Chapter 11
eleven
VAL
On the night before the Felix Andreas gala, I found myself working late. The only light in the room came from my computer screen, since I was too busy to care about the motion sensor lighting timing out overhead. I’d long since given up waving my arms to turn it on again.
Darkness didn’t bug me—shadows filled me from the inside out anyway.
These condition reports are a mess.
I scowled, clicked another image file, and tried to make sense of the written document.
I squinted closer at the screen, attempting to read line after line of sloppy handwriting.
For being such vital records, you’d think the numbskulls would have taken more care.
While it was tedious work to log each file into the museum’s system, screwing up wasn’t an option.
These specific reports listed the condition of Felix Andreas’ paintings since birth, documenting any tearing, yellowing, or repairs needed over the years. It was common practice for museums, but I took pride in ensuring that each masterpiece was thoroughly documented the way I thought best.
Clicking on another image file, I found a pristine condition report with neat handwriting. I grinned and patted myself on the back. Kendra had assigned me to write the condition report on the featured piece of the exhibition, Attersee Bei Sonnenuntergang, or Lake Attersee at Sunset.
My thorough attention to detail should have made it easy to submit the document to the system. But instead, I hesitated, my mouse hovering over the final click between me and my down-filled pillow at home. I squinted closer at the screen.
What the—?
The reserved space for the museum director’s signature had been left blank. Kendra hadn’t signed it yet. Why? Because I forgot to ask her to. I groaned. Hadn’t I checked each report as I scanned them? I closed my eyes, trying to find the reason.
I pictured myself in the dimly-lit copy room earlier today, using the scanner before lunch. I cursed as my eyes opened into slits.
Amantha.
The walking distraction had sauntered into the room, ignoring me while she made copies on the machine beside mine. Whatever perfume she had been wearing smelled like a damn meadow.
I shoved back from the desk and swiveled my chair to face the glittering Chicago nightlife. I didn’t need this right now.
Or ever, for that matter.
Yeah, the misery-inducer was smoking hot. The kind of beauty that didn’t depend on make-up or fancy clothes. So what? Admitting that wouldn’t change anything. It was just like looking at a beautiful painting in the museum—didn’t mean I had to sleep with it.
Which coincidentally was another thing I’d sworn off. Stella had been my everything. The idea of being casually physical after her felt wrong, like it somehow desecrated what we had.
As difficult as it had been these last two years of celibacy, I wanted to reserve that type of intimacy for a relationship like Stella’s and mine. I at least owed her that.
I glared out at the tops of the sparkling skyscrapers, sawtoothed against the black sky. Amantha and I hadn’t talked much since setting up the Vanderbilt hall. I couldn’t blame her, since our conversation had ended so badly.
Man, did that woman know how to get under my skin. And who did she think she was, going around mouthing off to people? Granted, I’d never seen her yell at anyone else, but I felt safe to assume.
Yeah, yeah, I knew what people said about assuming, but I already knew I was one. And Amantha’s—
I cut that thought short before I could veer into anything inappropriate. Besides, Amantha’s snug-fitting pencil skirts were none of my business.
I stabbed the print button on my keyboard, sending the condition report to the copy room printer. I’d have to leave the humiliating mistake on Kendra’s desk for her to sign off tomorrow.
I strode down the vacant hallway and rounded the corner.
“Holy crap!” An unexpected voice assaulted me.
My body reacted to the shout, shooting off the ground and buckling like Jell-O.
“What the—” I stepped into the shadowed copy room to feel for the light switch, but the overhead lights sensed my movement and turned on.
Amantha was sitting cross-legged on the floor wearing a purple colored pantsuit, surrounded by piles of glossy paper on the floor. She clapped a hand to her rapidly rising chest and blew a blonde, wavy strand out of her face.
“What did you do that for? Who prowls around the office in the dark like some serial killer?!”
“Me? You’re the one who shouted!” I placed my hands on my knees and shot her a dirty look between breaths. “What are you still doing here anyway? And why were you sitting in the dark?”
Amantha chewed her lip, looking at the littered floor around her. “The stupid motion lights keep turning off. And I’m folding pamphlets—duh.”
“I can see that, smart-alec,” I growled, “but why are you folding them at nine PM?”
“Well…Blythe forgot about the information pamphlets that need to be folded for the gala guests tomorrow night. I think they’ll really like them—they’ve got all sorts of interesting facts about Felix and his work…” She seemed to get lost in the paper she held.
“Adams?”
Her head snapped up. “Oh. Well, Blythe had an appointment after work, and Kate had a date. I didn’t have any plans, so I offered to stay and fold them before tomorrow.
” She lifted one of her small, ivory hands and massaged it.
I watched the movement, swallowing hard at the memory of what her fingers felt like on mine.
“You offered?” I scanned the stacks of paper. “There’s got to be like five hundred of these.”
“Four hundred, actually.” She blew out a long breath. “I think I’m close to halfway, though.”
A genuine laugh escaped me before I could stop it. Amantha’s eyes flew to mine, a small grin lifting her mouth.
“Halfway?” I cleared my throat through another laugh. “You’re going to be here all night!”
“I know.” Amantha’s face contorted as she slumped against the copy machine.
