Page 7 of Doomed

“You don’t have to agree. These are displayed in a public gallery.” I continue taking photos, moving to get different angles. “And Elliot here can vouch for our ability to pay well above market rate.”

Elliot nods. “The Blackwoods are excellent patrons, Bianca. Very generous.”

“That’s not the point.” She crosses her arms, that defensive posture returning. “I have a right to know where my work is going, who’s going to see it.”

I pause. “Fair enough. Purgatory caters to people who appreciate darker themes. Your style would fit perfectly with the atmosphere we provide our clientele.”

“What kind of darker themes?”

“The kind depicted so eloquently in your paintings.” I gesture toward the canvases. “Passion, power, the beautiful brutality of human desire. You clearly have an unwavering understanding of the darker desires of humanity and all of its concepts.”

Her jaw tightens. “Understanding and endorsing are two different things.”

“Are they?” I take another photo, this one focusing on the way she’s captured desperate hands gripping flesh. “Because someone who’s never felt this kind of intensity couldn’t paint it with such authenticity.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know you’re talented. I know you’re not easily intimidated.” I slip my phone back into my pocket. “And I know Xavier’s going to want to meet you after he sees these.”

Elliot clears his throat. “Perhaps we should let Bianca consider the opportunity?—”

“There’s nothing to consider yet,” I interrupt. “Xavier sees the photos first. If he’s interested, we’ll discuss terms. If not, she never hears from us again.”

Bianca studies my face. “And if he is interested?”

“Then we talk business. Simple as that.” I flash her my most disarming smile. “No pressure, no strings attached.”

She doesn’t look convinced but nods slowly. “Fine. But suppose your brother decides he’s interested. In that case, I want to know exactly what kind of establishment Purgatory is before I agree to anything.”

“Absolutely.” I pull out a business card—expensive black stock with silver lettering—and set it on the easel next to her palette. “My number. Xavier will probably want to meet you in person if he likes what he sees.”

Her fingers brush mine as she picks up the card, and I catch the intake of breath she tries to hide. Interesting. All that ice, but I detect heat simmering underneath.

“Mr. Blackwood,” she says, her voice carefully controlled again.

“Knox,” I correct. “We’re past formalities now, don’t you think?”

The corner of her mouth almost twitches into what might have been a smile. Almost.

“Knox, then. When should I expect to hear something?”

“Soon.” I turn toward the exit, then pause and look back over my shoulder. “And Bianca? Next time you want to put me in my place, you won’t need to use your hand.”

Her cheeks flush pink, and this time I definitely see her fighting back a smile.

“There won’t be a next time,” she says, but there’s less conviction in her voice now.

“We’ll see about that.”

I give her a wink that makes her blush deepen and head for the door, leaving her standing there with paint on her cheek and my business card in her hand. Elliot follows me out, vibrating with nervous energy.

“Knox, I apologize for her behavior. She’s new, doesn’t understand?—”

“Relax, Elliot.” I push through the glass doors onto the sidewalk. “She’s perfect.”

As I walk toward my bike, I can feel her gaze through the gallery window. When I glance back, she’s standing there, staring after me with that confused expression she had when I complimented her for slapping me.

A spark has definitely ignited here that has nothing to do with Xavier or Purgatory or business commissions.