tube wrapped in glassine paper and bubble wrap.
Oh, no.
I force a smile. “Are you an artist, or…?”
“Collector. I have a piece of art for the redesign,Rain on Jupiter. I’m sure you’re familiar with J. Rochelle. My parents are collectors, too, and got me into it at a young age.” He offers his free hand. “Dane Ryder.”
Shit. This is the absoluteworstfirst impression to make on a donor. What a way to end the year.
I never screw up, not like this. I run everything like a well-oiled machine and keep myself out of sight, out of mind.
Having this man’s focus, his attention—does he have to look likethat?—is more than I can bear.
When I clasp his palm, his big hand dwarfs mine, and electricity sizzles between us. “Caterina Ricci, the curator’s executive assistant. I’m so sorry, Mr. Ryder?—”
“Dane.”
“Dane. Yes, of course. I’m Cat.” Why did I say my name twice?
Heat flashes through his eyes as he pulls away and slides his hand into his front pocket. “Nice to meet you, Cat.”
His smoky voice crawls up my spine, lingering like a brand at the base of my neck.
