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Adrian let out a snort, not caring what anyone around them might think. “God, no. He can’t have a clue you’re in San Francisco.” Then she shrugged. “But just in case, be on the lookout and keep on the down low.”
Wasn’t this the perfect moment for Hugo to show up? When she’d finally taken another man into her bed.
Hugo had always had impeccable timing.
Saskia refused a latte and rushed out of the restaurant while Adrian stayed to sip her espresso.
Adrian badly wanted Saskia to find someone who would heal her heart after what that ass Hugo had done to her. Damn the man for showing up now. Maybe she shouldn’t have told Saskia. But better hearing it from a friend than having a chance meeting on the street.
Saskia badly needed a new man. Five years had been far too long. She had such a giving heart, but she’d buried it deep. There was another problem besides Hugo, and that was Clay Harrington. Adrian feared he wasn’t the right man to heal Saskia’s heart. If only he wasn’t in the art world. If only he wouldn’t care that Saskia was actually San Holo.
But Saskia had been with him three nights in a row.
While part of Adrian had to admit she was a little jealous, she also felt that Saskia was getting in too deep too fast.
Then again, who was she to talk?
Maybe she needed someone to heal her heart. Except that Adrian’s heart had never been broken. Between going to uni, getting her law degree, moving to the States, and setting up her agency, she’d never given herself the chance to have her heart broken. She’d been too busy for anything long term and always kept everything short term. So far, that suited her fine.
But listening to Saskia gush about Clay, seeing that glow on her friend’s face, Adrian was beginning to think that maybe it was time to find a long-term someone.
She just had to figure out how to meet that perfect man.
Chapter Thirteen
Over the weekend, Clay had taken her out to dinner, and Saskia couldn’t help keeping an eye out for Hugo. The exclusive, expensive restaurant was just the kind of place where he’d want to be seen by all the right people. He would throw himself at everyone who was anyone, in case he could somehow use them later.
Those two or three nights she’d planned to sleep with Clay had turned into five. By Monday morning, Saskia knew in her petrified little heart that she couldn’t stop.
He’d said he wanted a mural relating to art, in whatever way San Holo wished to portray it. How could she resist? But despite telling Adrian she’d take the commission, she had yet to tell Clay about San’s decision.
She claimed she was still scoping everything out for San, taking pictures so she could tell him what the space was like. With a new client, she usually made up her mind right away. She could tell whether she’d be able to work with the person. And she’d never once considered telling them who she was.
After five nights with Clay, the fact that she wasn’t being truthful weighed heavily on her. This thing with Clay was so different from any other client she’d ever had. But then, she’d never wanted to sleep with any of them.
On Sunday, Adrian texted her a few times.
Have you told him yet?
Are you stalling?
Have you changed your mind?
Adrian didn’t call her, but the texts were pressure enough.
After another night with him blowing her mind, then this morning’s elaborate breakfast of bacon, eggs, fried potatoes, and fried tomatoes that reminded her of a full English back home, she didn’t know how she could say no. She didn’t want to say no.
But she wasn’t sure how she could say yes, with all her lies choking her.
When the door of Clay’s apartment opened and an unfamiliar man walked into the loft, Saskia jumped like a frightened rabbit and almost knocked over her juice glass on the breakfast bar.
“Sorry,” Clay said. “I should have warned you. I saw him coming on the monitor and opened the door for him.” It had been automatic to push the button on the end of the bar to unlock the door. “Saskia Oliver, this is Gareth Tate.” He clapped his best friend on the back.
Her shock clearly fading, Saskia bounded from the barstool and stuck out her hand. Before Clay could say that Gareth was just dropping off some contracts for him to sign, she jumped in. “You must be one of Clay’s artists. What’s your medium?”
Clay tensed. He’d told her only part of the story the other night—that his friend’s parents hadn’t appreciated his art. She obviously didn’t realize Gareth was that friend. Or that his art was a closed subject. Back in university, Gareth had been a prolific painter. Clay had even helped him mount a show for his work. It hadn’t gone well. No, that was too mild. Gareth’s work had been trashed. The lighthearted, artistic Gareth had disappeared after that, turning into this buttoned-up, executive-style man before them. Even his rich, coffee-colored eyes had become a simple brown.
But Saskia was already going through a litany of artistic endeavors. “Sculptor, metal artist, potter, painter?”