AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The asshole had his hand on her shoulder, and it took everything in him not to go in there and rip the asshole’s fucking limb off, push the guy away, and beat the shit out of him.
He never said he was sane when it came to Gillian.
But Gillian took a step back, which had the fucker’s hand dropping away from her.
Good girl, baby.
“She’s not yours, you fucker,” he said, staring at the guy, and even from the distance, David could see how he wanted Gillian. “Hell no.” But David stayed in the car, saw how Gillian was keeping a suitable distance from the asshole, and he was pleased with that.
He’d been sitting here for the last hour and a half just watching her mingle, wanting to be beside her, to have his hands around her, letting everyone know she was his. If that would ever happen, he didn’t know.
There wasn’t much that unnerved or scared David, but the thought of not having Gillian in his life, whether that be she was taken from him or she broke off their friendship, was at the top of his list of things that would really fuck him up.
Gillian said goodnight to the last guest, locked up, and sighed. The show had been a success, with all the paintings being sold. She’d agreed to make sure no one remained in the building and everything was shut down before she left.
And although it wouldn’t take that long, she was regretting making the commitment as her feet screamed at her for being a bitch and wearing these heels.
“Get it done and get the hell home.” That mantra played through her head as she wrapped everything up and finally left the gallery. With her back to the parking lot, she locked the door, juggling her purse and keys in one hand and a stack of paperwork and invoices in the other.
She heard nothing, but she certainly felt that “someone is watching me” vibe. Turning around and holding the keys in between her fingers so she could use them as a weapon if need be, she was greeted with nothing. Absolutely nothing. A parking lot light flickered in the distance, the yellow glow fading, wearing out.
I’m freaking myself out because it’s dark and creepy as hell out here.
She kept the keys in her hand, her fingers hurting as they dug into the metal. Quickly making her way toward the parking lot, she scanned her surroundings, always hating having to work late because this part of town wasn’t the best, and it creeped her the hell out.
Once in her car, she started the engine, but before she could pull out, the flash of headlights in front of her momentarily blinded her. The car came closer at a snail’s pace until it was right beside her, the driver’s side next to hers.
Gillian’s heart pounded hard, and she’d locked the doors upon entering the car, but she was still freaked out. That was, until she saw it was Gerald Poolish in the driver’s seat.
Gerald was wealthy, she knew that, but the car he drove had to be several years old, not a luxury brand, and he dressed as if he was sleeping on someone’s couch and didn’t give a shit if he ever changed his clothes.
She hated to use the stereotype of what everyone thought an artist looked like, but Gerald fit it to a “T” on a lot of points.
He rolled down his window, and she did the same, although she just wanted to get home.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hi.” Where the hell had he been camped out? I thought he left half an hour before we closed?
“You headed home?”
She nodded. “Yeah, I’m beat.” Her feet throbbed, reminding her that a soak in a hot bath had been the plan.
“So, getting a drink with me isn’t something you’d be up for?” He looked so hopeful, but the fact he had either stayed out here the whole time or had left and come back just to ask her out didn’t sit well with her.
“Um.” She didn’t know how to say this without sounding rude, but she wasn’t about to lead him on, not even if he was Gerald Poolish. “I’d love to, but I really am tired and have so much paperwork to finish before tomorrow.”
He didn’t speak for several moments, and it got awkward. “Okay, well, it was great to meet an extraordinary artist like yourself. I should be going, though.” She smiled, not wanting to offend him.
“Come on. One drink?” He was persistent but in a friendly way, she supposed.
She tightened her hands on the steering wheel. “I really should be going. Maybe another time, though?” The silence stretched again.
“I rarely have to beg a woman to have a drink with me.” He started chuckling, and even if he sounded light, joking even, she knew he was tense. He reached into the glove box, grabbed something, and faced her again. “Maybe next time,” was all he said as he handed her a small card.
