Mind the Gap

Chapter 5

A week after the soccer ball incident, I was sitting in my office talking to one of my artists. Gregory Christy was a brilliant painter, but extremely high maintenance. What he could create with oil-based paint and a brush often left me in awe. He was also a huge pain in the ass and never wanted to commit to a show until the last possible minute.

“Gregory, we have a small window of opportunity to book The Albright.”

“No f*****g way! The Albright? Really?”

The Albright was a new, highly sought after, venue near the Tower of London. I personally found mixing new with old in that area a bit offensive. The historical areas should be kept just that, historical. If you must build something new, have it fit in with the area. But I’m not a city planner, so what do I know?

“Yes, Gregory, The Albright. The Ren room holds one hundred and forty people, giving the intimate feel you wanted. I’ll work with the designer, but with the windows and the night view I think it will be the perfect space to showcase your latest pieces. But I need to do it now.”

“I can’t believe it. The Albright.”

“Gregory!” I didn’t want to lose my patience with the man, but dammit he drove me insane. “Is this a yes? Can we book it?”

“I can’t believe you did this, Amelia. The f*****g Albright.” He rambled and mumbled a bit, but I patiently stayed on the line waiting for his reply.

I was one hand typing my reply to the events coordinator at the hotel at The Albright and heard my door open while Gregory pondered what to do. Assuming it was my admin, I continued to hen-peck my way through my email. It wasn’t until the scents of bergamot, cedar and cigars hit me that I realized whoever entered my office wasn’t my admin. Annoyed, I finally raised my eyes to see who walked into my office.

Standing behind the chairs in front of my desk stood the man who had invaded my sleep for the past seven days. If I thought the way he looked in gym shorts and a t-shirt was hot, he was devastatingly handsome in a suit. The obvious custom suit was perfectly fit to his body. It accentuated every single part of him. Paired with a black button-down dress shirt and a black tie, he should have looked like an evil villain, especially with the thick five o’clock shadow covering his face at eleven o’clock in the morning.

“Marcus,” I said, sounding a bit breathless.

“Marcus? Who’s Marcus?”

Shit! I’d completely forgotten I was on the phone with Gregory, which was mostly his fault for carrying on about booking his showing at The Albright, but a bit mine for having a complete mental breakdown because the Dark Lord of Hotness just walked into my office.

“Sorry, Gregory. Someone just walked into my office.” I hoped the breathlessness was out of my voice because I didn’t need either the man on the phone or the one standing in front of me trying to figure out why I sounded like I was about to come. “Are we booking it?”

Gregory vacillated a minute of two longer before I had it and told him I was sending the events coordinator an email to confirm that space. The man was a genius with a paintbrush but impossible when it came to anything else. I knew from experience to give him the allusion of having a choice sometimes, but in the end, I needed to do what was best for everyone involved.

After promising Gregory we were making the right decision, I hung up with him and took a moment to finish my email to the events coordinator at The Albright, I needed to ground myself and hiding behind my computer monitor was going to give me the minute of two I needed to ward off the Dark Lord’s allure.

“Are you planning on hiding behind your computer for long?”

Looking over the top of my monitor, I scowl at Marcus, hoping my evil eye does something to him. Instead, that freaking smirk and those damn eyes just about do me in. Exasperated, more with myself, I bark at him. “What are you doing here?”

Walking around the chairs, he places a Currys bag on my desk. “I promised to replace what we broke.” He winks at me as he sits down. “Your plaster matches.”

“What?”

“Your plaster. It matches your outfit.”

Looking down at my outfit and then my arm, my slow brain figures out he’s talking about my cast. I will admit, I felt a little bit like a little kid when I went back to the doctor to have my cast put on. Especially when he asked which color I wanted. But I couldn’t pass up the navy color when I was shown my options. I figured if I had to have a cast, I might as well go with something besides plain white. Of course, Kate was mad about my choice of colors because she wanted to be able to sign it. I made my brother vow that Kate couldn’t discover the silver sharpie.

