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I didn’t have time to carefully choose. I picked those pieces I could part with. I signed them JCK to comply with the terms of the contract I’d yet to send her.
Time continued to march on as I made several trips to get the canvases into my SUV. I was in the hidden stairwell with the last and largest canvas when I heard voices inside the apartment. It was a good thing I’d closed all doors as I entered and exited, just in case.
I walked the painting back up the stairs and set it carefully at the top before returning to the bottom. Just like that first time, I cracked open the pantry door to peek at who was inside.
“See?” Lizzy said to a man even I had to admit most women would find attractive. He stood far too close to her for my liking. “It’s genius.”
“What I see is a sexually repressed man in turmoil over his desires,” he said.
Lizzy giggled, and I wanted to kill the guy—especially when his hand landed on the middle of her back.
“You’re something,” she said, shaking her head. “I just need to grab my phone, which I could have done by myself.”
“No way was I letting you travel across town alone without a phone. This is New York.” He turned a predatory smile toward her. “Besides, I’ve been wanting an invitation to your new place.”
My grip on the door handle tightened.
She shook a finger in his direction. “We’re going to be late.”
Lizzy disappeared into my bedroom. If he had followed, I couldn’t see myself hanging back and watching. But seconds later, Lizzy appeared, and they left the apartment.
I hadn’t brought my tablet, but I could access building security on my phone. I watched the screen as they exited out the front.
I didn’t wait. I jogged up the stairs and took the painting back down and out of the apartment while checking my phone to make sure she didn’t come back. I didn’t want us to meet in the elevator.
As I drove to the hospital to visit my father, a jealous part of me wondered who would fill the princess’s time if she had an itch when I wasn’t available. Would it be the asshole who’d been with her?
If she was my sub, it wouldn’t be a question. In that moment, I decided she would be at the club with me tonight. If there was one thing I didn’t do—despite the club I ran—it was share.SixteenLizzyAnderson was such a flirt, and I adored him for it. Though he hadn’t had to, I was grateful he’d come along. I’d felt naked without my phone. Much like how I’d felt when I’d woken alone this morning. I’d been so off, avoiding my phone because I didn’t want to see that he hadn’t texted, that I’d forgotten my phone completely.
Oh boy, what had I gotten myself into?
“So, when are these magic paintings going to arrive?” he asked as we walked back into the office.
I blew out a breath. “I haven’t heard back from Connor King. I’m not sure I’ll even get them.”
My assistant went dreamy-eyed. “Connor King. Prince of New York. Have you seen him in person?”
“No. Have you?”
He shook his head. “I haven’t. But I heard he’s delish.”
“If he looks anything like his brother, he most likely is.”
“Oh, that’s right. Bailey is dating the elder brother.”
I shook a finger at him. “Not exactly, and don’t ask me for more information. It’s her business to share, not mine.”
“You’re no fun. And lucky you, looks like we have a customer.”
The telltale soft musical chimes of the front door opening sounded. With only two of us, it was important to have that notification.
After Anderson left to see to our visitor, I sat behind my desk and checked my email. Nothing from Connor and I didn’t know how to feel. Especially since I had mail from my accountant. Bailey was an accountant, but I hadn’t asked her to do my books—mostly because I was embarrassed. My business was failing. My last chance rested in the hands of an arrogant, rich boy.
So I typed:
To: Connor King
From: Elizabeth Monroe
Subject: Bad Business
Since you didn’t have the courtesy to notify me in writing, I’ll assume the artist has chosen to decline my offer. Or maybe you never passed on the message. I have to say, I thought you’d have better manners.
Before I hit Send, I read it twice. I didn’t want to be intrigued by the man, but I was, hence my strong wording. An overconfident man like him had to be put in his place. His handling of our initial email exchange had pissed me off. How had I allowed myself to think I’d gotten the upper hand?
Besides, I wasn’t at all interested in Connor King. I had Striker—or did I? I’d become far too attached to his presence in my bed. The difference between the two was cavernous. Connor was everything I hated in a man: rich and entitled. Sticker was everything I loved in a man: confident and good in bed. Neither was mine.
