Overlooked(2)(13)

Tell him I want to commission six more.

The gallery owner claims he won’t give out Skye’s contact for the security of his artists, but I’m sure he just wants to make sure he isn’t cut out of any future commission.

Surely if a client is buying every damn painting an artist produces, that artist would want to meet the client. I figure I’ll go down there the minute I get a chance to talk some sense into the guy.

Part of me is surprised Skye hasn’t phoned me. I can only assume she hasn’t been back in contact with her dick of a manager at Johnny’s. That’s okay, I’ll track her down through the gallery, but it’d better be sooner rather than later. I’ll tell him if he wants to sell me any more of her paintings, he’d better arrange a meet and greet pretty damn fast.

Julie and I spent the rest of the day in meetings. Hours of legalese isn’t my idea of a good time, and I find my mind wandering to Skye and all the things I’m going to do to her when I find her.

“Lawson. Lawson,” Julie says, snapping me from my daydream and back into the meeting. This isn’t like me and I don’t like it one bit. No woman has distracted me from my work before. I’ve got to track her down.

It’s almost seven by the time I get out of Julie’s offices. I head home and hop in the shower, sloughing the day from my skin. Refreshed, I pull on a pair of jeans and the first T-shirt I see in my dressing room.

My mind is working the whole time on finding Skye. My assistant is good, but I have a feeling I’ll get further with the gallery owner than she did.

According to their website, the Piek Gallery closes at eight. It’ll be tight to get there in time, but it’s worth a shot. I fold into my Maserati and plug in the GPS co-ordinates.

The gallery is in an old-fashioned street-front store. There’s no parking lot, and all the street parking is taken. Fuck. It closes in five minutes and I’ve gotta hurry.

A car is leaving a couple hundred yards away. I push my foot on the gas to claim it before anyone else can steal it on me. Not even bothering to straighten it out, I climb out and hurry down the sidewalk, and instantly something catches my eye.

Skye? Fuck me. I blink to make sure I’m not seeing things. Sure enough, my beautiful Skye is walking down the sidewalk, straight toward me. She’s wearing a cute little sundress that wakes up my dick. I thought she’d looked hot in the tight skirt and T-shirt at the restaurant but this is a whole new level.

“Skye, fancy seeing you here.”

She snaps out of her trance and her eyes widen when she looks at me.

“Oh my God! Hi, how are you? What are you doing here?”

She is in danger of rambling, so I cut her off. “Just picking something up. What are you doing here?”

“I just got the most exciting news, and I was celebrating. You’ll never guess what happened!”

I wait for her to carry on before realizing she wants me to say something. Do I tell her I have a pretty good idea what it is?”

“What happened?” I ask, not wanting to spoil her moment.

“Some rich lady came in and bought all my paintings at the gallery! She specifically asked for me! My name is getting out!” Tears of excitement prick the corners of her eyes. Her face is beaming with happiness. All because of me.

“That’s wonderful. You’re so talented, it’s no surprise.”

In her excitement, she flings her arms around me. With no need for further encouragement, I hold her tight. She’s practically bouncing on her toes.

She looks up at me and says, “Thank God for rich people, huh?”

“What do you mean?” I ask, laughing with her.

“Who else would have the money to buy so many of my paintings? They probably didn’t even notice the anti-poverty messages in them.” Of course, her youthful ideas. Still, considering her artist profile, maybe I shouldn’t let her know about my wealth just yet.

“It’s a good thing I’ve run into you. I went back to the restaurant and missed you when I found out you were fired.”

“I was fired?” She says, her voice rising at the end of her sentence.

“That’s what your idiot manager told me. I feel responsible, given what happened in the restaurant last time.”

“You mean that kiss?” Having her in my arms and hearing her say that word gives me an instant hard-on. Not wanting to freak her out, I move my hips away from her.

“Yes, I mean that kiss.” I brush my lips against her forehead and continue, “Are you going to give me your number this time? I wouldn’t mind taking you out for a burger, to celebrate.”

She laughs and says, “I’d love to. Do I get to know your name first?”