Determined (Determined Trilogy Book 1) (12 page)

“That sounds fun. I’d love to travel more,” I said.

“Have you been many places, Sam?” he asked.

“No, not really. My dad was always working when I was little, so it was hard to get away.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll find a way,” Greg said.

I smiled and refocused the conversation back to Greg. “So where did you move from, Greg?”

“Oh, I was in Indianapolis before this, but I’ve lived all over.”

“Do I detect a southern accent, Greg?” Leslie asked.

“Yes, ma’am. I have spent time all over the south.” He grinned, letting the accent take over. It was charming and reminded me of David.

~

The rest of the meal was easy and relaxing, and I left after helping Clark with the dishes, knowing full well that I’d need a good night of sleep for tomorrow. Luckily, the commute home was short, because it had begun to rain. I darted through the back yard and into my studio. Full of wine, coq au vin and pear tart, I knew sleep would come fast. I checked my phone, hoping for something from David. He delivered.

What are you doing?

It was from about 15 minutes ago. I texted back.

Just got back from dinner with Clark and Leslie and the new neighbor.

We had coq au vin.

He replied immediately.

No one attractive, I trust.

I hesitated, and typed an answer.

Only my secret boyfriend.

I could picture him seething on the other end.

Don’t rile me up Ms. Sharp.

I have half a mind to come back to California right now.

And fight the guy.

I grinned.

Besides, I thought I was your secret boyfriend.

I paused. Goosebumps washed over my skin. Did David Keith just say he was my boyfriend? Be cool, Sharp. How to play this? I was about to text back when he beat me to it.

Although I don’t like the secret part.

My heart did somersaults. Who was this guy?

You can be my non-secret boyfriend.

As long as you don’t have any secret girlfriends.

Glad we have that settled.

What are you doing now?

I’m actually getting ready for bed.

I’m jealous of that bed.

Are we still on for tomorrow?

I wrote back.

Yes, I’ll meet the cock after work.

Dammit!

CAR. I will meet the CAR after work. Stupid autocorrect.

He enjoyed my malapropism.

LOL

Well, technically you are meeting the cock after work too.

Mine, not Thomas’s, just to clarify.

I smiled and typed a reply:

Yes, looking forward to that.

Good.

Good night, baby.

Sweet dreams

Good night, sir.

Have a safe trip back.

I pressed the power save button on the phone and crawled into bed. Usually, I found the nickname ‘baby’ so cheesy, but when David used it, I really, really liked it.

8

Monday morning came quickly. My alarm went off, and I flung myself out of bed, excited to greet the day. It was going to be a long one, and I had to get started. First things first, I finished packing my duffle, adding the extra baking sheet my mom had asked for. I also texted her and let her know about the additional guest. Judging from the number of smiley faces on her response, she seemed really pleased. It had been years since she’d met a boyfriend. Hell, it had been years since I’d had a boyfriend. I dressed in what I hoped was an appropriate outfit for a jet-setter: tall boots, dark jeans, large drapey knit sweater, and a big scarf.

I slung my duffle over my shoulder and headed for the sidewalk. No sooner than I hit the curb, did I hear my name.

“Miss Sharp.”

I whipped around. Thomas was there waiting at the curb, with the black SUV.

“Thomas?” I look at him bewildered.

“Mr. Keith asked me to take you to your meeting and to work today, Miss Sharp.”

Oh he did, did he? Part of me wondered if Mr. Boyfriend was spying on me from afar. But it was a gray drizzly day, and to be honest, I was happy to not have to lug my duffle in and out of the BART train station.

“Oh? Uh, well, very well. Thank you.” And handed my bag to Thomas, and I pulled myself into the open car door. Thomas took my bag around back and put it in the trunk before joining me inside the car.

Shutting the driver’s side door, he turned around to face me.

“So where is your meeting, Miss Sharp?”

“49 Geary, in San Francisco, please.” I felt a little like I was placing a pizza order. I needed to get better at this chauffeur thing.

“Very good, Miss.” He checked his mirrors and turned out into the street.

As we drove over the bridge, I decided to take advantage of my time with Thomas, again.

