mansions on Nob Hill? No, I bet it’s someplace more hip than that. His driver brought you back? Did he come? Is he here now?” Curtis pretended to crane his neck behind me.
“Whoa, guys!” I motioned for them to slow down, holding my hands up. I loved Curtis and all his ebullience, but sometimes it was awkward to have a friend who was also your boss. “Nothing happened. I fell asleep, we had breakfast. That is all.” I made placating motions with my hands.
Carrie cut in with a touch of best-friend concern in her voice.
“Were you safe, Sam? You didn’t go anywhere dangerous did you?”
“Yes, yes, of course. We literally only went between his car and his apartment.” Carrie looked relieved.
Curtis continued, making a keen effort to reign in his enthusiasm. “So when are you seeing him again?” Leave it to Curtis to cut right to the chase.
“Uh, tonight.” I glanced around at the table, which was peppered with smirks and wide-eyed astonishment. I looked at the ceiling. “He is taking me to the symphony.”
Curtis couldn’t contain himself. It was like he was living vicariously through me. “Of course he is. Of course he is!” he said as he clasped his hands together.
And all I could think was ‘I had sex in your pantry.’
~
I managed to peel myself away from the formal debriefing squad and collected my things quickly enough to get shuttled back to the gallery in time for opening the doors at eleven. Saturdays at the gallery are pretty low key, mostly window shoppers come through and if I’m lucky I can get in a few enjoyable conversations with patrons. Today was unusually busy, which was awesome. The new show that had opened two days before was bringing in a lot of new customers, and I was grateful. It kept my mind off the night before and the night ahead. Towards the end of the day, the phone rang.
“Kinsler Gallery, this is Samantha, how can I help you?”
A friendly, even-toned voice answered. “Hello Samantha. This is Evan.”
Evan ... I tried to place the name.
“Evan Carmichael. We met at the opening?”
“Oh right! Before I got drenched, right?” I joked.
“Yes, that’s right,” he replied, calmly, with humor in his voice. “We didn’t get to finish our conversation.” A pang of guilt hit me, but I chose to ignore it.
“Oh, that is true, I am sorry about that. What can I do for you, Mr. Carmichael?”
“Please, call me Evan.”
“What can I do for you, Evan?” I parroted back.
“I was wondering if you’d want to swing by my gallery this week. Perhaps we can talk a little about the art business. I have a proposal for you.”
Ugh. There was that ‘talk art’ statement again. I hated it the first time he said it, and I still don’t like it. But if this was going to be my career, I needed to network and make connections. Curtis told me that all the time.
“Um, sure, how about Monday morning?” I didn’t have to open the gallery until noon.
“Monday morning is perfect. Shall we say 10:30 at my gallery? We can grab a coffee. I promise not to spill it on you.” I could hear him cracking a smile over the phone.
“Sounds great. See you then, Evan.”
“Looking forward to it.” The phone clicked.
Hmm. I wasn’t sure exactly what I had just signed up for, but I shrugged, figuring this was just how these things go. I returned to my closing duties.
The dark of night was in full effect as I turned off the lights and locked up the gallery. Thomas was outside at the curb, waiting with the black SUV. Despite being a self-professed public transit devotee, I found myself thinking I could get used to this.
“Miss Sharp,” he greeted me, opening the door.
“Thomas,” I said warmly as he helped me into the car.
We got back to my place quickly, and as Thomas helped me out of the car, he handed me a set of shopping bags, including a long garment bag with a hanger at the top.
“For you, Miss Sharp. Compliments of Mr. Keith.”
“Thank you, Thomas.” I took
“Whoa, guys!” I motioned for them to slow down, holding my hands up. I loved Curtis and all his ebullience, but sometimes it was awkward to have a friend who was also your boss. “Nothing happened. I fell asleep, we had breakfast. That is all.” I made placating motions with my hands.
Carrie cut in with a touch of best-friend concern in her voice.
“Were you safe, Sam? You didn’t go anywhere dangerous did you?”
“Yes, yes, of course. We literally only went between his car and his apartment.” Carrie looked relieved.
Curtis continued, making a keen effort to reign in his enthusiasm. “So when are you seeing him again?” Leave it to Curtis to cut right to the chase.
“Uh, tonight.” I glanced around at the table, which was peppered with smirks and wide-eyed astonishment. I looked at the ceiling. “He is taking me to the symphony.”
Curtis couldn’t contain himself. It was like he was living vicariously through me. “Of course he is. Of course he is!” he said as he clasped his hands together.
And all I could think was ‘I had sex in your pantry.’
~
I managed to peel myself away from the formal debriefing squad and collected my things quickly enough to get shuttled back to the gallery in time for opening the doors at eleven. Saturdays at the gallery are pretty low key, mostly window shoppers come through and if I’m lucky I can get in a few enjoyable conversations with patrons. Today was unusually busy, which was awesome. The new show that had opened two days before was bringing in a lot of new customers, and I was grateful. It kept my mind off the night before and the night ahead. Towards the end of the day, the phone rang.
“Kinsler Gallery, this is Samantha, how can I help you?”
A friendly, even-toned voice answered. “Hello Samantha. This is Evan.”
Evan ... I tried to place the name.
“Evan Carmichael. We met at the opening?”
“Oh right! Before I got drenched, right?” I joked.
“Yes, that’s right,” he replied, calmly, with humor in his voice. “We didn’t get to finish our conversation.” A pang of guilt hit me, but I chose to ignore it.
“Oh, that is true, I am sorry about that. What can I do for you, Mr. Carmichael?”
“Please, call me Evan.”
“What can I do for you, Evan?” I parroted back.
“I was wondering if you’d want to swing by my gallery this week. Perhaps we can talk a little about the art business. I have a proposal for you.”
Ugh. There was that ‘talk art’ statement again. I hated it the first time he said it, and I still don’t like it. But if this was going to be my career, I needed to network and make connections. Curtis told me that all the time.
“Um, sure, how about Monday morning?” I didn’t have to open the gallery until noon.
“Monday morning is perfect. Shall we say 10:30 at my gallery? We can grab a coffee. I promise not to spill it on you.” I could hear him cracking a smile over the phone.
“Sounds great. See you then, Evan.”
“Looking forward to it.” The phone clicked.
Hmm. I wasn’t sure exactly what I had just signed up for, but I shrugged, figuring this was just how these things go. I returned to my closing duties.
The dark of night was in full effect as I turned off the lights and locked up the gallery. Thomas was outside at the curb, waiting with the black SUV. Despite being a self-professed public transit devotee, I found myself thinking I could get used to this.
“Miss Sharp,” he greeted me, opening the door.
“Thomas,” I said warmly as he helped me into the car.
We got back to my place quickly, and as Thomas helped me out of the car, he handed me a set of shopping bags, including a long garment bag with a hanger at the top.
“For you, Miss Sharp. Compliments of Mr. Keith.”
“Thank you, Thomas.” I took
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