Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
S ince she’d gone straight to Adrian’s office after leaving Clay, Saskia had to go home to shower and change.
She didn’t dress to wow, but she loved the flowery tunic sweater she’d chosen over her favorite pair of comfy leggings.
Gosh, she loved thrift stores. She’d found the sweater in a tiny shop in the Haight.
She could afford to buy designer clothing, but she didn’t care about that.
The thousand dollars she’d pay for anything by a designer would help a lot of starving artists like she’d once been.
She arrived a few minutes early at Clay Harrington’s warehouse. That was how she needed to think of him—as Clay Harrington. Not Clay, who’d done all those incredible things to her body last night.
She had to keep a cool head around him. He was just too good-looking, and even the thought of him—and last night—made her shivery.
She wanted to do everything all over again. And more.
But she had to act professionally and maintain control. Because he would push her relentlessly to find out who San Holo was. If all that sensuality took over, she might let something slip. She might actually tell him.
The warehouse in the Mission District took up an entire city block, with two stories and lots of windows. All that natural light was perfect for artists. Though she mostly worked at night with the stars and the moon to light her way.
She patrolled the entire perimeter. By the time she made it back to the front, her heart was racing.
It was totally doable. In the wider spaces between some of the windows, she could do something grander, but she imagined filling up even the narrow borders between each window set like the spines of books.
It would be fabulous. She’d never done an entire building before.
This chance had dropped in her lap like a gift.
She surveyed the front entrance, where a massive latticed window had been installed above the double doors.
It struck her that she could paint on the glass, something she’d never done before.
She’d have to research the right paint to use and how to treat the glass so the paint neither faded nor chipped. The challenge beat deep inside her.
She’d come here wanting to learn more about Clay’s artists’ platform, Art Space, wanting to prove whether he was on the up-and-up, as Adrian believed.
The way her heart wanted to believe. If he was as caring with his artists and their work as he’d been with her body last night, then she wanted this commission. Her heart begged for this commission.
She threw open the front door, and the sun through all those windows lit up the lobby like a spotlight on a magnificent sculpture that took center stage. She could only stare and marvel.
A small bronze plaque at the bottom named the piece and identified the artist as Charlie Ballard.
She was familiar with Charlie Ballard’s metalwork.
The woman was a genius. Saskia had gone to Sebastian Montgomery’s corporate headquarters just to see The Chariot Race .
The stunning piece dominated his lobby, different facets showing up as the sun moved across it.
Saskia had stayed over an hour to watch it.
But this was beyond anything. It shot straight through to her artist’s heart.
Charlie had welded together The Discus Thrower out of gears, sprockets, springs, bits of pipe, and more, while shaping the face in bronze.
But the discus itself was the crowning jewel.
Shaping it like a palette, Charlie had filled it with a mosaic of all the colors a painter could possibly want.
As the sun struck the disc, the mosaic seemed to glow.
Perhaps Charlie had placed it just so, much as she had with The Chariot Race , making the sun part of the art.
She walked slowly around it, taking in its grandeur from every angle, then once again coming to a stop beneath the palette.
It was only then that she saw Clay. She had no idea how long he’d stood there while she’d been engrossed in Charlie’s work, but he did nothing more than stare at her. Even as their eyes met, he still said nothing.
He must be wondering how the woman from last night had ended up here at the exact time San Holo’s assistant was due to arrive.
She had to take control. Now.
Stepping forward, she held out her hand to introduce herself as if they hadn’t just spent the most miraculous night together.
“Hi. I’m Saskia Oliver, San Holo’s assistant.
” She gave a nod toward The Discus Thrower .
“Charlie Ballard is an amazing sculptor.” He didn’t take her hand, and she let it drop, rushing on before he could answer.
If he even intended to. “It’s a truly magnificent work. ”
As the silence went on, her heart beat harder, faster, and her blood roared in her ears.
Would he let her in? Or throw her out?
It took a lot to throw Clay off. But Saskia Oliver had managed to shock him.
How the hell could his dream woman of last night be standing here in his warehouse? Sure, he’d been determined to find her again. But she had found him .