“Thomas, will you be coming with us to Lake Tahoe tonight?”

“Yes, Miss, we accompany Mr. Keith on all his trips, Miss. But don’t worry; we will be staying at a hotel.”

“We?”

“Security detail.”

“Oh, I see. I didn’t realize.” Taking care of a billionaire is a lot of work, it seemed.

“Thomas?”

“Yes?”

“Does Mr. Keith normally have you drive around his ... dates?” I wasn’t sure why I was asking, but wanted to keep the conversation going.

Thomas shot me a kind smile via the rearview mirror.

“No Miss. Just you.”

I smiled and look out the window.

“And for the record, there haven’t been as many... dates, as one might think.”

I blushed and glanced back at him in the mirror.

We rode the rest of the way in silence, and finally pulled up to a curb in the middle of downtown San Francisco. It was still morning, and the city had a light veil of fog. The mix of people on the street had a distinctly San Francisco air to it. Financial district men in their suits and dress shoes waited at crosswalks with tourists from out of town dressed in shorts and t-shirts. I shivered just looking at them.

Thomas held the door as I got out of the car.

“I should only be about half an hour. I have to be back at the gallery before noon to open.”

“Very good, Miss. I will be here.”

I looked up at the building and went in. 49 Geary was a vintage San Francisco building with double-hung windows, four stories high. It housed many of the city’s notable galleries.

Carmichael Gallery was on the second floor. The space was fully renovated, very modern, with white walls (of course) and polished white floors. There was a Lucite desk at the entryway and a hip blond woman dressed in all black was seated behind it. She was on the phone, but motioned at me to come in, so I took the opportunity to take a look around. It really was a beautiful space. Large pastel canvases hung throughout. I thought at first they were completely abstract, but upon closer inspection, the canvases had hundreds of small plastic toys embedded into their surfaces.

“So, what do you think?” a voice behind me asked, and I whipped back, surprised.

“Mr. Carmichael, hi. Good to see you again.” I put my hand out.

“Didn’t I tell you to call me Evan?” he countered, taking my outstretched palm. His handshake was friendly, but he held on just a bit too long for my liking. He was wearing a pinstripe suit. He looked good, like a professional art dealer, which reminded me of why I was there.

“This is a great space, Evan. And these canvases are superb. Who is the artist?”

“It’s John Vazquez. I discovered him during my last trip to L.A. Pretty fantastic, right? He says the pieces are a meditation on the beauty of memory.”

“Mmm.” I agreed, returning my gaze to the artwork “How it has a collective ability to blur everything.”

“Quite right, Samantha. Quite right.” He looked impressed. So far so good.

“Trina, Samantha, and I are going to grab coffee. Would you like anything?”

“No thanks, Evan. I’m still working on mine.” She held up a white mug.

“Very good.” He turned to me. “Shall we go across the street?”

I nodded.

We zipped downstairs and ended up in a sliver of coffeehouse across the way. We got our drinks and settled in at a little table by the window. We chatted a little as we sipped our drinks. Evan asked me where I had gone to school, and I asked him about his career in the gallery world. Turned out he started in Santa Fe, selling knick-knacks in his family’s gallery.

“Or at least that’s what they called it. It was really more like a tchotchke shop, but it got me used to the business. And then I moved out here with a friend who was going to school, and I started working with local artists.” He smiled at the memory.

“Wow. That’s pretty impressive.” I always loved hearing stories about how people made something of themselves.

“So Samantha, you are probably wondering why I’ve asked you here.”

“You said you wanted to talk about art ...” I ventured.

“Well, yes, but more than that. I am leaving for Art Basel in Miami in about a week, and I need someone with a good eye to come with me. You were the one who found Leah for the show at the Kinsler Gallery, right?”

“Well, yes ...” Was he going to ask what I thought he was going to ask?

“I’m wondering if you’d come with me. It’s only a few days, and I’d pay for your flight, and room, and everything. I think it would be great experience for you.” He put his hand on mine.

I gently moved my hands out of his grasp and picked up my drink.
Miami!?
Curtis is always encouraging me to network and get my name out there. Maybe this would be a good step. I mean, it was experience, right? I don’t even think Curtis was going to Art Basel. Evan was being really generous.

