“You’re the first.” Maybe not the first, but close. “How did you know where I live, anyway?”

“I have access to all the personnel files at the company now. It wasn’t difficult to find your address.”

“Oh.” I felt oddly exposed. She was Lacey’s assistant, so this made perfect sense. Jarrod and Terrence had the same access. No one else, other than my brothers, did.

“And you changed the subject. Why don’t you have your work on the walls?”

“None of it fits.” A simple explanation that wasn’t even close to the truth. All of my work was so personal, and although I displayed it in galleries and in the Wolfe building, and though a lot of it hung in strangers’ homes, I never felt right displaying it in my own. I painted for myself, but still… If I couldn’t explain it to myself, I certainly couldn’t explain it to Charlie.

“Of course it would fit. You’re the artist.”

“Where would you like to go to dinner?”

“You’re changing the subject.”

“You’re the one who showed up here begging for a dinner invitation.” Man. Asshole move again. What the hell was wrong with me?

“You’re right.” She lowered her gaze. “I’m sorry. I’ll get out of your way.”

I was the worst with women! Here was someone who had piqued my interest, who had eyes I’d never forget, and I couldn’t stop being a douche.

She turned to leave, but I grabbed her arm.

“Wait.”

Her silver eyes met mine. She looked…bereft.

“I’m sorry. Please. I want to have dinner with you. Tomorrow?”

“Are you going to rescind the invitation?” she asked, her tone hurt.

“No. Not if you accept it.”

“All right. I accept.” She pulled a card out of her purse. “My work extension is on here. Call me with the details.”

“I’d rather call your cell.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to call the company. That was the issue you had in the beginning, remember?”

“Well, okay. I guess.” She grabbed a pen out of her bag, scribbled some numbers on the card, and then handed it to me. “I always have my cell on me. Except for when I don’t.”

I chuckled. “What exactly does that mean?”

“It means sometimes I forget my phone. But not usually.”

This woman was precious! She was beautifully flustered, and her hair was in disarray. The look in her eyes—I couldn’t even describe it.

But I knew one thing.

I wanted to paint it—paint her—right now, with that look.

5

Charlie

He grabbed my hand, not gently, and stared deep into my eyes. His dark eyes were burning, and I swore they melted me into a puddle of butter right in his entryway.

“Don’t go,” he said simply.