The Boss Vol. 3: a Hot Billionaire Romance (4 page)

G
etting
a three-foot glass and copper sculpture into my little car required a lot of bubble wrap, blankets, and muscle.

The ride out to my grandmother’s house, time to change and clean up—holy hurricane hair—as well as loading my precious cargo for movement took a lot more time than I’d thought. By the time I got back to the gallery, I had twenty-five minutes to get her set up.

Phil was fluttering again. Her mouth was flapping as much as her arms now. While I’d been gone, she’d rearranged one of the rooms completely.

I rolled my eyes and hoped Linda would remember to update the gallery program. Doing the commissions would be a bitch otherwise.

I grabbed a hand truck and went back to my car, snagging one of the half dozen interns on my way out the door. The two of us got it out of my car without mishap and into the Cove Room.

Phil rushed in as we were tearing off the bubble wrap. She pushed the intern away. “Go help Linda.”

“Yes, Mrs. Stanwick.” The girl gave me a finger-wave and bolted.

“Thanks,” I called after her.

“No problem,” she said over her shoulder.

“Oh, Grace. When you said different, you weren’t kidding. This is gorgeous.”

“Yeah?” I wrapped one arm around my middle again, the other resting on my forearm so I could nibble on my thumb. We were well beyond butterflies in my belly at this point. I was pretty sure I was going to fly apart.

Phil slapped my hand away from my mouth. “Stop that. Yes. It’s stupendous.” She glanced down at my bright indigo dress. “You look better in color.”

“You like us in black.”

“Well, now you’re an artist, so I’m glad you went with color.”

I clasped my hands together or I was going to gnaw what was left of my thumbnail off. “I’m still working the show.”

“Of course you are,” she said absently. She walked around the column of marble. “You did this alone?”

I bristled. “I’d have given credit otherwise.”

“Relax.” She held a hand up. “It’s just really different from your usual work.”

I stared at the angel with her outspread wings. Instead of being in a pious stance as most were, she was suspended from a spire of copper with thin wires, and in a falling position. Her body was a mosaic of different glass from smoky to clear, but her wings were panels of the same smoke-tinged gold. Such unusual glass.

I’d had it forever, but never had the right project to use it.

Until now.

Each of the panels was framed in copper. It gave the piece a fragile nature, even though it was one of the most intricate and sturdy pieces I’d ever done.

And it was my hail Mary play at this point. I was out of materials, out of money, out of options. This was my only chance to start over.

Phil stood next to me. “We’re going to end up with a bidding war.”

“You think?”

“I know.” She patted my arm. “It’s a good thing you got fired. You’re going to be busy.”

“Mrs. Stanwick?”

She turned to the tall, austere student in the doorway. “Yes, Stephen?”

“It’s seven o’clock.”

“Right.” Philomena hooked her arm through mine. “You ready?”

“No.”

She bumped my shoulder. “Spoken like a true artist. Let’s get this party started.”

The next three hours were a whirlwind of patrons and locals who came for the gossip. Many knew me by name, so I was constantly being pulled in nineteen directions. Sales, schmoozing, glad-handing, and the all-important bits of gossip made the night fly by.

Each time I heard my piece mentioned I had to talk my stomach into behaving.

Can’t throw up at the gallery
.
That’s not good form at all
.

I had a hard time going into the Cove Room though. I didn’t want to hear reactions to my piece at all. Good or bad, I just wasn’t sure I could handle it tonight.

I finally escaped to the small break room and collapsed into a chair. I’d been talking for three hours straight and the herd didn’t seem to be thinning at all. It was Black Friday so there were a lot more families in town than normal. Marblehead was mostly a seasonal place when it came to tourists.

I hauled myself up to go to the fridge for a bottle of water. Inside was a white bag. I frowned and peeked inside.

“I think that’s yours.”

I spun around. “What?”

Linda nodded toward the fridge. “If you’re looking at the white bag. That tall, really good looking man in the dark suit brought it in for you.”

“Oh.” I wasn’t sure what to think about that. I vaguely remembered him holding a bag when I’d seen him earlier. But then we’d…well, we’d been too worried about getting naked to talk about how and why he’d been there. He’d actually brought me food—thinking it was my house he was going to.

The butterflies were finally silenced, but now my chest felt tight. I brought the bag to the table. I pulled out two tins with white tops.

Linda sat down across from me. “What’d you get? Chinese?”

