The Art of Stealing Kisses - Stella London Page 0,11

like you to meet Amanda Leighton.” The woman nods at me. “She’s a journalist who is…”

He pauses and my mind fills in the blank with a million gut-wrenching options as I stand there with a smile plastered on my face. …going to be my wife …fucking my brains out later this evening since you said no …your replacement in every way.

Amanda finishes for him. “Stealing all his time, I’m afraid. I’m writing a feature profile for Forbes, about your boss.”

“I tried to get out of it, but she’s very persuasive,” St. Clair grins.

I bet she is.

I still feel awkward, like I interrupted something I shouldn’t have. “I’ll let you get back to your interview, then.”

“No, it’s fine. We were just wrapping up,” he says as Amanda picks up her purse.

“Nice to meet you,” she says to me, with a surprisingly genuine smile. “I was meaning to tell you, I just loved your choices for the hospital wing. So bold.”

“Um, thanks.”

To St. Clair she says, “Pick up your phone if I call for follow up questions, okay? No more phone tag.”

“Done,” he says. She kisses his cheek and then she’s out the door, her perfectly perky ass bouncing as she exits. St. Clair looks at me and smiles his quiet smile, the one the cameras and reporters don’t get to see. “So what can I do for you?”

My stomach flip flops, but I remind myself to be strong, to resist his many, many charms. “This won’t take long, I wanted to talk to you about a—”

“Have you eaten lunch?” he interrupts.

“Not yet, but—”

“I’ve barely seen you since the gala,” he says, reaching for his jacket. “Let’s catch up over sandwiches. It’s lunch hour anyway and I want to hear all about what you’re working on now.”

My heart sinks. So much for keeping things in the office. How can I say no?

St. Clair picks up some food from a deli and then takes me to a small museum nearby that I’ve never seen before: hidden in a townhouse on a side street away from the rest of the office buildings.

“I don’t think we’re allowed—” I start, glancing at the big signs warning us not to bring in food or drink.

“Don't worry about it. There’s no one else here.” St. Clair leads me to a bench in one of the gallery rooms.

“What about the guards?”

“Who, Kevin?” St. Clair winks at the uniformed guard standing silently in the corner. “I do this all the time. It’s one of my favorite lunch spots. Peaceful.”

I study him. “You’re not much for following rules, are you?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” He grins.

“What about the consequences?” I ask, thinking of all the times I tried to misbehave, and only got into trouble.

“If you lived your life thinking about the worst that might happen, you’d never leave the house. Sure, I might like to test the limits sometimes, but I’m always smart. Careful.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t.” I glance at the guard as St. Clair begins to unwrap his sandwich. Kevin barely glances over at us, so I follow St. Clair’s lead, the paper making a crackling noise that echoes off the walls. I feel a little excitement at doing something against the rules and can’t help a little smile. “You’re a bad influence,” I tease.

St Clair laughs. “We’ll make a risk-taker of you yet.”

“Is that how you’ve become so successful?” I ask, curious. “Breaking the rules?”

“Maybe. I just grew up with so many rules and limitations. Everyone at school and in my family wanted people to fit into nice little boxes with easy labels. No one was allowed to be themselves, or stray from the lines.”

I take a bite of my turkey and avocado and wait to see if he’ll say more, but St. Clair seems to be staring off into someplace in his memory. His life is so far removed from mine, it’s fascinating. I may not have had as much time with my mom as I wanted, but she always encouraged me to be myself. “That must have been hard.”

He pauses, and when he answers, his voice is quieter. “It was. Growing up, I knew I was a disappointment to the family. I couldn’t understand why I was just supposed to do what they expected of me. There was so much more in the world I wanted to see, to discover. It was like being given a canvas and a set of oil paints, then being told I could only paint in black and white,” he