“No, no. I’m just surprised.” Stunned might be a more accurate description. “Why do you want to buy it?”
“Do you question all your customers on why they’re purchasing an item?”
“Not usually. But most of my customers like contemporary art.”
“You think I don’t? You shouldn’t be so quick to judge me.” He pulled his wallet from inside his coat pocket and produced a platinum credit card. “Can you have the painting delivered to my office?”
She didn’t take the card. “Woman in Blue won’t fit with the decor of your office. Are you sure you wouldn’t like something else—something that would suit your personality better?” Her gaze rested a moment on the giant cockroach.
His gaze followed hers, and his eyes gleamed, whether with laughter or anger, she couldn’t tell. Anger, she hoped. But he didn’t withdraw the credit card. “I prefer this one.”
She didn’t believe he’d come here just to buy a painting, but even if he had, she wished he would have chosen something else. She didn’t want him to have Woman inBlue. He would never appreciate it, she was sure. She opened her mouth to refuse to sell the painting to him, then paused.
Hadn’t she just recently vowed to think like a businesswoman? To sell to anyone who came through the door? Could she in good conscience refuse the sale when the gallery—and Tom—needed it so much?
The answer was unpalatable but obvious.
With the very tips of her fingers, she took the credit card and rang up the sale. “Thank you, Mr. Wisnewski,” she forced herself to say. “It will be delivered first thing tomorrow.”
“Excellent.” He glanced at his watch, then at her. “Ms. Hernandez, I need to discuss something with you, but I know you’re anxious to close. Will you have dinner with me so we can talk?”
She stiffened. So he had come here to proposition her again! “No.”
“It’s important,” he said, not even blinking at her refusal. “It concerns the gallery.”
“What about the gallery?” she asked.
“Come to dinner with me, and I’ll tell you.”
“Why can’t you tell me here?”
“I never discuss business on an empty stomach.”
His smile made her even more suspicious. It was the kind of smile that made a woman want to smile back, that made her want to do whatever its owner asked—and oh, didn’t he know it!
“If you’re not interested,” he said when she didn’t respond, “I can always find another gallery.” He took a step toward the door.
“Wait!”
He paused and she bit her lip. She knew he was manipulating her—but her curiosity was too great to resist. “Let me get my hat and coat and lock up,” she muttered.
He didn’t have the limousine tonight. Instead, he had a big black Mercedes with soft leather interior. She paid little attention to the luxury, however.
“What about the gallery?” she asked again when they were driving down the street. “Do you want to buy another painting?”
“Not exactly.” He turned a corner, avoiding a snowdrift that had spilled out into the street. “Do you own the gallery?”
“No, Mr. Vogel does.”
“Ah, then perhaps I should be talking to him.”
“Not really. He hasn’t been active in managing the gallery since his wife died. He’s elderly, and his health is frail, so he lets me run the gallery for him. He trusts me completely.”
“Does he? Then obviously I needn’t have any qualms.”
The dry note in his voice made her bristle, but before she could respond he spoke again. “I’m sorry, but I need to concentrate on my driving. I’ll explain everything over dinner.”
The request was a reasonable one. The road was treacherous, covered with ice and full of potholes, and the pounding sleet made the visibility poor. But in spite of the conditions, Ellie didn’t quite believe him.
At the restaurant, they were quickly seated at a table with white linen tablecloths, china and crystal.
“Have you been here before?” he asked.
“No. Look, what’s this all about?”
He picked up the wine list, his eyebrows rising. “Are you always so impatient?”
“Only when someone is being extremely evasive.”
His eyes gleamed again in that odd manner. For a moment, she thought he was going to put her off once more, but then he said bluntly, “I’m starting an art foundation and I’m looking for artists to sponsor and a gallery to exhibit their work. I think Vogel’s might be perfect.”
Ellie leaned back against the cushioned seat and stared at him. Her heart started to pound. A foundation—it could make a world of difference to the gallery. She could hire art photographers, place ads