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happened that night.”
He finally tugs his hands free before he crosses his arms over his broad chest. “The son of a bitch was carrying around my business card.”
“How does that matter?” I question with a tilt of my head. “You’re not responsible for what he did. Joyce loaned me this money so I want to give it back to her.”
It takes a beat but he extends his hand, his large palm outstretched.
I push the bills into it but he’s too quick. He closes his hand over mine. I stare up into his face, my eyes searching his for any sign that he feels the same sudden spark inside that I do.
“Let’s compromise, Piper,” he says quietly. “This isn’t enough for a good dinner, but it will cover a drink. Meet me tonight at the bar around the corner. We’ll call it even after that.”
I try to jerk my hand free but his grip is too tight. He wants more than a drink. I see it in his eyes and feel it in his touch. He’s looking at me with the same lust that he did that first day I stood in this office.
The only thing he knows about me is that I wear short dresses when I’m out partying and I slept with a stranger. That’s not who I am. My one-night stand was a one-time deal. I won’t go down that road again and I sense that one fuck is all that Griffin is looking for.
“I appreciate the offer.” I give my hand a hard yank and he lets it drop. “We’re even now. I paid back what I owed.”
“I’d like to buy you a drink.”
I know that lawyers are notorious for being persistent, so I don’t take it as a compliment that he’s still pressing for more. “I’m not interested.”
A cocky smile slides over his full lips. “You’re interested.”
“I’m busy.” I tuck my wallet back into the brown leather bag slung over my shoulder. “I have a lot of work to do. Please thank Joyce for me. She really helped me out.”
“Work?” He arches a brow in response. “Joyce mentioned that you’re an artist.”
The details I gave Joyce were sparse. I told her I got a job at the Grant Gallery and that I was an artist. I didn’t expand on that because the stilted grin on her face at the time, told me that she didn’t care. I can always tell if art strikes a chord in a person when I first mention that I create it.
I nod. “I am.”
“I’m not, but I appreciate genuine talent when I see it.”
I scan the walls of the reception area and the generic framed prints that are hung there. “Do you think the artwork in here reflects genuine talent?”
“I think the art in my apartment does.”
A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. “I take it no one has ever accused you of being subtle? Are you inviting me back to your place to see your paintings?”
“That’s not what I meant, but if you’re offering to come to my place...”
“I’ll pass,” I interrupt with no hesitation. He’s obviously hot-as-hell, but he’s also a distraction that I don’t currently need. “Thanks for loaning me your assistant when I got into trouble. Have a good day, Mr. Kent.”
“Griffin,” he corrects me. “Good luck with everything, Piper.”
I’ll need it. I’m three days away from teaching my first art class in New York City. The next two months will make or break my career. I can’t let anything screw this up, not even a sexy-as-sin lawyer in an expensive suit.
***
“Are you planning on sitting in for my first class?” I ask Bridget as she adjusts the frame on one of her portraits that she just hung up.
She’s sold two today. I admit I envy her. I can’t imagine the rush in knowing that someone is willing to pay a small fortune to own a piece of your work.
I’ve sold some of my drawings in the past, but those were at art fairs in Denver where no one was willing to pay more than twenty dollars for an unframed sketch.
“I wish I could.” She brushes a piece of lint from the frame in front of her. “I promised my boys I’d be at their soccer practice tonight.”
She told me this morning that she has two sons. I waited while she scrolled through the picture library on her phone to find just the right image to show me. They’re gorgeous and judging by the big smiles on their faces in the photograph, they’re also very happy.
