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For now, I content myself with resting my forearms on the metal railing overlooking the gallery and watching Poppy. When she’s thinking, she furrows her brow and pulls her lush lower lip between her teeth. She’s been doing that for a little while now as she looks around the gallery. Her focus is admirable.
I can only imagine how rewarding it would be to have that focus turned toward me. Preferably when I’m naked, and she’s on her knees in front of me.
I stifle a groan and turn away. I shouldn’t be this obsessed with her. Yes, she’s cute. Yes, she’s smart and focused and driven. But this need, this unquenchable desire to bend her to my will, to show her just what kind of a man it is she works for, to hear her scream my name over and over again as I show her what pleasure really is… it’s enough to drive me insane. It feels wrong. She’s too young for me, and I know it.
Most of the time, I just can’t bring myself to care.
I walk back into my office and get a few more things done. Around six o’clock, I head back down to the gallery. It seems like Poppy’s just finished up for the day. She’s looking over her work, and I glance around as I walk down the stairs.
“Well. What do you think?” she asks, biting her lower lip as she turns to me. She’s shed the jacket that she was wearing earlier and is standing there in that little skirt, a chocolate brown button-down shirt that matches her dark eyes, and a pair of red stilettos that have been adding t
o my fantasies all day.
I walk through the gallery, inspecting her work. It’s just her and me here now, I realize. She follows a few steps behind as I stroll along. I ask her about her reasoning behind why she displayed a few pieces the way she has, and her answers are well-reasoned and intuitive.
I finish my inspection and turn to her. “You're a natural, Poppy,” I tell her. “I can’t find a single thing I’d change.”
Her jaw drops, and my gaze is drawn to her plump, pink lips. My cock twitches at the sight, and I try to will it to calm down.
“Thank you. That’s so not what Roberto said you’d say.”
I laugh, and she studies me. There’s that little quirk to her lips, and it takes everything in me not to bend down right this moment and kiss her breathless.
“Roberto's used to hearing it because Roberto is jaded and losing sight of what we do here,” I tell her. “I have to tell you, your work these past two weeks has been exemplary. You have a tireless work ethic and enough talent that I don’t doubt you’ll go far in this industry.”
She stares at me for a moment, and then looks down, but not before I’m rewarded with that sweet little blush I’ve been craving.
“Thank you. That means a lot to me. These past two weeks have cemented what I already suspected. When I have my Ph.D., I know I want to be a curator. I want to launch my own exhibits, build collections for museums… any waffling I had on that issue has been erased after actually being able to do the work these past weeks, so thank you for that.”
I nod, and then I remember the expensive bottle of red wine one of my clients had delivered as a thank-you earlier in the day. I walk over to the counter and pick up the gift basket with its bottle of very old, very pricey wine. I hold the bottle up so Poppy can see it. This goes against every bit of sense I have, but fuck it. I want this, at least, with her.
“Shall we have a drink to celebrate two weeks of tireless work coming to fruition? No one can card you here,” I add with a smile.
She smiles but shakes her head. “I shouldn’t. It’s getting dark out…”
“Oh, come on now. It’s Friday night. Unless you have somewhere to be?” I ask, and the spike of jealousy I feel at even the idea that she might have plans with someone else shocks me.
She shakes her head again. “No, it’s not that. I just—”
“Boss’s orders, then,” I tell her with a smile, and, after a moment, she nods, laughing a little. I lead her upstairs, where, other than the administrative office, there’s also a small gallery. I sometimes host artists and clients up here, but mostly, this gallery is for me, and I want her to see it.
I open the glass doors into the upstairs gallery and step aside as she walks in, her eyes wide as she looks around. Before I can say a word, she’s strolling over to one wall, which is dominated by some of my favorite pieces.
“I wondered what was in here,” she murmurs. “You can’t see the art from outside the door.”
“Did you try?” I ask with a smile.
She turns back and gives me one of her crooked little smiles. “Obviously. Nose pressed to the glass and everything.” She turns back to the art, and I can’t take my eyes off her. She moves like a dancer; graceful and fluid. As she looks around, I grab two wine glasses from the wet bar tucked into one corner of the gallery, uncork the wine, and pour it. I carry both glasses over to her and offer her one, which she accepts with a smile.
“I’m pleading inebriation for anything improper I might say from this point on. I don’t drink much,” she says with a little laugh as she takes a sip.
“I can’t imagine that you’d say anything that would be considered improper.”
She raises one eyebrow, and her eyes twinkle with a hint of mischief and humor. “Well, you never know,” she murmurs, taking another sip.
I motion her toward one of the long sofas in the middle of the gallery. There’s a chaise lounge tucked into another corner, but she seems to be into looking at the art, and I’m happy with letting her get her fill of it. It gives me more of an opportunity to admire her without her knowing. Before long, we’re talking like old friends—about college and art and books and places we’ve been and places we want to visit. She’s kicked off her shoes and has her legs curled beneath her, her body facing me as we sit and talk. Soon, the wine bottle is empty, and I’m feeling drunk. Not on the wine, but on Poppy and her scent and her laugh and that devilish little twinkle in her eyes. The desire I felt the first moment I saw her, and then again at lunch last week, has just continued to build at an almost frightening pace.
And at that moment, I realize that I’m done pretending I don’t want her. I’m going to have her. I’m going to know her body in ways no one else ever has. And she won’t turn me down because I’m going to make her the kind of offer she’d be crazy to want to walk away from.