“Wow, that’s a great offer, Evan. I have to check with my boss to see if I can get the time off, and run it by my boyfriend, but if I can, yes, I’d love to go.”

How exciting! Little Samantha Sharp, flying to Art Basel in Miami! I was starting to get excited.

“Awesome. I will email you the details. Please get back to me as soon as you can. If you can’t make it, I’ll have to find some other up-and-comer to replace you.” He grinned. “Thanks for coming by today, Samantha” He offered his hand again. We got up to leave.

“Thank you for the opportunity. I’ll look for your email.”

“Great. I really hope you can go, Samantha. I think we’d make a good team.” He turned around and jay-walked back across the street to his gallery.

I collected myself and looked for my ride. I spied the black SUV a few cars down and practically skipped toward it. I could be going to Art Basel in Miami. One of the hottest events in the entire art world. Thomas let me into the car, although honestly I wasn’t sure I needed a ride, I could have floated to work that day.

I breezed through the front door of the gallery. Curtis was already there and sorting through some files.

“Hello, Sammie. Happy Monday.” He greeted me.

“Happy Monday to you, too, Curtis!” I exclaimed, maybe a little too enthusiastically.

“And what has you so happy this morning? Or should I say who? Does it start with a ‘D’ and end with an ‘avid Keith’?”

I tilted my head back and laughed. Oh, if he only knew. Luckily I had something else to blame for my ebullient mood.

“Actually, no, it’s related to work.”

“Oh yeah?” He raised his eyebrows at me and looked over the rim of his glasses.

“Do you know Evan Carmichael?”

“Of Carmichael Gallery? Yes, only a bit. We see each other at industry events. Why? Don’t tell me you are leaving to work for him.” His tone was mocking, but I could tell that he actually would be hurt if I left. It was sweet.

“Oh, no, no nothing like that.”

A smile returned to his face.

“Well what then? Spit it out, lady!”

“He asked if I wanted to go to Art Basel with him in Miami next week.” I tried to play it cool, but it was clear—I was excited.

“Oh yeah?”

I couldn’t tell what he thought, so I continued.

“And you are always telling me how I need to grow my network and meet people, so I thought you’d be happy.” I flashed him a sugar-coated smile. He sighed and put down his folders.

“Of course I’m happy for you. I think it’s a great opportunity.”

“So ... I can go? I’d be gone Wednesday through Sunday.”

“Yes, yes, you can go Sammie. You can even do some recon for the Kinsler Gallery while you’re there.” He winked at me.

“Ah, awesome, thank you Curtis!” I refrained from hugging him, and instead did a little happy dance in place.

“All right lady, but before you go, we’ve got a lot of work to get done since so many pieces sold last week. Come and help me out. You can plan your globetrotting later.”

We spent the day filling out registration and shipping forms that we’d use once the show came down mid-December. Paperwork: it’s the very un-glam side of being a gallery girl. But I didn’t care; I was so stoked about Miami. I wanted to text David, but figured he was probably in the air. The day passed quickly, thank God, and we paused around 2:30 for some pizza.

“So what are you doing for Thanksgiving?” I asked Curtis as I reached for a second slice.

“My sister and her family are coming in for the long weekend, and we’re all going to cook at Casa Kinsler. What about you?”

“A few days at the cabin. David and I are headed up tonight, and we’re going to meet everyone there.” I kept my eyes trained on my pizza, but I could feel his reaction. I blushed from tip to tail.

“Oh REALLY?” he bellowed, “Meeting the parents already, hmm?”

“Hush,” I tried to placate him, “It was actually David’s idea.”

Curtis started at me, smirking.

“Big step.” Dammit, I loved Curtis, but he could drive me nuts sometimes. “Well, have fun, kiddo. Enjoy it. He’s a hottie.”

I finally looked up and smiled.

I knew it. My hottie.

9

It was finally after five, and I was in the car with Thomas on the way to the airport. I felt like the traffic couldn’t move quickly enough. I was so excited to see David. It had been over twenty-four hours, and my body was aching for him.