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He stalked away without even a backward glance.
She sighed. Wow, he was intense, to say the least. She grabbed the contract, shoved it into her purse, and bit her lip, thinking about Stinker, her beloved cat, who had crystals in his urine and was getting old. No one would want to adopt him. For Stinker’s sake, she’d at least read the document.
Chapter two
Daniel glanced out the large windows of his trendy, upscale art gallery. The downtown streets were packed with traffic heading in and out of the city for the night. Street lamps shone brightly in the early evening. The trees lining the sidewalks were covered in lovely shades of green leaves. Colorful tulips started to pop up throughout the city.
A stream of people bustled by on their way to the Salt Lake City version of Broadway Theater or the numerous restaurants and entertainment.
He tapped his watch in pure frustration. Vivian Cline was late again. The eccentric artist was a headache herself. It had been a long day. All he wanted to do was head home and enjoy his night with Snowball, his dog. Yes, he was a dog person. How anyone could be a cat person was beyond him.
Speaking of cats, has Suzy signed the contract yet? He still hadn’t heard from that particular headache. Suzy looked as thrilled to collaborate with him as Snowball when going to her groomers' or vet appointments.
He wasn't particularly joyful to work with her. It didn’t help that something about her tugged at his heart or the fact she was beautiful. As much as he hated to admit it, he felt a strong attraction to the stubborn artist who apparently didn’t know what a hairbrush was or how to use it.
The door swung open. His gaze fell onto Vivian as she breezed into the gallery, looking like she didn’t have a care in the world. Her black hair curled softly around her face. Her makeup was as sensational as the artist herself. Sparkling green and purple colors mixed with glitter swirled around her eyes, her cheeks were blushed with a lovely shade of lavender, and her lips were enflamed with red.
“Hello, darling. Did you miss me?” she murmured in her soft husky voice. “I’ve missed you terribly.”
He swallowed hard—not in the slightest—but apparently, the older woman missed him. Her bright green eyes sparkled with mischievousness as she pranced to him.
She hugged him close, breathing in his scent before kissing his cheeks like the French did. “Oh my, you do smell divine as always.”
He abruptly pulled back. “How was New Orleans?”
“Simply fab.” She flashed him a brilliant smile. “The lights, the music, and the scrumptious food. It was all such an inspiration. I decided to paint a mask.”
“Ah, I see; you didn’t, by chance, finish your current piece, did you?” he said, frowning.
She waved her hand. “Give me more time, darling.”
“Your big show is in exactly two weeks, don’t you understand?” He crossed his arms. “We need your final piece finished.”
She perched herself on his desk. “You do realize you’re a bore, don’t you? All you do is work. You’re a workaholic who has no joy. It makes me sad.” She reached into her oversized purseand drew out gaudy beads. “Here, I got these for you from New Orleans. Aren’t they wonderful?”
“What would be wonderful is if we had your final piece.” He gave her what he hoped was a stern look.
She hurdled herself off his desk. “You worry too much. I will have it done in time.” She draped the beads over his head and gave him a mushy kiss on his right cheek. “You need not to take life so seriously, darling. It’s not good for your health.”
He yanked out a tissue from its box and rubbed her sticky red lipstick off his cheek. “If I don’t have it by the end of the week, I am canceling your show.”
Her eyes widened. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“I would. You are not my only client. I have others who take their work seriously.” He placed his hands gently on her shoulders and nudged her toward the door. “I suggest you stop traveling and go home and start painting. Have a good night, Vivian.”
“But darling—”
“I’m turning off the lights. Call me as soon as you are finished.”
“You are such a bore.” Vivian stomped away from his desk. “And most unpleasant at times.”
Vivian was right. He’d give her that. He was all the things she accused him of. He had his mom to thank for. She had been an artist herself, always distracted and painting. He had to be the responsible one until the very end with her.
On her deathbed, she made him promise to keep her art gallery alive. So, along with granting her request, his dreams of a college degree and working at a large firm went down the toilet.
He locked the front door and turned to stare at his mom’s final piece. She had been a brilliant artist, just not a great mom or businesswoman.
When she died, the art gallery was in ruins. He had worked night and day to make it a thriving gallery.
