Flirting With Forever by Gwyn Cready (new books to read TXT) 📕

… Jesus, it’s like walking into a room and finding yourself face-to-face with the Taj Mahal or the top of the Chrysler Building.”

“Or the Jumbotron from Madonna’s Truth or Dare Tour.”

“Cam, it’s a hel uva tribute. I don’t think the Taj Mahal is too far from the mark. Wil I get to meet him?”

“Ah, yes, actual y,” she said, feeling her heart skip. “He’s

“Ah, yes, actual y,” she said, feeling her heart skip. “He’s here tonight.”

“Interesting.” Packard nodded. “Then you’l be … al right?” His country club green eyes had softened to a grassy gray. He meant without her job.

“Yeah,” she said quickly. “You know me. Sure.

Absolutely.”

“That’s good. And you’ve got the book to work on, right?”

“Uh, no, actual y.”

“What? You’ve canceled another one?”

“Yeah, um, the Lely thing didn’t pan out.”

“Are you kidding? What about the muse? The woman he raised from the streets? C’mon, Cam. Sex, drugs and the King of England?”

“Um, you know me. I like to work with as clean a slate as possible. Turns out there’s more known about the woman than I realized. Facts, it seems, only complicate my stories.”

“Wel , the next one, then?” He gave her an encouraging look.

“You bet.”

Cam stood, too, dreading the thought of Bal ’s face when she told him the news, and handed the page back to Packard. Then it struck her.

“Wait a second. I total y forgot to ask. Where did you get this?”

“It arrived this morning in the mail.” Packard pointed to an opened envelope on his desk. “No attached note. No return address. Strangest thing. It was almost as if Van Dyck mailed it in himself.”

Mailed it himself? Only one person could make it look like that.

“Cam? What is it?”

She ran for the door. “I need air.”

51

With the gala’s string quartet warming up as background music, Anastasia found herself nearly skipping down the administrative office hal way, though four-inch heels and her chain-mail tunic made the going a little tricky, even by her standards. By Monday she’d be director and Cam could go to London or not, it real y didn’t matter anymore. She checked her cel . Fifteen minutes before the first guests arrived. She’d just duck into her office to snag her mink poncho and then—

“Wel , howdy, stranger,” she said, covering her surprise in the most high-voltage smile she possessed.

Peter Lely sat at her desk, looking straight at her. He wore a charcoal suit in a subtle pattern that spoke of old money and swirled a generous Scotch, which meant he’d helped himself to the bare-bones bar on her coffee table.

That was okay. She liked men who helped themselves. In fact, she wondered if this unexpected visit meant he intended to avail himself of some of the office’s other charms, like a couch and locking door. She assessed the couch with a quick sideways glance and saw the poncho, which in itself offered some interesting possibilities. She let the door glide close with a quiet click, and he stood, though his movement felt more like a first move than a courtesy.

“Mind if I join you?” She tilted her head toward the decanter on the table.

“Suit yourself.”

His eyes were so smoky she wondered if they might actual y ignite. She made her way to the table and angled herself toward him over the bottle, offering the inquiring eye, should he possess one, a fine view of everything from her neck to her navel. Even with her eyes downcast, she could feel the presence with which he fil ed the room.

A notebook dropped into view.

She froze. It was his sketchbook, the one he’d had at Aldo’s that day. She picked up her glass, settled onto the couch and met his gaze.

“I guess you’re wondering about the letter.”

He didn’t reply, just stared.

She recognized the look in his eye now. It was a look she’d gotten a number of times over the years, mostly from women, rarely from men, and it left her feeling dirty and calculating.

“It’s too late,” she said. “Packard’s read it.”

“It’s a lie.”

“It hardly matters now.”

“Why would you do it?”

“Isn’t the more important question—and the one Cam wil eventual y ask: What were you doing with the letter?”

He slammed the glass into her wire wastebasket, where it exploded into a hundred glittering shards. “I expect your position is just as dependent as Cam’s on the ability to distinguish the authentic from the false. Know this: there wil never be a major acquisition in your tenure that wil escape