Please leave before I make a complete fool of myself. Well, too late for that, but maybe just leave before I do worse.
He kept glancing between the colorful canvas and back to me.
I finally met his eyes, eyes that looked intently back at me. His stare gave me the shivers, stripping me bare. I didn’t know what it was about him, but his presence made me nervous. He sucked up all the air in the room—in a good way—and I couldn’t breathe.
I let my eyes roam about his face, memorizing the details—my artist’s habit, or so I told myself. I wanted to run my fingers along his dark brooding eyebrows, down his perfect nose, curve around his high cheekbones, and caress those kissable lips. I had the urge to create a sculpture of this perfect Mr. Medici. This flawless being that looked and stood like a Greek god.
His impressive physique made me imagine him as Zeus, or perhaps Poseidon, who had walked straight out of a romantic fantasy novel, with a taste for mortal women.
I really needed to stop reading those books.
I took a step back, composing myself with the little dignity I had left. “Mr. Medici, how may I help you?”
He stood silent, just examining me. I wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he broke away.
“I think you did enough.” He pivoted sharply, his dress shoes tapping against the tile.
I shook my head in disbelief as I watched him strut out the door. I was the unicorn and he was the skeleton. He’d just eaten me alive, taken all my glitter power and magic with him. I didn’t know why I cared.
Oh, yes I do. He might be one of Abby’s biggest customers. This could cost her.
“Mr. Medici. Wait.” I sprinted after him, but he was already out the front door.
A warm breeze wrapped around me like a cozy blanket and the door closed. Wind chimes tinkled faintly—soft and soothing, like the caress of an invisible hand on my back.
I rubbed my arms. Funny, I’d never noticed the door chime. I’d almost swear the chime hadn’t sounded when I’d walked in.
I released a long heavy sigh, almost forgetting about Stella at the desk, as the peaceful melody lingered on the air.
Stella looked away from the computer screen to me with her mouth open and her gray eyes glistening. “What happened? And what happened to you? What did you guys do?”
I wanted to ask myself the same question, but a laugh burst out of her as if she’d held it a bit too long. Then I joined her because, why not?
“I got paint on him. Did you see?” I eased on the sofa in the center and extended palms out, careful not to touch anything.
“I did.” She snorted. “He looked like he had been attacked by an artistic octopus. And so do you. Or it looks like you two were having some fun together.” She waggled her eyebrows.
I flushed. “Oh, no. Not what happened.” I almost shoved my hands to my face but stopped myself. “I should wash this off. Please tell me he’s not one of Abby’s big clients.”
“If I told you that, I would be lying. This is my second time seeing him, but then again, I’ve only been working here for two months. Abby said something about Mr. Medici stopping by once a month to check out the new paintings. Don’t you know who Leonardo Medici is?”
“No. Should I?” I kicked my feet up on the coffee table and leaned back with my hands away from the white sofa.
Stella folded her arms on the desk. “He’s twenty-eight, but he’s a billionaire. He’s the Medici Real Estate Holdings heir. I think he buys paintings from Abby to display at their properties. Also, he’s been on the cover of a few business magazines. And before you ask, no idea if he’s single or not. He keeps his private life private.”
I stared at the painting of a waterfall and groaned, releasing my frustration. “I don’t care if he’s single, but you should have warned me.” I wanted to start today over again for screwing up a possible deal for my sister. Then I realized Stella had tried—the reason why she had sounded nervous.
She turned back to the computer screen and clicked away on the keyboard. “I’d thought you knew. I figured your sister would have told you.”
“Nope.” I stared up at the high ceiling, wishing for the hundredth time I could start over today. “Do you have any suggestions on how I could fix this?”
Stella twisted off the cap from her water bottle and took a sip. “Pray?” Then she snorted. “But seriously, I think it’ll be fine. I’m just glad you’ll be the one telling Abby you finger-painted on Mr. Medici and not me.”
I blew out a long breath. “Do I have to tell her?”
She shrugged. “Your sister, not mine. Good luck.”
Time to be a grown-up and clean up the mess I made. But first, I went back to my painting and tried to finish up my amateur work. I thought I might name it Mr. Medici’s Shirt.
Chapter Nine — Confession
Once the gallery closed, I picked up Tyler and went home. Since not a sound came from Abby behind her closed door, I told Tyler to play in his room while I took a long hot shower. I needed to wash paint out of my hair.
Distracted by today’s events, I decided to call for delivery. Pizza for Tyler and me, but leftover chicken soup for Abby.
When I peeped in Abby’s room, she was lying on her bed awake. So I told her how I got paint on Leonardo’s shirt.
She slapped her forehead and closed her eyes. “You did what?” My sister’s voice came out barely a whisper, but I heard the frustration.
“I’m so sorry. It was an accident. I feel horrible.” I plopped on the edge of the mattress and shoved my face into my hands.
My sister scrubbed a hand down her cheek and sighed. “What did he say to you before he left?”
I raised my chin and pushed back my shoulders, imitating his deep voice. “I think you did enough.” My playfulness all gone, my pitch rose with concern. “Oh, Abby, did I ruin your deal? I feel horrible. I’m supposed to be helping, not making a mess.”
She fluffed the pillows supporting her back and frowned. “I honestly don’t know. He might never come around again.”
“Just because I accidentally painted on him? Are you serious?” I clenched my jaw and glanced at the photo of Steve on the bedside table. “Can’t you tell him I’m your idiot sister who took over for a day because you were sick? Besides, it was his fault. He came into the room unannounced. He shouldn’t have been in there.”
“You know how snobby rich businessmen are.”
“Yes. I do. That’s exactly why I don’t associate with”—I curved my index and middle fingers in air quotes—“‘snobby, rich businessmen.’ They’re so full of themselves. So what? He can afford another shirt. He probably has hundreds.”
I didn’t mean that all rich men were snobby, but Jayden’s friends were, and none of them were even close to billionaire status. I had dated a hedge fund manager before Jayden and dumped him for that very reason. They weren’t pleasant to be around. All they talked about was themselves and how they flaunted their money.
Abby smacked her comforter. “I can’t do this anymore.” She began to laugh hysterically, her voice fading to a squeak.
“Do what?”