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I finish climbing the stairs and spot an office to the left that says Gallery Director, Nathaniel Stone. The door is open, but there’s a little reception area just outside of it, and I wait there, claiming one of the seats near the door. I cross my legs and fold my hands in my lap, then take a deep breath. I’m not nervous. I mean, not really. This internship is mine, and I know I’m lucky to have it. This is one of the most prestigious private galleries in the city, and my dad just happens to be Mr. Stone’s driver. I have no problem using whatever advantage I can get and this internship… this was a big deal. While my classmates were scrambling to intern at any little Podunk gallery that would take them, I was going to be working for THE Nathaniel Stone.
I’ve been here before, of course. Not to visit my dad or anything… God, not that. I grimace as I think of my dad. He helped me get this job. I know I should be grateful, and I am. Really. But if he thinks that’s going to make up for the things I’ve seen him do…
I give my head a little shake. No. I’d never been here to visit my dad at work, the way I imagine some daughters do. I’d come here, maybe once a month or so, since my sophomore year of college, when I started realizing what it was I wanted to do with my life. I’d stroll through the gallery, taking in each new piece, every new exhibit, and I’d try to learn. Why had the pieces been arranged like that? Did the gallery staff truly seem to understand the artists’ intentions, and display the works in a way that honored that? In this case, I always felt like the Stone Gallery was top notch.
And now here I am.
Thinking about it now, it’s strange that I can’t recall every seeing Mr. Stone. However, I do remember Dad saying something, years ago, about the gallery owner being on hiatus due to a death in the family. Apparently, the gallery had almost gone under at the time.
I take another deep breath and then try not to think about Mr. Grumpy and Lickable downstairs. He’d certainly never been here before when I’d stopped in either. I would have remembered him, without a doubt.
As I wait, I look around the reception area, and what I can see of the office beyond. It’s large and airy, with wood paneling lining the walls wherever there aren’t bookcases. One wall contains a large bank of windows looking out over onto the busy street below and the skyscrapers beyond. The bookcases are packed with books—and by noteworthy authors too— and a few small sculptures that I know damn well aren’t knockoffs or imitations. There is a large abstract painting on one wall, with a serious looking dark-haired boy on another.
Other than that, there aren’t many personal items around that tell me much about my soon-to-be boss. A Google search about the gallery named the owner, whose name I already knew (of course), but there were no photos of him, which was odd. Nathaniel Stone, I guessed, was a distinguished-looking older gentleman, probably in his fifties, with graying temples and maybe a slight British accent. My father hadn’t said much about his boss, other than that he was a decent guy. I guess that’s all that really mattered in a boss—that they’re not a prick or otherwise awful.
I glance around again and take another deep breath. I wonder, fleetingly, if I’ll see tall, dark, and irritating again on my way out. For all his asshole vibe, my virginal boots are still quaking. Some people might think that not having your cherry popped by the time you’re twenty is rare, but I’ve never been one to give a damn about what others think. My self-respect is more important to me than a stranger’s judgment. Yet having an older man show me the tricks… well, I can’t deny it has appeal. I’ve always fantasized about having a seasoned lover—someone who would make love to me in all the right ways and show me the ropes, so to speak.
Maybe Mr. Alpha downstairs could come in handy, I think and then shake my head at the ridiculous idea. Come on, Poppy. Seriously? Do you really want a guy like that to be your first? He probably goes through women quicker than a Great White devours a seal.
Yes, I have much more important things to focus on just now. Losing my virginity should be the furthest thing from my mind.
Chapter Three
Nathaniel
Once I have things settled with Roberto, I straighten my tie and take the stairs up to my office. I’m more than ready to get further acquainted with Ms. McAdams. Her feistiness—the way she’d stood up to me—was impressive. Not many people do that.
Honestly, it was more than impressive. It had me imagining all of the dirty, nasty things I could do to a little thing like that after hours; just her and me and an empty gallery. I bet she’d be a spitfire in the sack. Loud. Wild. Dirty. Based on her age, which I know is twenty, she’s probably not very experienced, either.
The idea of teaching her a trick or two has my dick almost painfully hard.
I take a deep breath and continue up the stairs, forcing my body to calm the hell down. Whether I want her or not, bending Poppy McAdams over my desk and hearing her scream my name would be bad for business. Her father is a decent man, a hard worker, and even if he wasn’t, mixing business and pleasure is never a good idea. I know this for a fact because I’ve made that mistake once already.
Knowing this doesn’t make it any less tempting, though.
I reach the top of the stairs and turn toward my office. Poppy is sitting in one of the chairs near my desk. I can see from where I’m standing that her legs are crossed, and she’s bouncing her foot as she waits. Nerves or an excess of energy? She has nice posture, and while I’m usually into long hair on a woman, the pixie cut gives me a nice view of her long, graceful neck.
I can just imagine biting it as I—
No. Not going there again.
I approach my office, and she turns around, a smile on her face. The smile vanishes when she sees that it’s me, and I fight back a smirk.
“Oh. It’s you. Where is Mr. Stone?” she demands. Clearly, I’ve made a great first impression on her.
I hold my hand out to her and smile. “Nathaniel Stone, at your service.”
She stands, and the blush that colors her cheeks is so damn pretty I decide right that moment that I’ll make her blush often. When she puts her hand in mine, her skin is so soft, so smooth, my first thought is to wonder if she feels like that everywhere.
Focus, Stone.
“Right this way,” I tell her, gesturing toward my office. She nods, and turns, walking ahead of me into the office. She’s damn pretty from the back, too, and I force my eyes away from her pert little ass and long legs.
Once we’re in my office, I close the door. She turns to me.
“I am so sorry about what happened downstairs,” she begins. “I didn't know that was you and—”
I hold my hand up, and she goes quiet. I smile. “It’s okay. You weren’t wrong. Let’s just do a restart on this whole thing, okay?”