Was it destiny?
His heart pounded hard, his breath stuck in his throat, and even his vision blurred around the edges as he looked at her.
Christ, she was beautiful, all that gleaming dark hair falling over her shoulders, those deep cocoa-colored eyes, and the long, flowered sweater draping her beautiful body.
Even the combat boots woke primal urges inside him.
Damn her for doing this to him.
But he refused to show any sign of weakness. Hands on his hips, he stared her down. Maybe he should have taken her hand, shaking it as he would that of an acquaintance. But they were so far from that. Exactly what, he didn’t know. But acquaintances ? Not.
Then he let almost every thought in his head fall out of his mouth.
“I had no idea when we slept together last night.” He felt the hardness in his voice deep down in his chest. “When you said it was just a one-night thing and it was over.” This morning, he hadn’t wanted it to be over.
But what did he want now? “It never occurred to me you’d be part of San Holo’s world.
” He shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “But I’m good at compartmentalizing.
While I’m shocked to see you here—” He didn’t mind admitting it.
“—I’ll put that aside and grill the hell out of you about your boss.
” He hadn’t forgotten his mission, and he made sure she didn’t forget it either.
“Because I am going to find out who he is.”
She stood there, absorbing his tirade, if it could be called that, her face growing paler by the moment. He didn’t sense fear or see a stalked-deer look in her eyes. But when she let out a breath, he heard the jitter in it. Nervous, then.
He tightened his lips to a thin line. “You knew who I was last night, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” she admitted. “Like you said, I’m in the art world.”
“You searched me out after I made that offer to San Holo’s agent?”
It wasn’t possible. He’d only just left Adrian Fielding’s office when he’d seen Saskia Oliver bopping down the street like she hadn’t a care in the world. She hadn’t seen him, just like she hadn’t seen the robotaxi. But he wanted to hear her deny it.
“I recognized you after the car almost hit me.” She nodded her head in punctuation.
“But I didn’t know about the commission for San Holo.
Not until this morning, after—” After that freaking fabulous night they’d spent together.
Then she added, “I didn’t sleep with you because you’re Clay Harrington or because you want something from San Holo.
” She blinked, her gaze cleared, and the jitters seemed to fall away. “I slept with you because I wanted to.”
His heart went into overdrive as she said the only thing his body wanted to hear. He was a businessman, and astute, he liked to think. He’d have noticed if she’d had ulterior motives.
Then she smiled and damn near knocked him sideways. Christ, that smile. It made him think of the moment before she took him in her mouth. The moment before she took him inside her body. The moment before she drove him absolutely insane.
“So,” she said. “Now that’s out of the way, shall we get down to business? Here’s how San Holo works.”
Just standing next to her, scenting her as if she were his mate, the memories of last night assaulting his system, he realized she’d blown every brain cell in his head.
He’d intended to go on about meeting San Holo before he agreed to anything.
He’d intended to grill her. But instead, he found himself simply looking at her beautiful face, that seductive body beneath the sweater, listening to the voice that stroked his every nerve ending.
“Adrian says you want a mural around the entire warehouse.”
Entranced and speechless again—holy hell, he hadn’t even invited her past the lobby yet—he could only nod.
“Here’s what you do. Give us a basic idea of what you’d like.” She shrugged. “Say you want dinosaurs. But you don’t want mermaids or unicorns.”
He found his voice. “No dinosaurs, mermaids, or unicorns, thank you very much.”
She blinded him with her smile. “After that, San Holo runs with it. You get what you get. Which is San Holo’s vision of what you asked for.” She knocked him dead with an even more brilliant smile. “But I guarantee it will blow your mind.”
Oh yeah, his mind was blown, all right.
She crossed her arms over her delectable chest. “Tell me how you’re going to guarantee San Holo’s anonymity while working on a mural that stretches all around this building.
Which is massive, by the way. This project could take months.
” She stepped even closer to him, fogging his mind with the scent of fruity shampoo and mango lotion, and poked him in the chest. “That means maintaining anonymity from you too.”