9. Esmé
9
ESMé
I sat at my desk watching Luc terrorise Maurice. Of course, he wasn’t really terrorising him. But my assistant’s tight jaw and bunched shoulders spoke volumes. My best friend could be stingy with his smiles.
I’d shut the gallery and put Maurice in charge of walking Luc through the hanging of his paintings. It was like a dress rehearsal. Best to be aware of any lighting or space issues well in advance.
Matteo helped, too, deciphering my notes and passing on my instructions, though he kept a lower profile.
I let out a little breath. Over the last week, he’d proved himself a natural in the gallery. He was charming and courteous to clients. After his performance with Marianne earlier in the week, he deferred to his colleagues when he couldn’t answer a question. And best of all, he had a healthy respect for my cat and my coffee habit.
Luc, all dark and brooding, was arguing with Maurice about something. I knew my friend well and the muscle that pulsed in his jaw was a tell. As his wife, Iris, would say, “Here comes the tortured artist—someone fetch a beret and a tragic backstory.”
I smiled. Iris was somewhere in the gallery too, probably hiding behind a potted plant until all the fuss was over. She was all kinds of good for Luc. She brought him down to earth, tethered him and kept him happy. In the year they’d been together, I’d never seen him smile so much.
Right now, he looked about as far from smiling as a man could get. I shifted in my seat, ready to intervene. But before I could move, Matteo pointed at something on the ceiling. He grinned and put down my notes, shaking his head like he’d found Atlantis. They all looked up, too. I couldn’t hear what he said, but a giggle rang out, echoing around the gallery.
Lola had joined the group and stood winding her hair through her fingers, hanging on Matteo’s every word. Though the sight of her gorgeous smile directed firmly at my new assistant put my teeth on edge, it gave me a chance to study him.
He’d rolled his shirtsleeves up to his elbows, displaying the cords of muscle shifting beneath his skin. The sun hung in shards through the gallery window, and the afternoon rays bounced off the planes of his face, lighting him up like a shiny beacon of temptation. I wet my lips.
But Matteo was more than just a temptation. I often sought him out in the gallery, or sent him on little errands, just so he’d have to report back to me. He’d only been here a week, but I looked forward to our early morning coffees before everyone arrived. He’d play with Claudette and talk about the weather, politics, music … anything. In those moments, I felt like I’d known him my whole life.
The problem? I thought about him at night too—when I lay alone, curled up in bed. In those moments, I fought even harder to remind myself that, tempting as he was, he was off-limits. Just a good-looking man with a knack for body warmth working under me for the next six months. No big deal.
“Hello, stranger,” said Iris, materialising from behind whatever potted plant she’d chosen. Her smile filled the room. She stepped up to my desk and leaned over, kissing me on the top of the head. “It’s not like you to sit back and let the boys have all the fun.”
I chuckled. Iris knew my control-freak streak well. After listening to my complaints about my team, she’d encouraged me to set a New Year’s resolution to delegate more. “You taught me well,” I said, patting my desktop. She sat down on the corner and cast her eyes around the floor.
“I swear I saw your little cat earlier. I’ve never seen her inside before.” Iris was a cat lover, too. She’d even sent Claudette a little jacket when the winter was at its coldest. I’d almost lost fingers trying to wrestle her into it.
“She’s actually spending more time in the gallery now.”
Iris ran her eyes over my face as if she was reading a palm. “I wonder why?”
My gut fizzled. “Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps she’s decided that indoor heating and a comfortable desk are better than a blustery park bench?”
Iris tightened her eyes a touch. “Maybe,” she said, brushing one angelic blonde curl away from her face. “She obviously recognises the good life when she sees it.” Her smile returned. “And she isn’t the only one. You look well. Even stuck in this place for hours on end, you have a real glow in your cheeks, and I rarely see you in makeup outside of parties.”
Warmth crept over my cheeks. Busted. I may have added a little lip gloss and mascara to my face.
“And,” she said, turning her head back towards the gallery floor, “Who on earth is that ?”
Without even seeing her eyes, I knew she was talking about Matteo. The tiny hairs on my arms stood up on end.
“Don’t tell me he’s a customer. He looks younger than your arty friends. Unless he’s a rich philanthropist. I’m sure you know the type. Too much money and time on their hands—looking for a good cause to get involved in.”
“It’s hard to explain.”
“Try me,” she said, crossing her legs as if settling in for the rest of the afternoon.
“He’s the grandson of who I hope will be my newest investor. Do you remember I talked about the gallery I want to open in Rome? Matteo is my bargaining chip.”
“What do you mean?”
I planted my elbow on the desk and rested my chin on my palm. “If I turn Matteo into a walking, talking art machine, his grandfather will give me all the money I need. Matteo’s kind of like an intern. An assistant.”
