Page 32 of Redemption (Favorite Malady Duet #2)

ABIGAIL

“ T hat’s perfect.” Stephen grins at me and scrawls a final note on his tablet. “I think the lighting here will really make your landscapes pop.”

We’ve spent the last two hours walking the gallery and reviewing the best placements for my paintings. I’m deeply gratified at the time he’s putting into making the arrangements. It’s nearly ten PM.

“I’ve kept you too long,” I say. “If that’s everything, I’ll get out of here so you can lock up.”

“It’s been a pleasure getting to know you better,” he replies, dismissing my assertion that I’ve taken up too much of his evening. “And it’s always exciting to meet an emerging talent. We’re lucky to be the first gallery to feature your work.”

My cheeks heat, and I duck my head. “That’s very kind of you to say.”

“I mean it.” He sounds sincere. “Come to the office with me for a minute. We’ll have a drink to celebrate. I have a beautiful fifteen-year-old whisky. Do you like whisky?”

“Not really,” I equivocate. I don’t know if it feels entirely appropriate to have a drink at the gallery. “I like sweeter drinks.”

His broad smile doesn’t waver, and he gives me a conspiratorial wink. “Don’t tell anyone, but I do too. I have plenty of soft drinks we can use as mixers.”

“With your nice whisky?” I attempt a polite way to decline his invitation. “Isn’t that basically a crime in the U.K.?”

He laughs. “I think it’s considered a crime anywhere in the world, but I can keep a secret.”

“All right,” I capitulate. “Just a little splash for me, please. I really don’t like the taste of alcohol.”

This is my first big break, and I don’t want to offend the young man who’s taking a chance on me. His father owns this gallery. It reeks of nepotism, but I’ve been genuinely impressed by Stephen’s knowledge and eye for detail. I’m confident leaving my work in his capable hands for the summer.

I follow him back to his office, and I wish I had my phone to text Dane that I’ll be late. He’s expecting me back at the penthouse around this time, and I don’t want him to worry.

But my phone battery died weeks ago. Dane didn’t bother to bring the correct charger from America once he messaged my friends to allay their concerns.

He’s assured me that I’ll have my phone back as soon as we return to Charleston, so I haven’t been too concerned about it.

But it would be good to text him now. I’d rather not have him break into the gallery to get to me if he thinks I’ve stayed too late.

Even as I think it, a small smile plays around my lips. He might be overbearing at times, but my fiercely possessive lover would do anything to protect me.

Still, it’s best to make this a very quick celebratory drink.

I don’t actually want Dane to kick down the door.

“Please, sit.” Stephen gestures at the small couch in the cramped but tastefully furnished office.

I oblige him, sitting down while he goes behind the desk to retrieve his stashed whiskey.

“Just a tiny splash,” I reiterate when he pulls out a half-empty bottle.

His brow furrows, and he looks confused for a moment. Then he smacks his hand to his forehead.

“Idiot,” he mumbles. He offers me a rueful smile. “The cups are in the kitchen with the soft drinks. I hope you don’t mind a mug.”

“You really don’t have to go to all this trouble,” I say, giving him an out. “I’m fine without a drink.”

“We have to toast to your success,” he insists. “I’ll be right back.”

True to his word, he’s gone for less than two minutes before he returns with two mugs filled with soda. One has a pug dog with a monocle, and the other features kittens dancing on a rainbow.

“Dog or cats?” Stephen asks.

“Cats, please.”

He tips the tiniest splash of whiskey into my requested mug. That amount of alcohol should be easily manageable. The ride back to the penthouse will take less than ten minutes, and there’s a taxi rank right outside the gallery. I can get back to Dane quickly once I down this drink.

“We used to have a mug that said, ‘Gough hard or Gough home,’ but I smashed it last week,” Stephen says as he presses the kitten mug into my hand.

Our fingers brush accidentally, and I almost spill my drink in my haste to withdraw from the awkward moment.

“Sorry,” he says with a shaky laugh. “I always get nervous around beautiful women. I’m talking bollocks.”

That comment makes me more uncomfortable, so I edge away from Stephen and take a gulp of whisky-tinged soda. It’s sweet and goes down easily.

“Ah, shit,” he continues. “I’m being awkward as fuck. I’m sorry. I spend so much time working at the gallery that I think I’m forgetting how to socialize like a normal person.”

