Chapter 19
Casey
London, afternoon…
Sofia showed me the new display at her signature retail location in Hyde Park, gesturing proudly to the shelf of white boxes emblazoned with the silver J for Joy Delivered.
“Look at all my babies,” I said, pretending to grab at the boxes.
The statuesque British woman flashed a bright smile. “And they’ve probably helped make a lot of babies too,” she said with a wink.
“Good one.”
“In any case, I wanted you to see our gorgeous new display. It’s increased our foot traffic too, and boosted word of mouth.
We’re so excited to carry your products at the locations we’re opening soon.
Can you just imagine how smashing it will be to have the LolaRing join all her friends here?
” Sofia said, clasping her hand over her heart, as if she truly was enthralled about the addition of a new vibrator to the crew of high-end pleasure devices the fancy pharmacy sold.
“I’m sure Lola will be delighted to keep such good company,” I said, continuing the banter now that we’d finished the business details.
The I’s had been dotted and the T’s had been crossed upstairs in Sofia’s office, and the pharmacy was on board as another one of the exclusive launch partners for Joy Delivered’s newest toy.
Sofia exuded class and sophistication from her understated black pumps, to her sleek navy dress, to her box braids, elegantly twisted in a chignon.
Gold hoop earrings framed her ebony complexion.
She was the head of the company named after her, and I wondered briefly if Sofia was a so-called alpha female too, and if she’d ever struggled in her social life because of it.
My gaze drifted briefly to Sofia’s left hand—no ring.
But then, the presence or absence of rings proved nothing.
Sofia could still be in a committed relationship.
Perhaps someday, we would chat about love and the challenges of its pursuit as women in business.
For now, the focus remained on the products we peddled.
Sofia’s voice turned more earnest. “I’m truly delighted to add the LolaRing to the lineup. I know you’re choosy with your retail partners when rolling out new products, and I’m glad to be on the short list.”
I bowed my head slightly. “I assure you, the honor is all mine. I couldn’t be more thrilled to continue our partnership. It also looks like,” I said, crossing my fingers, “we’ll have a hotel chain on board too. I’ll share names when it’s finalized.”
Sofia gave an approving nod. “Excellent. I’m sure I’ll be wowed, since already it’s an impressive short list,” she said, lowering her voice as if we were discussing state secrets.
“I hear Grant Abbot is on it. I had drinks with him at a conference once. He’s such a flirt, and I even told him as much,” Sofia said, as we walked away from the display.
Flirt. Yeah, that kind of described Grant.
Flirty, and charming, and incredibly savvy, he was also a good business partner.
The man had been fantastic so far to work with, delivering contracts on time, lining up the right people, and planning the details for marketing.
Soon, I’d be seeing him so we could put the finishing touches on the rollout at his boutiques, and perhaps too, exploring the possibilities of other partnerships.
My shoulders tensed at the thought. I wasn’t quite sure how to behave with him.
It had been a while, and so much had changed, hadn’t it?
I furrowed my brow, momentarily trying to recall my last meeting with Grant.
But it had grown fuzzier, and much more muted, and I was going to have to do something about that very soon.
I tapped my foot and peered down the street.
The early evening crowds weaved past—men in suits and ties, women in smart dresses and business slacks.
The workday had ended and Londoners were moving onto their nights, walking briskly along the chic New Bond Street in the heart of the West End.
I stood under the black awning of the famed auction house with its elegant white facade, searching for Nate in the crowd, seeking out his familiar frame, his broad shoulders, his golden brown hair, his amber eyes.
He’d texted me that he was running late, then texted again to let me know his car had dropped him off several blocks away.
The roads were so clogged with traffic that he’d get there faster on foot.
The auction started in ten minutes, and if he didn’t make it soon I’d have to go in solo.
Which was fine by me, because I didn’t want to miss a chance to vie for the painting I’d been coveting.
I flipped open the catalogue to look at the image again.
Unfinished Love—a simple, but sumptuous image, the painting’s story was told in broad brushstrokes and bright colors, depicting a man in a white shirt and a woman in a black dress kissing under a red umbrella.
The best part was the woman’s reaction. The leg pop.
Ah, that got to me every time. The heel in the air, the one-legged kiss—the flamingo, I liked to call it.
Such a symbol of the power of a certain kind of kiss, of the way it could undo a woman.
To be kissed like that had always been my dream, and so this image was my quest, and I wanted it badly.
Like a gambler ready to lay down bets, I was poised to bid. I’d already registered and picked up my paddle. The clock drew nearer to the start of the auction. Another glance at my phone, another scan down the street, but still no Nate.
I reread the details, and the expected starting price for the painting: three thousand pounds.
I could manage that. Extravagant, yes. But not wildly insane.
Besides, art was my indulgence. Art like this made me happy; it made my heart sing.
It was an uncomplicated love, one that fed my soul, and my hope for that kind of love someday.
I sighed wistfully, wishing that that someday would come soon.
Until then, there was art, and that kept me going.
I thumbed through a few more pages to pass the time, then I gasped out loud.
There was a new painting in the catalogue, and it called to me, with outstretched arms. I ran my index finger longingly over the photo.
A late addition to the lot, the image was of that same man and woman, but this time without an umbrella, staring up at the sky, caught in the rain—big, buoyant raindrops that shone like stars.
I read the description.
Miller Valentina hadn’t told anyone he was working on this new painting and had simply delivered it, along with his other works, to Sotheby’s as part of this auction of modern art.
Titled Big Love, Sans Umbrella, the catalogue entry contained a note from the artist: “This work took me by surprise. I hadn’t planned to paint it, but perhaps Unfinished Love truly was unfinished because I had the insistent feeling that the sky had broken open and that there was more of their story to tell. So I told it.”
I didn’t entirely connect with the kind of metaphors and artsy language that painters told their tales in, but even so, something about this work touched me. Maybe it was the unexpectedness of it—for the couple, the painter and the sky.
I read the expected starting price. It was more than Unfinished Love, but not by too much.
Did I want both? Would that be too greedy?
I craved the pair, but I talked myself down.
They were just paintings. I didn’t have to buy both.
I’d do just fine with the one I’d come for.
Even though they fit together, like a perfect match.
But where the hell was my date?
Then my spine straightened, and goosebumps rose on the back of my neck.
I spun around, or maybe he spun me. It all happened so quickly, I couldn’t tell where one moment ended and another began, only that this—my waiting—had blended into my being kissed, one second sliding seamlessly into the start of something ever more wonderful.
The kiss told me so much—that he was sorry for being late, that he’d missed me for the last several hours he’d been without me, and that this was the best part of his day.
Mine too.
This kiss was air, it was breath, and it was my heart on my sleeve. In the soft, slow sweep of his lips, in the hungry sighs we both made, in an instant, the kiss was everything.
My heel popped up.
There it was. The final proof that no one had ever kissed me like he did, and no one probably ever would.