She didn’t care for the way he was smiling at her, as if he knew a secret she didn’t. And that the secret was her. “Yes, well, I’m sure as an artist you’d agree art should have power. Would you like a drink before we go?”

“No, not before I drive.”

“Drive?”

“Yes. Do you like Sunday drives, Sydney?”

“I…” She picked up her purse to give her hands something to do. There was no reason, none at all, for her to allow him to make her feel as awkward as a teenager on a first date. “I don’t get much opportunity for them in the city.” It seemed wise to get started. She moved to the door, wondering what it would be like to be in a car with him. Alone. “I didn’t realize you kept a car.”

His grin was quick and a tad self-mocking as they moved out into the hall. “A couple of years ago, after my art had some success, I bought one. It was a little fantasy of mine. I think I pay more to keep it parked than I did for the car. But fantasies are rarely free.”

In the elevator, he pushed the button for the garage. “I think about it myself,” she admitted. “I miss driving, the independence of it, I suppose. In Europe, I could hop in and zoom off whenever I chose. But it seems more practical to keep a driver here than to go to war every time you need a parking space.”

“Sometime we’ll go up north, along the river, and you can drive.”

The image was almost too appealing, whipping along the roads toward the mountains upstate. She thought it was best not to comment. “Your report came in on Friday,” she began.

“Not today.” He reached down to take her hand as they stepped into the echoing garage. “Talking reports can wait till Monday. Here.” He opened the door of a glossy red-and-cream MG. The canvas top was lowered. “You don’t mind the top down?” he asked as she settled inside.

Sydney thought of the time and trouble she’d taken with her hair. And she thought of the freedom of having even a hot breeze blow through it. “No, I don’t mind.”

He climbed into the driver’s seat, adjusting long legs, then gunned the engine. After taking a pair of mirrored sunglasses off the dash, he pulled out. The radio was set on rock. Sydney found herself smiling as they cruised around Central Park.

“You didn’t mention where we were going.”

“I know this little place. The food is good.” He noted her foot was tapping along in time with the music. “Tell me where you lived in Europe.”

“Oh, I didn’t live in any one place. I moved around. Paris, Saint Tropez, Venice, London, Monte Carlo.”

“Perhaps you have Gypsies in your blood, too.”