I tucked a fingernail under the pinched tin sides and peeled back the white top. My stomach roared at the scent of dressing and turkey. I opened the other tin and it was full of cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes and a large container of gravy.

Thanksgiving dinner.

“I couldn’t even look at turkey.” Linda sat back and sipped her water. “I swear I ate my weight in it yesterday.”

I plucked a piece of breast meat out and nibbled. My mouth watered so much that I crossed the room for our stash of plates and cutlery. Five minutes later, it was warmed in the microwave and I was plowing my way through it.

He’d brought me Thanksgiving dinner.

I wasn’t quite sure what to think about that. In fact, confusion was tipping the scales in all ways tonight.

Linda stood with a sigh. “I wish a guy brought me dinner.”

“No luck with Jax?”

She snorted. “Yeah, that man is for a lost weekend, not bagged lunch. Though your guy brought ultra fancy bagged lunch.”

I poked at the stuffing, my initial hunger receding finally. “Yeah.” Wait—not my guy. I looked up, but Linda was already heading out with a wave. I hurried to do the same. I went to scrape the rest in the garbage, but changed my mind.

I couldn’t really waste food right now. And this was more than enough for an entire second meal. I tucked everything back into the tins, and then stashed them in the fridge. I cleaned up in the little bathroom, and popped a breath mint from the roll I kept in my pocket.

I took a deep breath before jumping back into the fray. I recognized two of the more gossipy blue bloods on the cove.

Abort
.
Go around
.

All of the bells and whistles were sounding off, but it was too late when Catherine Bishop smiled at me.

“Grace, dear.”

“Hi, Mrs. Bishop.”

“It’s so nice to see you in the gallery again. We all miss Annabelle so much.”

I forced a smile. “Yes, we do.”

“I just wanted to congratulate you on the sale of your angel. I was bidding on it before I even knew it was yours.”

“Bidding?” I asked.

“Yes. The price was too much for my blood by the end of it.”

“Oh, Cat, you ruin all my fun.”

I turned to Phil’s voice. “Fun?” I realized I sounded a little thick, but what the hell had happened since I escaped for my impromptu turkey dinner?

“Yes. You’ll be so very pleased with the sales figures.”

I blinked. “Truly?”

“Oh, yes. You did quite well. I’m going to require at least another six pieces, Grace. People love this new style of yours.”

I squeezed her hand. “Thanks, Phil.”

“It was a pretty penny. I know you’ve fallen on hard times.” Mrs. Bishop’s smile was serene, but I saw the glee lighting her eyes.

And it was one of the reasons I’d been hiding away from everyone. Everyone knew everyone’s business in Lady’s Cove. It was a small curve of beach with many old and established houses along the shoreline. The Bishop and Gregory houses represented the oldest families as well as the oldest money.

Once upon a time that had been me as well. I lifted my chin. “Feels good to earn my own money.”

Phil pinched me on the underside of my arm.

Instead of insult, I caught a glimpse of respect in the older woman’s eyes. “Everyone should be able to do what they love. I’ll be looking for more of your work, Grace.”

Surprised, I could do no more than nod. Phil steered me over to the desk. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but tread carefully, dear.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I wasn’t really prepared for her to bring up my grandmother.” People had been doing it all evening, but it had been more condolences than a direct swipe at my situation.

“Cat just likes to stir up trouble.” Phil slid a piece of paper over to me. “I told you there would be a bidding war.” She smiled before she sailed off to another old friend across the gallery.

I flipped open the folded piece of stationery.

That couldn’t be right.

There were far too many zeroes.

It was just one piece.

My heart raced and I barely heard the patron who came up and asked me questions. I stuffed the slip of paper in my pocket as I answered on autopilot. I explained the blind system we had for auctions at the gallery.

Most of the artwork was bought at face value, but a few pieces ended up with some haggling. I didn’t even know what to put on my piece for a base figure. I usually left it up to Phil.

When the patron wandered off to one of Singer’s pieces, I floated my way into the Cove Room. A discreet red dot was on the front of the pedestal next to the name, “Fallen Angel.” I drew my thumb across the embossed lettering.

Someone had actually wanted my work badly enough to put it into an auction situation. It was unfathomable. I’d always done okay with my work, but nothing like the number I clutched in my hand.

The rest of the night was a blur. When we were finally down to a handful of guests, most waiting for Philomena, I was able to finally sit down with the ledger. Lady’s Cove Gallery had sold most of the pieces. A few minds had been changed by the end of the night, and maybe stickers had become no’s.