“Oh, my cast. Yeah, I decided not to go with the standard white.”

“It suits you. Somehow it brings out the green in your eyes.” Marcus leans forward and pushes the bag towards me. “Now open the bag.”

Putting the bag on my lap, I pull the box out and stare at it. This isn’t a replacement. What I had before was a very basic e-reader. No web browsing, email or apps. Just my ebooks. What Marcus just gave me goes way beyond that.

“Marcus, I can’t possibly accept this. What I had was so basic. And this. This is an iPad. So not the same.”

“Amelia, my mates and I thoroughly thrashed your reader and your arm with our football game. Please accept it.”

“All of it was an accident.” I tell him quietly while running my hand down the front of the iPad box, trying not to let me emotions run all over the place. This is the nicest thing anyone, other than my immediate family or Sophie, has ever done for me.

“I know it was an accident,” Marcus says, suddenly kneeling in next to my chair, his warm hand on top of mine. “But I still feel bad about it all. Accept this.” He bends down a little bit more, brushing the sides of my hair away from my face. “Enjoy it. You’re stuck with blue plaster on your arm for a few weeks, the least I could do is this.”

“OK.”

“Excellent. Now, do you have plans for lunch?”

#

“I get this feeling whatever you want, you get”.

After attempting to fight off his lunch invitation, swearing I had tons of work and shouldn’t leave, he cajoled my admin into revealing that my diary was entirely clear for the afternoon. With that stupid wink, I think I was supposed to fall to the Dark Lord’s feet and fawn over him.

“Are your knickers still in a twist? Or will we have a civilized lunch now?”

“Excuse me?” Marcus starts laughing at me and when I look at him, I can tell he said that on purpose. “You’re an ass, you know that?”

“Gorgeous, I’m starting to puzzle it out that you spend a lot of time in your head wanting to maim or curse me. I had to say something to get you back here with me.” He picks up his menu and looks it over, leaving me to realize that I’m being a bit of a b***h and need to stop.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude, sound ungrateful or give you the impression I wish is stick my fork into your thigh…” His menu comes down and Marcus throws his head back laughing.

I’ve never had a laugh spark arousal in me, but the sound of Marcus’ laughter. The richness to it, with that hint of roughness, makes my stomach flutter and things south start to wake up.

“That is bloody fantastic. I don’t think I’ve ever inspired anyone to stab my thigh, let alone with a fork. My sisters used to come up with some really creative ways to give me a good set down, but a fork to the thigh was never one of them.”

“What can I say, I have a brother and sometimes he and his friends weren’t always nice to me.”

“Older or younger?” He asks still chuckling.

“Older by three years. How about you? Are you the tormenting older brother?”

“No. I would be the adorable, much exalted, baby of the family.” Some spark leaves Marcus’ eyes, although I don’t know if he realizes it.

“Are you the only boy?”

“I am.”

“Did you grow up in London?”

“Hampshire when I was younger. Closer to our country seat. Windsor when I went to Eton. Cambridge for University.”

“Boarding school?”

“It’s standard for the aristocracy. We aren’t given much choice in the matter. How about you?”

“I grew up outside of Chicago. Went to college at NYU and lived in the Village until I moved her six months ago.”

Marcus seemed to be taken in my vague details.

“So how did you know I worked at Sotheby’s? I know that little tidbit about me never came up at the hospital.”

Marcus’ face changed and his roguishness returned. “I did what any man in position would have done.”

“And what was that?”

“Gave my investigator your name and where you lived, and he came up with the rest.”

My mouth drops open. I didn’t have anything to hide, but I couldn’t help but feel violated. He hired an investigator to find out about me? I didn’t know what could possible show up in that report, but it pissed me off that he would know all sorts of things about me that should have been shared by me, if I wanted them to be, and not by some private d**k.

Abruptly standing up, I throw my napkin on the table and grab my purse from the back of the chair. “You know what, Marcus? f**k you!”

I make my way to the front of the restaurant hoping I can keep my anger leashed until I get outside.