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“It’s beautiful.”
The way he says it and the location of his gaze makes me wonder if he means the statue or my hair. Either way, I feel pink rising in my cheeks.
“Thank you.”
“Are you embarrassed? I would think you’d be accustomed to such praise. It’s a stunning creation. I’m not sure I recognize some of these flowers.”
“Oh.” I exhale a laugh, unsure how to respond. I suck at compliments. “They’re mostly tropicals. Nothing special.”
“I disagree. They’re very special.” He looks at me, and the arrogant clip in his voice sparks my memory.
“I know you. You were in Daisy’s store that day in Oceanside. You’re the antiques guy. Stuart… No…”
“Spencer.” Another tray glides past us, and I lift a flute off it to replace the one I tossed. He watches me. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”
“No.” I take a sip to spite him. “And I don’t like men telling me what to do.”
His eyes darken, and I feel it in all the right places. “I didn’t mean to overstep, Joselyn.”
“You have a good memory.”
“I never forget a face. Definitely not a redhead.”
“Redheads are trouble, don’t you know?”
“I’m not afraid of trouble.” He grins, and his eyes trace the side of my face, down my neck, like a caress. “Daisy calls you something different. A nickname…”
“Sly.”
“I’m sure there’s a story there.” His deep voice does tingly things to my insides. “I prefer Joselyn.”
I know about this guy. He’s the super-arrogant billionaire who was Daisy’s mentor when she worked at Antiques Today. It’s this big media company that has a magazine and a TV show where they do appraisals, kind of like Antiques Roadshow.
He has a reputation for being cold and distant, and he’s clearly used to bossing people around. He wants to boss me around, and I feel a hostile horniness at the prospect.
I want to rip his clothes off or pick a fight with him or pick a fight with him and then rip his clothes off and have rough, sweaty, angry sex…
I have definitely had enough to drink.
Setting my flute on a nearby table, I spot a familiar face holding a tray of finger foods. “Excuse me just a second.”
I leave Mr. Bossy Sex-god to grab some alcohol-absorbing munchies.
“Hey, Sly.” The friendly guy holding the tray slides a lock of floppy blond hair behind his ear.
“Hey, Max. I didn’t know you were working tonight.” I shove a ham and cheese rollup in my mouth and take another off his tray.
Max is unfazed by me stuffing my face. “Yeah, need the cash mon-ay. I’m heading to Melbourne Beach next week.”
“Surf competition?” I stuff the second appetizer in my mouth and wrap one in a napkin. I wonder if I could put it in my hidden pocket or if it would leave a stain.
“First of the Prime East competitions.”
“Cool,” I nod, and the heat of a body warms my back.
“Have you made a friend?” Spencer sounds annoyed, and I decide to forego the third appetizer.
“Mm.” I swallow quickly motioning between the two. “Max, this is Spencer. Spencer, Max. We used to work together.” I give Max’s arm a squeeze. “Good luck.”