I tucked the personal checks from reputable patrons of the gallery, as well as a pile of certified checks, into our bank bag. It had been a good haul for Phil, and I had made a few commissions of my own. She may have started the gallery as a lark, but she was turning a very good profit these days.

I finally came to my name on the ledger and paused. If the patron didn’t want the artist to know who they were, we made anonymous sales part of the agreement. Phil hadn’t told me the name of my buyer earlier, but there wasn’t a mark on the sales receipt to keep it a secret.

Normally, I was the one who didn’t want to know. Once it was out of my hands, I just wanted the person to enjoy it, but I had to know. I opened the computer to see who’d made the first request.

Catherine Bishop had been one of two people who had inquired about it. The other name, I didn’t know. Then a third name had been added to the history of “Fallen Angel”.

My fingers shook over the tab key.

No
.

The bids had been neck and neck for a good hour before the one name outbid by nearly ten thousand dollars.

It couldn’t be. I opened the bank bag and fanned out the checks. Sure enough, there was a personal check with a familiar block print, followed by a scrawling signature.

Blake Carson.

“I’m going to kill him.”

“
G
race
?”

I actually knew what blind fury felt like. This was the second time that it had taken me out like a wave during high tide. The familiar red haze over my vision—it was a real thing. I literally saw a bull’s-eye on Blake Carson’s chest in my mind.

I punched out of the gallery door and down the pathway to the parking lot.

“Grace!”

“I’m sorry, Phil. I have to go kill someone.”

She rushed down the lane after me. “Please don’t do anything stupid.”

I whirled around to face her. “
He
was the one who bought it? Seriously?”

Philomena smoothed her dark hair over her shoulder. “Blake was quite taken with it.”

“Oh, he was taken with it, all right.” I paced down two parking spots and then back. “He just wants to control everything. Well, he isn’t going to have this part of me. You’re not going to cash that check.”

“Now, Grace.”

“I don’t care if I have to work for the rest of this year and next to earn back that sale, you will
not
cash that check.”

“I’m not going to let you do that.”

“What?” I whipped my head around. My smooth chignon slipped, and a thick lock of my hair slid down. There’d been no saving my hair after this afternoon with Blake. I pushed it back with a huff. “You can’t.”

“I can. This is my gallery.”

My eyes flooded. “Phil.”

“Don’t give me that look. You are not going to sabotage a very lucrative art deal, not to mention the buzz that your name got tonight, because of who bought the sculpture.”

“But him?”

“Grace Cordelia Copeland, you were naked with that man less than five hours ago!”

I fisted my hands. “You don’t understand.”

“No, I don’t, but you’re in no shape to be making decisions. Do you realize you just got your first six-figure deal on a piece of art?”

“Because of Blake Carson,” I shouted.

“No, he may have been the final bid, but he wasn’t the only one who wanted that statue.”

“Then contact Thomas Barrington, or whatever his name is. Let him pay the last bid before Blake.”

“You know that’s not how these things work, Grace.”

I wanted to stomp my foot and scream. I wanted to smash my beloved angel over Blake’s damn head. What the hell was he thinking?

“If you won’t take back the offer, I’m going to go talk to him and make him rescind it.”

“Grace, what is wrong with you?”

“I can’t—” I sucked back a sob. So many people knew I’d lost the house, and about my grandmother’s will and the lack of funds. I couldn’t spell it out here.

I couldn’t see that pity on her face. Not now. Not tonight.

Everyone knew that Blake had purchased my grandmother’s house. Why couldn’t she connect the dots?

“He can’t have this too.”

Phil’s brow furrowed. Did she honestly not get it? Angry puffs of breath were the only thing between us. Finally, her hands fell to her sides. I walked backward, swiping at the angry tears that had fallen, then ran to my car.

I peeled out onto the access road and headed for Boston. It didn’t matter that it was the middle of the night. He wouldn’t be home. He’d be in his glass palace.

With each barrier to getting to him, I got angrier. Cars, pedestrians, people laughing and spilling out of restaurants to tie up roads crammed with taxis—all of it was maddening. It was a holiday weekend. The tourism to Boston was triple that of the small town of Marblehead.

My fingers ached from gripping the wheel. My voice was hoarse from screaming inside my little car. I didn’t want to see happy faces celebrating the impending Christmas season.

More reminders of how alone I was.

The first bright moment in my life and Blake had tainted it. Was nothing mine? Did he have to own it all?

