“His name’s not on our client list, so I’m assuming this was a one-shot deal. To my mind, that only makes it more important.”

Excitement rose in her throat and bubbled out in her voice. “Flynn, I nearly bought that painting myself. It was beyond my budget at the time, but I was doing some creative math to justify the purchase. It was sold on my morning off, just before I was planning to go to James to ask him if I could buy it on a payment plan. I have to believe all this means something.”

“I’ll get in touch with Jordan. My take would be he bought it for somebody. He’s not much on stuff, unlike Brad. He tends to travel light and keep the acquisitions to a minimum.”

“I need to see the painting again.”

“Got that. I’m on it. I’ll find out what I can today and fill you in over dinner tonight.”

“No, that’s not a good idea. It’s a really, really bad idea.”

“Dinner’s a bad idea? People have embraced the concept of the evening meal throughout history. There’s documentation.”

“Us having dinner is the bad part. I need to slow things down.”

He set the toy down. He shifted his body, and when she would have countered to keep that distance between them, he grabbed her hand, tugged her forward. “Somebody rushing you?”

“More like something.” Her pulse began to skip—in her wrists, in her throat, even at the back of her suddenly shaky knees. There was something about that cool calculation that came into his eyes, the sort that reminded her he tended to think two or three steps ahead. “Look, this is my problem, not yours, and . . . Stop,” she ordered when his free hand cupped the back of her neck. “This is hardly the place for—”

“They’re reporters.” He inclined his head toward the glass wall between his office and the newsroom. “As such, they’re aware that I kiss women.”

“I think I’m in love with you.”

She felt his hand jerk, then go limp. She saw the amusement and purpose on his face slide into blank shock. And twin demons of hurt and temper stabbed at her heart.

“There. Now I’ve made it your problem too.” She pushed back from him—a simple matter, as he was no longer touching her.

“Malory—”

“I don’t want to hear it. I don’t need to hear you tell me it’s too soon, too fast, you’re not looking for this level of a relationship. I’m not stupid. I know all the brush-off lines. And I wouldn’t be in this position right now if you’d taken no for an answer in the first place.”

“Wait a minute now.” Panic washed over his face, into his voice. “Let’s take a second here.”

“Take a second.” Mortification was quickly outweighing the hurt and the anger. “Take a week. Take the rest of your life. Just take it someplace where I’m not.”

She stormed out of his office. Since bloodcurdling terror still had a grip on him, he didn’t consider going after her.