Without thinking, I closed the distance in the small room and sat my luxurious suit pants on the floor in front of her. The glossy pamphlet I took from her hand felt warm. She watched as I flipped it over.
“I’ll help,” I muttered, dropping the pamphlet and lifting a fresh one off the stack.
“I’m sorry, what?” Amantha’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head.
“Don’t look so surprised, Adams,” I said, annoyed that my chivalry was so unbelievable to her. And even more annoyed that I was offering it to begin with. “I told you I’m a nice guy.”
“Ohh. That. Right.” She had the audacity to wink her thick lashes at me, as though it were an inside joke. “The old ladies. I remember. But I thought you weren’t being a nice guy to me. Pretty sure you’re crossing some kind of line here, Russo.”
I ignored the heat creeping up my neck and changed the subject. “We’ll split the stack.” I grabbed the top half of the papers, a soft thud sounding as I dropped them beside my knee. Silence settled around us as the glossy prints began to take shape.
“Make sure you’re folding them like this,” Amantha interrupted, emphasizing the creases of her pamphlet.
“It’s folding, Adams. I’ve got this.”
“How am I supposed to trust your skills after what you did to that ugly pottery vase?” A sly grin tugged her lips, though she continued to fold.
That playful banter again.
Against my better judgment, I let myself get sucked into it.
“You seem weirdly obsessed with that vase,” I said. “It’s unhealthy.”
My pamphlet disappeared from my hands as Amantha busted up laughing.
“Point proven! This looks terrible. It’s not a paper airplane, Russo!”
Gosh, I liked the sound of her laugh. Like sunshine and chaos.
“Fine.” I sighed and willed myself not to smile. “Show me again.”
I watched as her pink fingernails deftly folded a pamphlet. Then another one. And another.
On top of the stubborn physical attraction I felt for her, I couldn’t help admiring her dedication to her job and the people she cared about. This selfless act alone was grounds enough to begin to alter my previous perception of her.
Amantha Adams was turning out to be…something else. Not only was she pretty—pretty annoying, that is—there was something even more captivating inside that was undeniably bewitching.
She was…different. Driven. Didn’t put up with my crap.
I replicated her creases on my pamphlet and wordlessly held it up for her approval. She made a show of inspecting it—which incurred another eye roll from me—before she nodded. Our conversation faded into the rustle of paper and the hum of temperamental overhead lights.
“Why are you doing this, Russo? Like really. Why are you helping me?”
A quick peek at her curious expression told me she wasn’t setting me up for an insult or joke.
My pamphlet stilled in my hands before I set it on the floor beside me.
I leaned back on my arms, slanting my head to the ceiling tiles as I stretched out my legs.
I tapped my brown leather shoes together. Why was I helping her?
I pried my eyes from the ceiling and met her luminous gray ones.
I sighed. “I told you, I’m a nice guy.”
“Careful, Russo.” Amantha’s voice held a hint of a smile. “Keep acting like this, and I might believe you.”
A small smile tugged my lips, an unexpected warmth replacing my annoyance. I knew, underneath it all, I was a nice guy. It kind of felt good that someone—besides my family and Rick—maybe saw that too. That I might be okay showing that side of myself again.
“That right there.” Amantha shook her head, seeming to chuckle in disbelief as she reached for another paper. “I’m so not used to seeing you smile. You’re always stomping around with your stupidly handsome scowl—”
“I’m sorry, my what?” I leaned forward, cupping a hand to my ear. The blood drained from Amantha’s face as she realized what she’d said. I forced my laugh to stay put and lifted an expectant eyebrow.
“I—I meant, I didn’t—” she stammered.
“I didn’t know you thought I was handsome, Adams. I’m touched.” I grinned wolfishly. Heaven knew how many times her beauty had stolen my focus.
“No, it’s—”
“It’s fine, Adams. Admire away.”
The rest of the blood in Amantha’s body seemed to have found its way to her cheeks.
“Could you be more full of yourself? Anyway”—her head cocked to the side—“if you’re such a nice guy, why weren’t you being like that all along? To me, at least?”
I shrugged. “Personal reasons.”
“Enlighten me.”
Still unaware of the answer myself, I decided to mess with her. “Well, Adams, we wouldn’t want you falling for me and my stupidly handsome face, now would we?”
Amantha’s look of pure shock was worth it.
I tried to hold in the robust laughter that exploded out of me. I hadn’t enjoyed a conversation this much in a long time, all thanks to the scarlet woman now glaring at me.
“Oh, jeez.” Amantha mustered a breathy laugh, shaking her head as she reached for another paper. “Trust me. Never going to happen.”
Suddenly the overhead lights timed out, and we were blanketed with darkness.
It took a second for my eyes to adjust to the dim lights emanating from the copy machine and the hallway light spilling in through the window.
I hoped the shadows had concealed my unexpected flash of disappointment I felt at those four words.
“Never going to happen.”
Finally, we were on the same page.
“Don’t bother turning the lights back on,” I mumbled to her silhouette. “It’s pointless.”
All of this was pointless. After that, we kept the conversation light in the darkness as we folded pamphlets for hours.
I told myself it was fine.
Nothing was going to happen. Nothing should happen.
But why—in the depths of my soul—was I wishing for the opposite?