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if you think what they bought is exciting or not, and neither do they. You could at least have pretended you liked them,” she said, fuming. “And how dare you walk into a meeting? This is my business, not my bedroom. Have you lost your mind?” He had just done exactly what she feared he would. He had embarrassed her with important clients, and he didn't look the least bit apologetic. It was the control thing. No one was going to tell him what to do or how to behave. Boundaries and rules didn't exist for him.

“I never lie about art,” he said, looking nonplussed, as he stretched out on the couch in her office. “I have too much integrity to do that. And I was being polite. I told them they weren't exciting. Actually, I thought they looked like shit. They're from a terrible period in the artist's lifetime, and he did much better work before that.”

“I'm perfectly aware of that, Liam, but those two paintings are what they wanted, so I located them. It took me eight months to get them from a dealer in Holland, and you damn near screwed up the sale. Besides which, you can't just stroll through here and pour yourself a drink while I'm meeting with clients. You have to show some respect.”

“So do you,” he said, looking annoyed. “You think you run the world here. I'm every bit as good as they are. You can't just sweep me under the rug because someone with a fat checkbook walks in the door.”

“Oh yes, I can. They're my bread and butter, and my children's. And if you're going to be here, when I dance to their tune, so do you.”

“Like hell. I'm not your little minion, Sasha. I don't work here. If I'm the man in your life, you have to treat me with respect.”

“Then don't push your luck and show off. You looked like a Hell's Angel, strolling in here and pouring yourself a drink, while they were having tea.”

“That is total bullshit and you know it. All you have to tell them is that I'm one of your artists. That's all they need to know. I'm not going to parade around here in a suit and drink tea because you're selling two rotten paintings that you shouldn't be selling anyway. If that's what they wanted, then educate them, find them something better, and charge them more. But those two paintings were shit, and you know it. And as far as how I look, I'm wearing underwear and socks. That should be enough for you. I'm not going to walk around like a monkey on a leash, in a costume for you.”

“No one's asking you to do that. I'm just asking you to be polite to my clients, look decent, and be discreet. You can wait to have a drink till they leave. And you have no business walking into my meetings. I don't care how independent you are, I'm not going to tolerate that from you.”

“Who do you think you are?” he shouted at her. “You're not my mother. I can do anything I want. You can't tell me what to do. I love you, but you're not going to control me, Sasha. I'm not one of your employees, or your children. In fact, I'm not even sure what I am to you.” He was working himself into a rage, as she spoke quietly. She was not going to get into a war with him. If she did, she knew no one would win. But she was not going to allow him to behave any way he wanted either. The wacky artist was in full swing.

“You kissed me, Liam. On the mouth,” she said as he glared at her from across the room. “In front of clients. That's completely inappropriate and you know it.”

“Don't tell me what's appropriate!” he shot back at her. “I love you. I didn't stick my tongue down your throat, for chrissake. I gave you a peck on the mouth.

“What am I, just a boy toy you're having fun with? And that you want to keep in the closet?” he asked, looking insulted. She had hurt his feelings by criticizing him, and she knew it. But he had to learn to behave. This wasn't going to be easy, just as she had feared. She loved being with him privately, but he made her nervous when he strolled around the gallery, doing and saying whatever came into his head.