Chapter 7
Chapter 7
This glorified storage room masquerading as an excuse for an office is really starting to get on my nerves. I can barely move around without tripping over some box full of paints or a pile of canvasses. Too bad Nora and I can’t just share an office. I grin at the thought. That would be fun, wouldn’t it? I could tease her all day and watch her face grow red when I’d say something especially flirty.
I think back to our night at the bar and how hot and bothered she’d seemed. Just thinking about it forces a smile across my face. She’d given me the cold shoulder the rest of the week, regardless of my attempts to engage her in conversation. She’d simply flit away after a one-word answer or avoid me entirely.
I’d spent the weekend trying to get her out of my head, trying not to think about the sway of her hips as she walks or the curve of her breasts in those tight blouses she wears. Fuck, I’m a goner. I’m infatuated. I’m obsessed. I can’t stop thinking about her. And from experience, I know there’s only one way to get her out of my mind—to get her underneath me.
A buzz from my phone catches my attention. Looking down, I see a text from Callum.
Callum: Unsurprisingly, I see you never RSVP’d for the wedding.
I snort. Shit. Callum and Camille’s wedding. I knew it was this month, but I can’t quite remember when. Pulling up my calendar, I’m shocked to see it’s barely five days away—it’s this weekend. Worst brother in the world award right here. I shake my head.
Julian: Yeah, sorry. Oops. Obviously I’m coming, though. Think you could have deduced that.
Callum responds right away.
Callum: You have a plus one?
I stare down at the screen. Hadn’t really thought of that. I’d kind of hoped maybe there’d be a cute bridesmaid of Camille’s to hook up with. But then another thought occurs to me.
Julian: Maybe I’ll bring the program manager.
A few minutes go by, and Callum doesn’t respond. He probably thinks I’m kidding. Which, honestly, I kind of was, but on second thought … would she go for it? Weddings are a romantic affair, the perfect setting for a hookup. I might just get lucky. I text Callum again.
Julian: You didn’t warn me about how hot she is. All I can think about is getting in her pants.
That gets a response.
Callum: Jesus Christ, Julian.
I chuckle, setting my phone down and getting back to work. A half hour ticks by. I’m still slogging my way through last year’s expense reports on the foundation. It seems like we shelled out quite a bit of money early on, but the costs have leveled out as time goes on. Hopefully that’s a pattern that continues into this year as well.
I take another break to rest my eyes from the computer glare and glance around my office again. I shake my head. If I’m going to be here for a little while—which, guessing by the amount of time it’s taking me to go through all these files, might be some time—I need a more appealing office space. Call me entitled, but I enjoy an aesthetically pleasing environment.
I stand from my desk, saunter across my office, across the hall, and open Nora’s office door.
She looks up, surprised. She raises her eyebrows.
“Nora,” I say with a smile.
“Mr. Mercer,” she says slowly.
“God. Don’t call me that,” I say with a wave of my hand.
This gets a small smile from her. It sends a spark of excitement through me. “What do you want, Julian?” she says.
I grin wider. “I want to know where I can dump all that crap in my office. I need to clear it out, it’s bugging me.”
“Crap?” she repeats. “You mean the various supplies we need in order to run this foundation?”
“Yes, that.” I cross my arms and lean against the doorframe.
With a sigh, she stands from her desk. I quickly scan her body when she’s not looking, my gaze lingering on her hips. When she straightens and walks toward me, I flit my gaze back to her face, smiling confidently.
She brushes past me and into my office. I follow her. She stands for a few seconds, glancing around. Finally, she says, “I can see how it’s a bit distracting.”
“Thank you,” I say, holding my hands out. “It’s overwhelming, all this stuff. Where can I move it?”
She shoots me a sidelong glance. “There’s a classroom that’s rarely used down at the end of the hall. We can store most of this in a corner or something.”
She steps forward, reaching down to grab a few canvasses leaning against the wall. As she twirls with them, on her way to the door, I catch a flash of color and recognize them from the other day.
“Wait,” I say, stopping her. “I actually like those. Can I put those up in here? There’s nothing on the walls.”
She pauses, her mouth partway open as if a rebuttal is on its way.
“Besides, shouldn’t you be displaying the students’ work? Those are beautiful pieces.”
“Um, well …” she stutters, and I can see a familiar blush creeping up her cheeks. Like the blush from the bar last week.
I shoot her a puzzled look.
She sighs, a small, embarrassed smile playing across her lips. “They’re mine, actually.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Yours?” I repeat. “As in, you painted those?”
She nods.
“They’re incredible.” I reach for the one closest to me, pulling it from her hand. It’s a vibrant meadow filled with greens, reds, oranges, and yellows. It’s summertime in the most colorful way. It’s somehow nostalgic and new all at once. “I didn’t know you painted.”
She shrugs.
“You’re … very talented.”
I glance up at her, and that blush has only deepened. If I was trying to flatter her, I’d be pleased with myself, but I’m honestly too shocked to even be thinking of that. These paintings are beautiful. And she made them. What the hell is she doing here? Organizing little workshops when she should be teaching them—or selling this stuff.
“Thank you,” she says with a self-deprecating laugh. She brushes a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, looking anywhere but at me.
“So, are you okay if I put them up in here?” I ask her genuinely. “I mean, if you want them for something else, by all means, take them. But they should be displayed somewhere, not just sitting in a pile.”
She stares at me for a few heartbeats before finally nodding. “Sure.” A small smile returns to her face. “You’re right, they should be … used.” She laughs softly.
We stand in an awkward silence for a few moments, a strange electricity burning through the air. “What are you doing this weekend?” I find myself asking before I even allow myself to consider whether it’s a good idea.
She cocks her head. “I’m not sure,” she stutters.
“Do you like weddings?”