Parking was an absolute joke. Finally, I slid into a spot at a nearby drugstore and sprinted across the street.
Carson Covenant Inc.
vaulted into the sky. The glass vestibule gleamed with Christmas colors along the seams of the panels.

Christmas here too.

Not for the joy of it. No, it was because it was expected. Blake always did what was expected when it came to business.

Except when he fucked you brainless in that glass box.

My fingers curled into fists again as I swung the door open. When I got inside the vestibule, the lobby door was locked. I slapped the door.
No
. No, I couldn’t come all the way down here and not get inside.

I juggled my phone out of my purse. Of course the signal was gone, but the time on the face of my phone read 11:27.

Not locked down yet.

I slapped on the door.

“Can I help you, Ms. Copeland?”

Relief flooded my overheated system. “Violet. Let me in.”

“You are no longer an employee of—”

“Dammit, Vi! I need to see him.” I twirled around in the vestibule. Surely there had to be a…

Oh fuck.

A camera had to be in the vestibule.

Flashes of our hours in here created a light show behind my eyelids. No amount of festive lights could push that memory out of my mind.

Vi’s chilly reception to me the last few times we’d interacted now made a lot more sense.

I didn’t have time to be embarrassed. Not now. Later, when I was ripping into Blake, but right now, I needed to get past his warden.

“You can see me.”

The speaker crackled for a moment before she finally spoke. “Yes.”

The simple words damned me and sliced away some of my bravado. “I need to see him, Violet. Please.”

I didn’t know where to look, how to convey just how much I needed her to understand that this wasn’t me being a crazy woman and ex-employee. It was so much more than that.

I ripped the clip out of my hair that kept what was left of my chignon up. “It’s personal. Not about being fired.”

“I’d say that’s very personal.”

“I don’t care about the job, goddammit.” Well, that was a lie. As soon as I said it, I knew it. For the first time, I knew it completely. As much as I loved my art, needed my glass and metals, I’d loved working there.

I loved being part of something.

Again, tied to Blake.

Why did it have to be him?

I let my head drop back. How much was I supposed to take before I broke into a thousand pieces?

The door buzzed.

My head snapped forward. “Thank you!” I swung open the door and slowly walked into the lobby.

Violet stood behind the desk. For once, she didn’t have on her crisp black jacket. She was wearing a blood-red shirt tucked into black slacks. A belt with a slim flashlight and discreet taser hung at her hip. Her hair was down. It was actually a lot longer than I thought.

She was always so buttoned up and reserved.

So much like Blake in certain respects.

“Don’t make me regret this, Blondie.”

“I won’t hurt him.” I tightened my fists so much that an audible pop echoed in the huge room. “Much.”

Vi’s lip twitched. “I’m fairly sure he can take you if he really wanted to.” She held up her hands. “Okay, death stare at twenty paces.” She tucked her thumb into her belt. “Look, my only job is to protect his business. He’s on his own with personal matters. But…”

I curled my fingers around the strap of my purse.

“Just don’t make me clean up blood, all right?”

“No deal.”

Vi laughed. “I want to dislike you. Like a lot. What you two pulled still gives me migraines. Honestly, to the point that I’ve actually had to buy Advil Migraine by the case.”

I wasn’t sure what to say to that one. There was so much anger spinning around my head, and now this was yet another person trying to talk me down. All of them to protect
him
. Seriously?

“But I like you. Jack likes you, and misses you desperately. Could you two please get your shit together?”

My clenched jaw must have been enough of an answer.

She sighed and tapped something on the desk. “The elevator is coded for the executive floor. I’m not announcing your arrival. Don’t make me tase you.”

I wanted to scream at her that I wasn’t here to get my job back, or to make nicey-nice regarding whatever fucked up thing was going on between me and Blake, but then I wouldn’t get upstairs.

And I really needed to get upstairs.

I stalked to the elevator and turned to meet Vi’s half smirk across the lobby.

I slapped the button to close the door and shot up to the executive level. What the hell was wrong with people? Did they think there was wine and red roses waiting for me upstairs? Not with this man.

Vi would be lucky if there were no broken bones.

There was no marveling at all the glorious glass today. I stared at the shiny doors and watched the numbers light up for each floor. When I got to the top, I shot out of the elevator and across the gray carpeting.

I didn’t pause. He could see me coming anyway.

I swung open his office door, but it was empty.

What the hell?

I dumped my purse into a chair, then swung around and surveyed the entire floor. There wasn’t a single corner that Blake couldn’t see from his desk.

