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Shut up, Grace.
Honestly. When his hazel eyes showed interest again, I ordered all of my girl parts to settle down. I was not going to do this. No way, no how. It was a job—and this
man was holding my future, even if he didn’t know it.
“The smell of that peanut sauce is killing me. Can we please go eat before you pummel me with work?”
Really, I had to go with pummel? And in a stairwell, with so many walls?
He nodded tightly and headed down the stairs. He held the door open. “After you.”
Not this again.
I sailed through the door and almost made it without touching him. Until he let the door close behind us and his lapel brushed my arm. Thank God it hadn’t been skin. Obviously, I couldn’t take it since my skin was going haywire with an innocent brush of material.
Had he done it on purpose? Didn’t seem likely.
He walked around me and headed for the glass wall, which slid open soundlessly. I forgot about my reaction to him and simply stared into the gallery.
Every conceivable use for glass was showcased here. Huge, glossy pictures were mounted to the walls. They showed off mansions with glass fronts, dozens of different verandas, and wide frosted panels that afforded people in the mountains an outdoor space with warmth.
There were a few sports cars with the windows done in the specialized glass with dioramas showing the uses. Protection, safety, anonymity. That was impressive enough, until I spotted the huge clock face.
It looked out onto the harbor but was from the side of the building, so I hadn’t seen it when I’d walked that way. It didn’t seem practical. That was probably why I couldn’t stop staring.
A glass artist’s wet dream.
Before I could think better of it, I traced the copper seams of the clock and sighed. The glass was fashioned in separate panels and cut to fit the design. Beveled glass in pie-shaped sections gave dimension to the piece and was framed by a copper seam that even had lines for each minute of the hour.
Huge copper hands were set to the correct time with a working second hand slowly ticking around the clock face. It had to be eight feet tall.
I turned around to him. His eyes were gold fire, and his fists were clenched at his sides. “It’s beautiful. Superb, actually.” I turned back to the clock. His stare was too intense. If my heart rate went any higher, I was going to need a damn doctor. I tried to even out my breathing, but my chest wasn’t cooperating.
I pressed my hand to the glass.
It centered me. This, I understood. It had been my one constant with all the changes in my life.
“Did you create this?”
I wish I hadn’t asked. I really didn’t want to know. I could deal with Blake Carson, mogul and inventor, but he wasn’t allowed to move into artist.
How was I supposed to hold out against someone who clearly loved glass as much as I did?
Seven
I turned around, but he was gone. The door to a room on the far side was slightly ajar. I let out the breath that had been trapped by my malfunctioning heart.
It was really better if I didn’t know.
I followed him into the room. He’d unpacked the tins. I touched the side of the one left for me, and it was surprisingly hot to the touch. He sat down and stabbed at his food with a plastic fork.
“I think you have mine.” I wanted to cut my damn tongue off. Who cared? I’d pretty much eat anything from a Thai place.
“Evidently we have the same taste in Thai, Ms. Copeland.”
“Oh.” I pried the cover off and moaned at the scent. Sitting at the tiny condiments table would be rude, so I followed him to the conference table. A screen on the far end of the room told me it was probably for showing off some important movie about how awesome Carson Covenant Inc. was.
I took the complimentary chopsticks and sat down across from him. “So am I to assume you’ve been working in second gear, and I should be very afraid?”