Iris glanced over at the group, and the corners of her lips ticked up. “Matteo, eh? I don’t know about a walking, talking art machine, but you’re going to have to pry Lola off him shortly.”
I gave a wry laugh. “You’ve noticed, too? They’ve been working closely together. I think Lola’s enjoyed being in charge.”
“And the rest.”
My gut tugged. “What do you mean?”
Iris shook her head, returning her eyes to me. “Oh, come on. He’s very easy on the eye. Of course she’d like to spend a lot of time with him. I know I wouldn’t mind.”
“Shh,” I said, bringing a finger to my lips. “Luc will hear you.”
Iris glanced at her husband and grinned. “Luc would understand. He knows how much I love him. Besides, it’s healthy to window shop. You never know when you might spot something that could be good for a friend.”
Her eyes sparkled with mischief. Did she mean me ?
“Okay, I’m just going to ask … how do you get any work done?”
I looked over at Matteo. Truthfully, I hadn’t been getting much of anything done since he’d been here. Instead, I spent hours at my desk not really looking at articles and art titbits online. I’d taken up Candy Crush in my downtime and toyed with the idea of learning to knit. Anything to get my mind off my new employee.
As if hearing my thoughts, he turned his head, seeking me out. The second our eyes met, he smiled and gave a little wink. I closed my hand around my computer mouse and swallowed hard.
Iris chuckled. “I’ve seen that look before. Are you sure he’s just here to ‘hang your paintings?’” She said the last few words in a low, seductive voice whilst wiggling her eyebrows at me.
My face heated.
Iris’ eyes widened. “You’re blushing, Esmé. Don’t tell me I’ve struck a nerve.”
“Who’s nervous?” Luc’s deep voice rolled over me. He appeared out of nowhere and I had to wonder how much of our chatter he’d heard.
“Just Esmé,” Iris said, taking her husband’s hand and kissing his knuckles. His lips curled as he looked at her, his eyes glowing.
I smiled, too. I loved seeing them so happy together. Their unlikely romance was the stuff of fairytales.
“Why would Esmé be nervous?” he asked.
I opened my mouth, hoping I could come up with something plausible other than “the man currently hanging your paintings makes my heartbeat far faster than it should.”
Mercifully, Iris got in before me. “Esmé has a few things to iron out with her new employee.”
My tummy rolled .
Luc glanced at Matteo, a line forming between his brows. “He looks familiar.”
“I doubt it.” I swallowed away the squeak in my voice. Perhaps Luc knew Matteo’s family, but I’d rather not find out. “He’s younger than us—probably mixes in totally different circles.”
Luc pulled his brows even tighter before the sunshine of a rare smile broke through the cloud on his face. “Well, I’m not nervous. You’ve done as good a job as ever. I think the exhibition will be a great success.” Luc leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. “And I for one feel like a drink. Do you have any of your father’s wine?”
Papa had worked at Luc’s family vineyard as the master winemaker for years. He was like a father to Luc, too.
“I don’t know if we should be encouraging drinking on the job.” Iris giggled, arcing an eyebrow at me. “I imagine Esmé wants to keep a clear head. Stay in control.”
“Nonsense,” said Luc, patting the back of my hand. “I’ll check what you have in your storeroom.”
He disappeared and Iris turned to me, her eyes alive, like a child on Christmas morning. “So, tell me all about Matteo.”
I opened my mouth to shush her, when Lola, Matteo and Maurice pulled up at my desk. Lola’s face glowed. Matteo looked sheepish. Maurice, on the other hand, looked like he’d won first runner up in a beauty pageant—his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“We’re all going for drinks,” Lola said, threading her arm through Matteo’s. “Matteo said I should invite everyone. So, here I am.”
Something shifted in my belly. If I looked closer, her smile was a little too forced. A little too keen.
“It’s my birthday,” Lola added to Iris.
My gut plummeted. I should’ve remembered. I always kept track of things like that. Little details about the people around me. Being thorough was one of the things that made me good at my job. I made a mental note to book Lola a day at the spa as a gift.
At that moment, Luc reappeared with a bottle of wine and an armful of small glasses. He stopped at my desk, glancing around at our little group. “Did I miss something?”
“Not at all,” Matteo said, untying his arm from Lola’s. “You found it,” he said, taking the bottle from Luc’s arms. “Esmé’s been saving this for today. It’s Lola’s birthday.”
He smiled at Luc, and I could practically see his brainwaves pulsing across the room, begging my friend not to contradict him. Matteo had to know Luc found the bottle squirrelled away somewhere. That it wasn’t some special treasure—it was probably gathering dust in the storeroom he’d reorganised as part of Lola’s so-called “initiation.”
