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“No.”
“Why?”
“There are plenty of unfinished works in my studio.” I pointed down the small hallway.
“But why not in here? For visitors to enjoy?”
“Visitors?” I never had visitors. Even on the few occasions I’d gotten lucky, we’d always gone to her place except once.
“Yeah. You know. People who come over to see you.” She laughed teasingly.
“No one comes to see me,” I said truthfully.
“Well…I’m here.”
“You’re the first.” Maybe not the first, but close. “How did you know where I live, anyway?”
“I have access to all the personnel files at the company now. It wasn’t difficult to find your address.”
“Oh.” I felt oddly exposed. She was Lacey’s assistant, so this made perfect sense. Jarrod and Terrence had the same access. No one else, other than my brothers, did.
“And you changed the subject. Why don’t you have your work on the walls?”
“None of it fits.” A simple explanation that wasn’t even close to the truth. All of my work was so personal, and although I displayed it in galleries and in the Wolfe building, and though a lot of it hung in strangers’ homes, I never felt right displaying it in my own. I painted for myself, but still… If I couldn’t explain it to myself, I certainly couldn’t explain it to Charlie.
“Of course it would fit. You’re the artist.”
“Where would you like to go to dinner?”
“You’re changing the subject.”
“You’re the one who showed up here begging for a dinner invitation.” Man. Asshole move again. What the hell was wrong with me?
“You’re right.” She lowered her gaze. “I’m sorry. I’ll get out of your way.”
I was the worst with women! Here was someone who had piqued my interest, who had eyes I’d never forget, and I couldn’t stop being a douche.
She turned to leave, but I grabbed her arm.
“Wait.”
Her silver eyes met mine. She looked…bereft.
“I’m sorry. Please. I want to have dinner with you. Tomorrow?”
“Are you going to rescind the invitation?” she asked, her tone hurt.
“No. Not if you accept it.”
“All right. I accept.” She pulled a card out of her purse. “My work extension is on here. Call me with the details.”
“I’d rather call your cell.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to call the company. That was the issue you had in the beginning, remember?”
“Well, okay. I guess.” She grabbed a pen out of her bag, scribbled some numbers on the card, and then handed it to me. “I always have my cell on me. Except for when I don’t.”
I chuckled. “What exactly does that mean?”
“It means sometimes I forget my phone. But not usually.”
This woman was precious! She was beautifully flustered, and her hair was in disarray. The look in her eyes—I couldn’t even describe it.
But I knew one thing.
I wanted to paint it—paint her—right now, with that look.5CharlieHe grabbed my hand, not gently, and stared deep into my eyes. His dark eyes were burning, and I swore they melted me into a puddle of butter right in his entryway.
“Don’t go,” he said simply.
I opened my mouth but had no idea what to say. I hadn’t eaten. Did he want to have dinner? Or did he want to…
I had the feeling that Roy Wolfe wasn’t either of his brothers. Reid was a known womanizer, and Rock… Well, Lacey hadn’t confided in me about their first encounter in her office, but I had ears. They hadn’t exactly been quiet. I was thankful no one else had walked by during their little interlude. Her partnership at the firm could have been jeopardized.
Didn’t matter now. She no longer worked there.
“Are you going to say anything?” he asked.
“I…have work in the morning.” God, what an idiot! This was far from my first encounter with a handsome man, but I was acting like a shy schoolgirl who just got asked out by the football captain.
“I know. I wasn’t asking you to spend the night.”
Warmth crept up my neck and into my cheeks. “Of course not. I knew that. So…dinner?”
“If you want. I’ll order something for you. You don’t want to be thinking about food while you’re posing.”
My heart fluttered. “Posing?”
“Yeah. In fact, I’m sorry, but dinner will have to wait. I promise you a gourmet feast if you let me paint you right now, with that faraway look in your eyes. I’ve just got to capture that on canvas.”
“Posing?” I echoed, sounding like a complete imbecile.
“Yeah. Please. I’ve got to paint you, and it has to be now.”
My heart thundered so loud I thought he might be able to hear it. He wanted to paint me? Charlie Waters? Plain Jane? My appetite no longer seemed important. This man—this extraordinary artist—wanted me to be his next subject.
Me.
Me.
“Sure. I guess so.”
“No ‘I guess so.’ Yes. Be absolutely sure. We both need to be all in.”
His dark eyes were burning with fire. Passion. For me.
But not for me, really. For something I represented. Something he wanted to immortalize on canvas.