“Grace?”

I turned. He stood inside the slim doorway at the back corner of his office. I remembered him coming out of that same space the first day I’d met him. His jacket and tie were off, and his sleeves rolled back.

His hair was rumpled and falling forward like he’d pushed his hands through it a million times. There was a tentative smile on his stupidly boyish face.

“How could you?”

His eyebrows shot up.

I pushed aside the chairs in front of his desk and crossed to him, pushing him back to the glass wall. The bay opened up behind him and it seemed like there as nothing but blackness around us.

I curled my fingers into his shirt. “You bought my statue!”

He blinked. “Oh.”

I let his shirt go. “Oh? You drive me insane for days, for weeks! Then you fire me. Then you come in with some crazy Thanksgiving dinner for me.” I stabbed his chest with my finger to punctuate each sentence. I whirled around and paced away from him.

Those weren’t the things I wanted to spew at him, but there were so many secrets wrapped into my anger that I couldn’t find a way to channel my damn words.

“You came all the way into Boston to scream at me about dinner?” he asked.

“No, you moron! Because you bought my statue.” I turned back to him, his entire office between us now. It was probably a good thing, since I felt ragey enough to throw a chair at him. Or find a way to throw
him
out the damn window.

“It’s an amazing piece of glass. I wanted it.” His face and tone was so matter of fact that the red haze around my vision returned.

“It’s mine!” I roared.

He stepped away from the wall and straightened his shirt. “Actually, it was for sale, and now it’s mine.”

I sputtered out a breath and something resembling a growl until finally I found my words. “And you don’t see the problem here?”

“No.”

“You fired me not even a week ago.”

“One has nothing to do with the other.” He advanced toward me. “And I came with a peace offering today. But it turns out I didn’t even need it. You wanted to see me just as much as I wanted to see you.”

“No.”

“Come now, Ms. Copeland—”

“Oh, no.” I sliced the air with my hand. “No, you are not going to start that crap. I’m not your employee anymore.”

One dark brow rose. “Because you lied to me.” He calmly moved the chairs back into their correct spots in front of his desk. “I haven’t quite figured out why, or what your endgame is, but that’s not what we’re discussing.”

“It should be,” I sputtered.

Our gazes locked. “Do you really want to go there?”

I gnashed my teeth together, but said nothing.

He skirted around the chair I’d spent so many hours in, his steps measured and slow. “This isn’t about your art piece.”

“It is.”

“No, it’s not.”

I lifted my chin. “I’m not a whore.”

He went stone still. “What?”

“After what we did today.”

“We had sex. It wasn’t the first time, and it damn well won’t be the last.”

Exasperation clogged my throat. “You can’t come to the gallery and with that flimsy excuse—”

“We had a Thanksgiving celebration at work today and it felt wrong that you weren’t here. I…” His cool demeanor faltered.

The muscle in his jaw jumped.

I couldn’t tell if he was actually getting angry, or simply didn’t like what I was saying. I didn’t really freaking care. “Let’s review. You literally fired me five minutes after you were inside me.” My breath hitched. The rooftop, that entire night had been amazing. Seeing him in a different light—where he cared about a stranger’s child enough to want to help. He made me feel too much.

“That was less than a week ago. Then you come to the gallery and we…” Guilt and anger wrapped around every emotion I had for this man.

“We wanted each other,” he finished for me. “You can’t deny that.”

“Of course I can’t. I have the shredded pantyhose and dignity to prove it.” I shut my eyes as the pleasure and shame burned inside me. Every step I took reminded me of this afternoon. I loved how rough he was with me sometimes. I loved that he made me feel so damn alive, but I still couldn’t get past the rest.

“This was the one thing you hadn’t touched. The one thing that was still mine and you still had to own part of it.”

Confusion furrowed his brow. “Grace, I…”

“I don’t understand you. You push me away, then pull me so close that I can’t even see around us. All I do is feel. And it’s too much, Blake. You can’t make me a part of something, then keep taking it away from me.”

“You think this is easy for me? I know that almost every word out of your mouth to me is a lie and I still can’t stay away from you.” He crossed the room and gripped the upper part of my arms.

I tried to back up, but he held me tight.

He shook me. “I want you so much that it makes me insane. I’ve always wanted you.”

I shook my head. That was the second time he’d said that.
Always
was such an immeasurable word. It didn’t make sense when describing the few weeks we’d known each other.