Yet, instead of calling me out and making me look like an uncaring boss, he’d made it sound like I’d planned an impromptu celebration. My heart thumped a little harder with … gratitude, obviously. Nothing else. Definitely not.
His eyes met mine and I smiled—desperate to let him know how grateful I was. He sent me the tiniest hint of a smile back and my heart burgeoned, pressing against my ribs as if they’d crack.
He set the wine on the table and took the glasses from Luc. “Here, let me.” After placing them on my desk, I passed him the bottle opener, and with practiced ease, he uncorked the wine and poured the deep red liquid.
We all raised a toast to Lola, and she smiled at us one by one, spending far longer than necessary beaming at Matteo. He grinned at her with equal ferocity, and I forced down the bitter taste that reached into the back of my mouth.
Matteo and Lola made sense. They wouldn’t look out of place together on the cover of a magazine or standing at the altar .
“So where are we going for drinks?” Maurice asked, shifting against the floorboards.
Lola played with the rim of her glass. “Well, I’m meeting some friends at Franco’s. I suppose a few more wouldn’t hurt.” She glanced at me before lowering her eyes.
Silence hung in the air long enough to rival an ice age, before Matteo finally cleared his throat.
Like someone had prodded her with a taser, Lola startled. “Would you like to come, Esmé?”
“Yes,” Matteo added. “We’d love you to join us.”
I fought the urge to laugh out loud. From the look on Lola’s face, she’d rather drink poison than invite me to her birthday drinks. I didn’t normally socialise outside of work with my staff. I listened to their tales of cocktail-fuelled weekends with interest, but I preferred to be tucked up in bed nice and early.
“That’s very sweet, but no thank you. I’m having dinner with …” I glanced at Iris, grinned even, but she didn’t return my smile.
Instead, she blinked. “Oh, didn’t I tell you? We’re having dinner with Estelle.”
“Oh, lovely. How is Luc’s grandmother?” I asked, widening my eyes at Iris. She had to know I was asking for cover. That joining my staff for noisy drinks would be akin to pulling out my fingernails.
“As spirited as usual. She’s been travelling, and although I’m sure she’d love to see you, she asked that dinner be family only. Why don’t you go out for drinks with Lola? You could do with some fun.”
“Oh,” I said, my mind reeling. There went my escape plan. I didn’t mind if I couldn’t attend Estelle’s dinner, but surely a white lie on Iris’ part couldn’t hurt?
I stared at Iris, willing her to crumble and invite me. But she only stared, the corners of her lips lifting
When she didn’t speak, a tight ball of pressure lodged in my chest. I could strangle her. Always pushing me to “get out and live a little,” she’d sealed my fate with what I strongly suspected was a white lie—dooming me to an excruciating night of drinking with people firmly rooted in their twenties.
Well, I assumed they were in their twenties. Maurice was sporting a hint of silver at the temples, though. And sure, I was only thirty-one, but that extra decade felt like a chasm. Their idea of a good night out looked wildly different from mine.
Matteo stepped forward, breaking the deadlock. He pulled his hand through his hair. “Why not join us, Esmé. You work so hard. There has to be some time to relax.”
At the warmth in his eyes, I almost wavered, but hanging out with Lola and her equally gorgeous friends didn’t sound remotely relaxing.
“I have a lot to do. I need to reassess some of the wall lighting. I think I’ll be here until late.”
His gaze drilled into me. “Then have a drink first and come back. The paintings aren’t going anywhere.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. Damn him and his dreamy eyes.
“Yes,” said Lola, an edge in her voice. “I have a friend who’s been angling for an introduction to you for ages. He has a thing for older women in authority.”
I widened my eyes, breath hovering in my throat. Older women? Authority? I was hardly a cougar or a dominatrix.
Lola giggled, threading her arm back through Matteo’s. “It sounds quite filthy when I say it like that.”
“I’ll have to go and change,” I murmured, wondering when my brain had instructed my mouth to speak.
Lola grinned. “Then Maurice can close the gallery and Matteo, and I will wait for you at the corner. Don’t be too long. It’s chilly out.”
She turned to leave, wheeling Matteo around with her. “Lead on, fine sir. Birthday fun awaits. ”
She pulled him towards the door, grabbing their coats on the way. As they exited the gallery, Matteo glanced at me over his shoulder. I couldn’t read his expression.
The second the door closed, I sprung out of my chair and into action. I hugged and sent Iris and Luc on their way, then sprinted up the gallery stairs to my apartment.My mission—to find something young and edgy to wear.
I didn’t want anyone to think I was an “older woman” tonight.