Not You It's Me (Boston Love #1) - Julie Johnson Page 0,40

of all the other strange things that have happened since Chase kissed me and my life imploded.

The sound of heels clicking against the gallery floor makes me look up.

“Closed another one?” Estelle asks, coming to a stop by my desk.

I nod. “The Scarpozzis.”

“Good.” Her tone is brusque — she’s never been one to fuss with congratulations or accolades, even when one of her brokers has sold an ostentatiously expensive piece. “But we’re still behind on overall sales, this month. If we want to keep our head’s above water, we really need to make a few more big commissions in the next few weeks. What’s your schedule look like for the rest of the afternoon?”

“Oh, um, I’m just going to be here, manning the desk and waiting for walk-ins.” I see the look on her face and plow on, hastily. “But I could make some calls to previous clients, I suppose, try to drum up some new business—”

“Never mind all that,” she says decidedly. “You’re free. Which means you’ll do another house-call for me.”

My face blanches of color. “What?”

“We’ve got a VIP client. He requested you, especially.”

Did she say he?

“But, Estelle—”

“But what?” Her eyebrows lift sardonically. “The gallery needs the money. Unless of course, you’re willing to give up your bonus this year. And frankly, Gemma, you have no place protesting, after you failed to sell a single piece of art to our other VIP yesterday afternoon. That was a real missed opportunity.”

Damn. She has a point, there.

But… did she say other VIP?

I swallow, trying to regain composure. “So, this isn’t the same client as yesterday?”

“No. This is a new one.” Her lips purse with impatience.

All the breath escapes my lips in a single relieved whoosh. “Oh, thank god.”

As long as it isn’t Chase Croft waiting for me at my destination, I don’t give a rat’s ass who the new client is. Before this morning, I would’ve been secretly thrilled at the idea that he’d changed his mind, that he wanted to see me again, that he couldn’t stay away…

Now, I’d sooner sell my own art for dimes on the subway platform than see him again.

Chapter Fourteen

Yikes

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I was wrong, before.

See, I thought it wouldn’t matter who the new client was, so long as it wasn’t Chase.

I should’ve known better, honestly. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in life, it’s that things can always get worse when you least expect it.

I suppose this is one of those times.

Because I’m currently standing in the nicest apartment I’ve ever stepped foot inside in my entire life, staring from what I’m pretty sure is a Monet on the wall to a man so good looking, he gives Chase a serious run for his money, and trying not to salivate — over both the man and his artwork, but mostly the man, as he steps into the room and crosses toward me. He’s got thick, lush black hair with just the right amount of wave, skin so smooth most models would sell their souls for it, and the most stunning blue eyes I’ve ever seen — ice-blue at the center, with a ring of navy around the edge of the iris.

Everything about him screams wealth, power, refinement — from his stunning twentieth-floor views to the designer suit he’s wearing to the uniformed French maid who let me in, five minutes ago. He’s dark ink, gliding liquidly across the canvas of this white, light room, and I’m just standing there like a dork, totally tongue-tied, with my portfolio crushed against my chest, wishing I’d run a brush through my hair before leaving the gallery…

And then he smiles.

It’s a good smile — mega-white, with dimples in both cheeks, offsetting the sharp line of his jaw. Though, I can’t help but notice, it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and there’s an edge to it, no matter how hard he tries to make it appear charming.

“Ah, Miss Summers, I presume,” he says, crossing the apartment toward me.

I don’t know what to say, so I just nod.

“Excellent.” His smile widens. “I’m delighted you could make it. I’m Brett Croft.”

Wait.

Wait, just a second.

Did he say…

Croft?

As in… Chase’s cousin?

The one with the bad blood and the hostile takeovers and the competition for a place as CEO at Croft Industries?

That cousin?

Holy shit. I’m going to kill Estelle for sending me here without so much as a warning.

“You’re even prettier in person, Miss Summers,” he murmurs, his eyes on mine.

Abruptly, it’s very clear why I’m here — and I have a feeling it