Chapter 9 #2
How could she have slipped up like that? It could literally ruin her life. Had she forgotten her experience with Hugo? While she’d just decided that Clay was actually a good guy, she absolutely could not tell him. Mentally, she zipped her lips. Don’t do that again .
Even if she was becoming totally enamored with Dylan. And with Clay.
Dylan finally saved her. Grabbing her arm, almost dragging her out of the studio as he said, “Oh my gawd ,” with such exaggeration. “There are so many amazing artists here. I have to introduce you to everyone .”
She heard more glowing accounts of Clay in all the different voices.
“You know what? Honestly, I was living on the street.”
“I was doing the art, and Clay came and said, ‘I got a place for you to stay and a studio to work in.’”
“I was super suspicious at first, but he’s the real deal.”
Her head was spinning by the time Dylan had taken her the full length of the warehouse.
And she was ninety-nine percent sure Clay was the real deal.
Clay was almost jealous that he didn’t have Saskia to himself. Yet he loved watching Dylan’s hero worship just because the woman actually worked for San Holo.
It was, however, time to get down to business. “Maybe we should go to my office now to talk about the commission. I’m eager to hear what you think San Holo will say.”
With a smile in her eyes, she said without embarrassment, “Sure. But first, can I use that restroom I saw back there?” It wasn’t a question, since she was already heading down the aisle.
The moment she was gone, like any seventeen-year-old, Dylan spoke without thinking. “Man, she’s hot. And she knows San Holo.” He put a hand to his chest as if he’d entered a state of bliss. “I think I’m in looove .”
Dylan looked at him, one eyebrow raised as if he had some sort of sixth sense and could feel the connection between Clay and Saskia.
Clay found himself oddly defensive, barely keeping himself from snarking, She’s mine, punk . Of course he didn’t say it. That would be a dick move to a kid who was enamored.
Besides, Saskia wasn’t his.
At least not yet.
When Saskia returned, she pointed at Dylan. “You—” She gave him a sparkling look. “—need to get back to work on your masterpiece.” She held up a palm. “Get ready to put it out there. The art world will go crazy for it.”
Blushing to the roots of his hair, Dylan slapped his palm against Saskia’s in a high five. Then he grabbed his paintbrush.
As they turned toward the stairs leading to his apartment on the second floor, Clay had to say, “You’re really good with Dylan. I’ve been encouraging him. So has Gideon Jones.”
Before he could explain who Gideon was, she said, “Dylan told me all about Gideon’s foundation. You’ve both done wonders for him.”
“But hearing praise from you, someone he doesn’t know well, really builds his confidence. I believe he’ll put his work out there now.”
Her smile radiated down on him. Before he lost total control and kissed her in full view of everyone, he flourished a hand for her to climb the stairs ahead of him.
When she walked through the door he opened for her, she gasped. “ This is your office?”
“My office and my living quarters.” He closed the metal door, cutting off the hubbub from below, the thick walls giving him privacy while allowing the artists to work at all hours without worrying they’d disturb him.
She gaped at the space he’d created for himself.
Skylights took advantage of the afternoon sun, sparkling on the polished concrete floor that wasn’t covered by area rugs.
He’d designed an open plan, one grouping of sofa and chairs centered around his massive flat-screen TV, another around a fire pit he’d installed with an exhaust above for the smoke.
Off to the right, a full kitchen contained all the amenities, as well as a breakfast bar and a dining table that seated twelve when extended.
The only places partitioned off were his bedroom and the two bathrooms, one for him, one for guests.
His workspace, desk, cabinets, files, and computers were all open to the rest of the flat.
Two large monitors on the desk allowed him to track his investments, do research, and conduct business.
She put a hand on her hip. “Aren’t you a billionaire or something? Yet you live in your warehouse?”
He laughed. “It works for me. When clients visit, we have comfortable sofas to sit on and technology at my fingertips.” Then he said seriously, “I like to be close to the artists.”
She eyed him. “That means if…” She stared him down. “And I do mean if San decides to take the commission, you’ll be here all the time. How can we expect you to keep San a secret?”
“When your boss and I come to an agreement, I have no intention of spying on him.” Then he smiled. Many had called it a shark’s smile. Maybe it was, but for San Holo, not her. “I’m still hoping to change his mind about meeting Dylan.”
The reminder was a dig at her, because he’d seen how much she liked Dylan. How much she wanted to help him. Maybe she could persuade San Holo to do the right thing.
But that was all for a later discussion. With a hand on her elbow, he guided her to the sofa. “Take a seat. Would you like some water? A soda? Some wine?”
“Tap water is fine,” she said. “No ice.”
He poured two glasses, utilizing a filtration system that made his tap water as pure as anything out of a bottle, then carried both to the sofa.
She’d boxed herself into the sofa’s corner, and instead of pushing himself on her, he sat on the opposite end.
She was so beautiful with the sunlight streaming down on her. Sexy. Desirable. Fascinating. His heart and his body wanted to jump her right now, stake his claim, kiss her senseless. But his brain had to remain in control.
She took over the conversation. “You’ve been going on about Dylan meeting San Holo.
” There might be a bit of snark in her tone.
“But if you want San to work with you, we need to know your basic idea for the mural.” She spoke as if she and San were a team.
She relayed what the client wanted, and San Holo executed.
“Before you tell me, let me explain how San works.” She pointed at him.
“You say what you want.” She swirled a hand in the air, encompassing the building.
“Say, a mural having something to do with artists. Just basic stuff. No ‘it has to be this or that.’ But you also get to say what you’d absolutely hate to see.
San’s not going to add something that makes you want to throw up.
Once that’s all nailed down—” She arched a brow. “—you have to let it go.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off. “You get the version that comes out of the artist’s heart and soul. Can you accept giving up control like that?”
“Quite honestly,” he said, “I want what San Holo thinks will represent my artists. I want it to be inclusive. Here, we have all genders, all orientations, all ethnicities, all manner of artistic endeavors. Not just physical art, but the work of writers, poets, dancers, comedians, actors. Any artistic endeavor. I want people to see the mural outside and understand the spirit of what we’re doing on the inside. ”
For a moment, she said nothing. Perhaps he’d blown her away. Until finally, she said, “I believe San has waited a long time to do something like this.”
Maybe she wanted San Holo to do this.
And Clay wanted her .