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“What?” My eyes enlarge with curiosity. “Did you just say there will be a Mayan art exhibit?”
“Yes,” she replies. “A few weeks from now.”
Excitement bubbles inside me. Mayan art is my thing. I did a project in college about the Mayans, and it was one of my favorite topics. They were known for their art and stucco sculptures, in addition to their knowledge of mathematics and calendar systems. To know that I’ll view more of their art and be a part of showcasing them fills me with a thrill.
I realize that with my educational background, this will be an excellent opportunity to be noticed and could possibly become a path to my dream job.
No man will distract me from what I’ve set out to achieve for myself. Not even if he’s drop dead gorgeous and an artist in bed.
“Giselle?”
A deep flush covers my face when I realize Amelia had been speaking while I was distracted.
“Sorry. I was miles away.”
Literally.
“That’s all right.”
Forcing the image of the man who had given me an unforgettable, night from my mind, I focus on my work. Hopefully, I’ll never see him again.
CHAPTER5
MILES
Staring at the people going in and out of the Met, I let out a heavy sigh. Coming here will never be the same again. No doubt, everything in there will remind me of the gorgeous Giselle. With a little regret, I climb the Met Fifth Avenue steps. The place isn’t as crowded as it was on Saturday. I push back the cuff of my suit to stare at my Patek Philippe wristwatch. It’s lunchtime. Fortunately, I won’t be late for my meeting with the Board of Trustees. After spending some time thinking about Giselle, Gwen, and Ashlyn, I delved into work, but the image of Giselle constantly flashed through my mind.
Hopefully, I’ll concentrate on the meeting and not on the woman who is now living in my head rent free. Inside the Great Hall, I head for the marble staircase amid the throng of people. From the corner of my eye, I sight a lady with red hair. Will I ever see a flaming-haired girl again and not think of Giselle? It’s strange, considering I’ve never been drawn to redheads in the past. It has always been blonds for me. But my attraction to Giselle had been instant. Seeing her by the painting, looking tall and graceful, I knew I wanted to meet her and get to know her. And I wasn’t disappointed.
Giving the woman a second look, I freeze. It can’t be! Impervious to the people moving around me, I stare at the oval face that has haunted my thoughts over the past few days. What are the odds that I’m seeing her again?
My scrutiny swings to the people she’s walking with, smiling and chatting. They’re the museum’s employees. Everyone in her group, including her, has a staff badge around their neck. With a twinge of pleasure, I realize that Giselle works here. This means I can see her anytime I visit. And maybe work with her some time, since I’m on the Board of Trustees. In fact, as soon as I find out more, I’ll look for a way for us to work together.
Changing my direction, I walk toward the animated group. My eyes are concentrated on Giselle as she converses with her colleague. Her clean-line blouse and trousers show off her lovely figure. Unlike on Saturday when she’d let her hair cascade down her shoulders and back, she put it up in a tight bun at her nape, offering a clear view of her stunning face.
“Hello, ladies,” I say with a cool smile, loving the shock in Giselle’s eyes as she recognizes me.
“Oh. Mr. Carrey,” the project manager remarks, returning my smile.
“Mrs. Stone,” I utter, reluctantly shifting my gaze from Giselle’s pale face.
“Ladies, you know Mr. Carrey, don’t you?” She laughs softly. “Oh, pardon me.” She turns to Giselle whose eyes are now reflecting an aloofness that worries me. “Giselle, you won’t know Mr. Carrey. He’s a member of the Board of Trustees.”
Mrs. Stone turns back to me. “Ms. Bartholomay is our new event planner. She’ll be seeing to our coming events, beginning with the Mayan art exhibit.”
Bartholomay. Giselle Bartholomay. The name suits her.
Extending my hand to her with a cool smile, I say, “Hello, Ms. Bartholomay. I trust you’ll find working here interesting.”
After a moment’s hesitation, she takes my hand and replies, “I certainly will, Mr. Carrey.”
No one else notices the slight stress she places on my name, but I do as I squeeze her soft hand before releasing it.
“I hope we’ll work together soon.”
She mumbles something and pointedly looks away, as if dismissing me. Clearly, she’s peeved because of the way I left her at the hotel. Or am I overthinking it? Perhaps she doesn’t want anyone to know we have history, hence the aloofness.
“Please excuse us, Mr. Carrey. We’re on our way to lunch.”
