Garek took a bite of the Iowa lamb loin and chewed for what seemed like an awfully long time. “That’s an odd question,” he finally said. “Why does anyone start an art foundation?”
“Because they love art.”
“And you don’t think I do?” He offered her some of the braised legumes, but she shook her head. “I told you not to judge me too quickly,” he said.
He was being evasive. Why? “Why my gallery? You don’t even like me.”
His eyebrows rose. “What gave you that idea?”
“You weren’t exactly polite when I returned the necklace.”
“I apologize for that. Women who seek me out tend to have an ulterior motive.”
“They want to get their picture in the paper?” Ellie guessed.
“They want to get married.”
Ellie choked on her goat cheese and bleeding-heart radishes. The poor man obviously suffered from a serious medical condition—paranoia conceititus. “I have no desire to marry you, I promise.”
He smiled, but with a slight cynical lift to his lip. “That’s why I chose your gallery—you’re honest enough to admit that it’s the money you care about.”
She opened her mouth, then paused. She doubted she could make him change his mind about her—and if she tried, he’d probably accuse her of trying to make him fall in love with her or something else equally ridiculous. “What exactly will this foundation do?” she asked instead.
“The usual. Exhibits—shows, I believe you call them?—featuring the gallery artists. I’ll send an assistant to the gallery tomorrow. She’ll report to you, and you can tell her whatever needs to be done. I also want you to work with her to arrange a special preopening event, a silent auction, to be held at my sister’s home. I would expect you to choose the art, naturally.”
Ellie took a sip of the heady wine, considering which of the artists she should feature. Tom, without a doubt, and Bertrice. And maybe Carlo Bustamente—
“I would expect you to attend the silent auction, of course,” Garek continued. “And I’ll need to take you to the symphony this Saturday—”
“The symphony!” She set down her wine. “I understand the silent auction. But why the symphony?”
“I’m going to have to introduce you to art collectors. There will be quite a few at the concert.”
“Why can’t you bring them to the gallery?”
“I run a business. I don’t have time to run a shuttle service.”
What he said made sense—almost. She suspected the whole art foundation was a ploy of some kind. To get her to go to bed with him? That seemed pretty farfetched. He was rich—and not completely unattractive. Surely he could find some woman to overlook his warped personality without going to so much trouble. More likely he needed a tax writeoff. Or maybe he was a frustrated artist and needed a place to exhibit his paint-by-number masterpieces…
Her hand jerked as a terrifying thought occurred to her, causing her almost to knock over her wine.
“That portrait I saw in your office…” She tried to sound casual, although everything inside her was recoiling with horror. “The one of Lilly Lade—did you paint that?”
He looked startled. “GoodGod, no. Why do you ask?”
“No reason,” she lied, leaning back to allow the waiter to take her plate. She rested against the cushioned chair, her terror receding—although not completely. She knew Martina would tell her to plaster the gallery walls with hundreds of portraits of Lilly Lade if that’s what it took to get him to agree to use Vogel’s for his foundation, but Ellie couldn’t do it. She couldn’t allow someone like Garek Wisnewski to distort the gallery into something unrecognizable.
“If I agreed to this,” she told him, “I would have a few conditions.”
“What conditions?”
“First, I must have complete control over the direction and focus of Vogel’s. I have the final say in all decisions. Nothing is exhibited unless I agree.”
“That’s fine. I don’t want to change anything about the gallery. It’s perfect the way it is.”
She searched his expression but couldn’t detect any sarcasm in either his voice or face. “Second, this is business, nothing else.”
“Naturally. What else would it be?”
She frowned, but all she said was, “You accept the conditions, then?”
“That’s all? You don’t want me to get your name in the Social Register?”
She stared at him. “I beg your pardon?”
“Never mind. Yes, I accept your conditions.”
“Then I accept your offer,” she said solemnly.
“Thank you.”
She couldn’t help smiling at his slightly ironic tone. He smiled back, and she felt the same pleasant jolt she’d felt the first time she’d met him.
She squashed the feeling immediately. This was Garek