A beat or two passed, and then she said, “Thank you,” and smiled at him. A sweet smile full of relief and gratitude that curled up inside his heart, and just like that, he was angry again. Goddamn it, he didn’t want things curling up inside his fucking heart.

What was wrong with him? Why were things so complicated with this woman? He didn’t want her smiling at him like that, like they had some kind of normal relationship. Like they were friends. Like they could be…lovers.

He wanted her to look like she had when she’d first come into the office—royally pissed.

“I want a painting.”

She blinked at him, her smile fading, and his heart thudded against his rib cage like it was trying to get out. He felt instantly better and worse. Accomplished and lower than a slug all at once.

“You said you didn’t want a painting for the ranch tour.”

He shrugged deliberately, callously. “I do now.”

For a moment, a flash of something murderous glowed in her eyes and pulled her mouth into a taut line, and Grady thought she was going to say, Screw you, buddy. Hell, he almost wished she would, matching her anger to his.

She didn’t. She just did that little chin-jut thing that he was starting to know really well and said, “Which one?”

He gave an indifferent shrug this time and injected a bored tone into his voice. “I don’t care.”

Another flare of murder in her gaze and something else, too—maybe distress?—but it was there and gone in the blink of her eyes. Not saying another word, she strode across the room, giving him a wide birth as she grabbed the knob and opened the door.

Grady breathed out, shoving a hand through his hair and letting his head drop down. The screaming tension in his neck and shoulders he hadn’t even been aware of released suddenly in a rush of blood. His heart thudded like a bongo drum, so loud he was amazed she hadn’t heard it from the other side of the room.

He didn’t know why he was being such a dick about those paintings. Taking them from her one by one. But he knew they were precious to her—as precious as his peace and privacy were to him. And that was a fair trade as far as he was concerned.

He heard her footsteps returning, and his muscles pulled taut again as he shoved his hands into his pockets. She entered the office, not even acknowledging him as she crossed to the opposite side and propped the canvas against the wall, facing in.

Man, she was pissed.