I offer him a polite smile. There’s no need to antagonize him after all the work he’s putting in for my art, but I won’t encourage him, either.

“Have you worked here long?” I make small talk instead of reassuring him that his comment was acceptable. “You said you recently finished your PhD, right?”

I take another big sip of my drink. I don’t want to appear like I’m rushing to get away from him, but Dane really will start to get worried soon.

And I’m liking Stephen less and less with every passing minute.

His eyes flick to my lips and then back to my eyes. I pretend I didn’t notice, but I let my smile drop.

“Yeah,” he replies, chest puffing with pride. “I’m Dr. Lansing now. You know, I have a lot of connections in London. Some of my uni mates live there now. I could make some calls if you want.”

I take another sip of my sweet drink. I wish Stephen had put some ice in the mugs. It’s too warm in this cramped office, even though the temperature must be dropping outside.

“That’s okay, but thank you.” I refuse his offer. “I have plans to open my own gallery in Charleston. I won’t have time to travel to London.”

“There’s no need to be coy.” His voice drops deeper, and I don’t trust the slightly husky edge to his words. “I’m happy to help you out.”

My mug is over half-empty now, thank goodness. I’m ready to leave. I don’t like how pushy he’s being, even if he has helped me a lot today.

“Like I said, I don’t have the time. But I appreciate the offer.”

My skin is getting sticky with perspiration. I really should step outside sooner rather than later.

“Are you okay?” Stephen asks, brow furrowed with concern.

Heat rolls beneath the surface of my skin in a nauseating wave.

“Actually, I’m feeling a little lightheaded,” I admit. “I need some fresh air.”

“Drink some more. It’ll cool you down. And it’s mostly soda. The sugar should help.”

I suppose I haven’t eaten enough tonight, since this meeting is running far later than planned. Sugary soda isn’t going to help all that much, but I drain the last of my drink anyway. I’m so hot, and I need to get outside into the cooler night air.

“Stay for a little while longer,” he cajoles. “We should talk more about your career.”

He slides out of focus for a second.

I’m more than just lightheaded. I’m getting dizzy.

I wish I could call Dane to come pick me up.

I close my eyes and draw in a deep breath, willing the room to stop spinning.

“You should let me make those London calls.” Stephen is still talking to me, but his voice sounds oddly far away. “I really can help you out.”

His hand is on my knee.

What the hell?

My eyes snap open, and I surge to my feet.

The world tilts, and Stephen catches my elbow to steady me.

“Whoa.” He laughs. “Steady on. How much of a lightweight are you? I knew you Americans can’t hold your drink, but this is ridiculous.”

I shake my head. “You said it was just a splash. I saw you…” My tongue is thick in my mouth. “I saw you pour it.”

I’m on the couch again. Stephen’s leg is pressed against mine. He brushes his hand over my hot cheek and tucks my hair behind my ear.

“You really are beautiful,” he says. “And so talented. Any man would be lucky to have you.”

“I’m with Dane.” My fierce declaration comes out soft and slurred. “Get away from me.”

His hand is on my thigh. “Your boyfriend doesn’t have to know. This is our secret, right? You agreed.”

I shake my head again, and the room spins. “I didn’t. Just a drink.”

“You’re talented, but you won’t get ahead in your career without the right connections. I’m a useful person to know. We should have a good relationship.”

“No.” It’s all I can manage when everything is swirling around me.

Cool air hits my chest.

“You’re so flushed,” Stephen says as he parts another button on my blouse.

I try to bat his hands away, but he easily brushes me off.

“Stop.” It’s little more than a slurred whisper.

My stomach churns, heightening my nausea.

The cool air caressing my bare stomach is a blissful relief from the heat that’s surging beneath my skin. I groan at the sweet reprieve, and my muscles relax.

“That’s better,” Stephen praises. “I knew you could be friendly. There’s no need to be so uptight.”

Tears wet my lashes, blurring the spinning world.

Dane. I want Dane.

The hands that are touching me are all wrong. The fingers are slenderer, the palms slick and clammy. He gropes at me without finesse, exploring my body for his own pleasure rather than mine.

My eyes slide closed, and my low moan of despair fills the cramped office.