“Ah.” He doesn’t sound pleased. Then again, he doesn’t sound surprised either. “I suppose that was to be expected.”
“You already knew?”
“I employ enough people who’ll bring these kinds of things to my attention if I don’t see them for myself first.”
“So, you’re not upset that we’ve been photographed together?”
“Of course I’m upset. But I’m used to the press constantly buzzing around in search of their next meal. They might’ve fed on us for a lot longer if we hadn’t left the city when we did and for as long as we did.”
“Oh.” A pang of disappointment stings me as he explains. “I hadn’t thought of that, but you’re right, Nick.”
Dominic Baine is nothing if not a shrewd man. And, as I’ve learned, he is always in control, always one step ahead of everyone else drifting through his orbit.
So, I really can’t fault him for thinking that far ahead, for taking steps to protect his privacy. I shouldn’t feel disappointed if his motivation for whisking me off on the fantasy getaway of my life was more pragmatic than it was spontaneous.
“Hopefully, things have died down by now,” I murmur.
And I can’t help thinking that our escape from the press’s eye was beneficial for me too. One of the things I love most about New York is the sense of anonymity it provides. It’s easy to blend in here, easy to vanish into the masses. Here, it’s easy to start over. Unlike back home, where nothing is ever forgiven or forgotten.
“If things haven’t died down,” Nick says, “we’ll just have to find another place to explore.”
“Sure, why not?” I reply, pushing away my grim thoughts and trying to keep my tone as light as his. “Although, it’s going to be hard to top three weeks on the Icarus.”
“How do you feel about Paris?”
Thankfully, he’s not here to see me gape. “I don’t know how I feel about it.” I drift over to one of the sumptuous sofas and sink into the corner of it, tucking my legs under me. “I’ve never been there.”
“Never?” He says it as if I’ve just confessed to a crime. “Every artist owes it to their work to spend as much time as possible in Paris. How does your schedule look next month?”
I close my eyes, wishing I could play along with this game. But next month is when Claire is due back from Japan. Next month, she’ll be sitting here in this beautiful apartment again, and I’ll be looking for work and someplace cheap to live. “I’ll have to check with my secretary and get back to you.”
“I’m serious, Avery. I want to take you to Paris.”
“I don’t have a passport,” I say, grasping for the closest excuse that isn’t an outright lie.
“A minor detail, which I can take care of for you in less than a day. You’ll only need to be available to go. You can do that, can’t you?”
I exhale softly and gaze out at the view that doesn’t belong to me. Nick and this glittering, jet set life I’m enjoying with him doesn’t belong to me either. It’s been all too easy to ignore that fact, but very soon it’s going to come crashing down on my head.
“Ask me again next month, and we’ll see.”
He’s silent for a moment, and the weight of his contemplation is palpable. “All right, then. I will ask you again next month, Ms. Ross. In the meantime, I’d like to explore some of those long-distance celebration options we left open for discussion.”
I smile. “Is that right, Mr. Baine?”
“Yes. You can start by telling me what you’re wearing.”
Chapter 34
For the remainder of the week, I throw myself into my work. Creatively, I am on fire as never before, but a big part of my obsessive hours at the easel is the fact that I’m missing Nick.
We’ve talked every day this week, and even though hearing his voice and receiving his frequent, often wickedly dirty, texts has helped make the week apart more bearable, by the time he is finally due back from London, I am practically giddy with excitement to see him.
Any hope I have of playing it cool vanishes completely when he calls me from the tarmac at JFK Friday afternoon.
“We just touched down,” he tells me and I can hear the anticipation in his voice too. “I’ll be at the Park Place building within the hour. Be ready for me.”
“I’ve been ready all day,” I tell him. “And Nick? I’m not wearing any clothes.”
“Jesus, baby.” His deep voice turns to roughened gravel. “In that case, I’ll be there in half the time.”