reproachful look. “A true artist cannot allow himself to be chained by the mediocre tastes of the rabble. Nor can he allow his patron to dictate his creative vision.”
“I'm not your patron, I'm your employer.”
“Not anymore.”
“You think you're actually going to be allowed to carve anything you want to carve at the Fountains?”
“That's what I have been promised.”
Desdemona lost her temper. “All right, go ahead and take the job. See how long you get to enjoy your artistic freedom. When are you leaving?”
“Today.”
Desdemona was outraged. “You can't leave today. I've got the Cosini luncheon on Thursday and the Lambeth-Horton wedding on Friday. I'd planned to have ice sculptures on the tables for both events.”
“I'm sorry, Desdemona.” Rafael got to his feet. “You must find someone else to do your silly swans and dolphins. I am no longer willing to compromise my integrity as an artist. I must seek my true path.”
“Rafael, wait.” Desdemona leaped out of her chair and started around the edge of the desk. “Let's talk about this.”
“There is nothing more to discuss. I must be free of the shackles of commercial art.” Rafael flung open the door.
“Damn it, you're going to regret this. If you think your new employer is going to let you do a bunch of sexy ice sculptures for the Eastside Sunday brunch crowd, you've got another thought coming.”
The phone rang on Desdemona's desk. She snatched up the receiver. “Right Touch.”
“Desdemona Wainwright, please.”
Business first. Desdemona forced herself to speak calmly and pleasantly. “This is Desdemona Wainwright. How can I help you?”
“This is Maud Pitchcott. I'm calling on behalf of Mr. Stark of Stark Security Systems.”
Desdemona's hand clenched around the phone. For some reason she was suddenly a little breathless. “What can I do for you?”
“Mr. Stark wants to know if you would be interested in a contract with this firm. He would like to hire you as a social event consultant.”
“A social event consultant?” Desdemona waved Rafael out of the office. She sank slowly back down into her chair.
“You would assume the responsibility for handling all of Stark Security Systems' social commitments for the next three months. You would also act as his hostess when necessary. Are you interested in the contract, Miss Wainwright?”
“Are you kidding?” Desdemona grabbed a pen. “I mean, yes. Yes, I'm definitely interested.”
“In that case, Mr. Stark would like to see you in his office this afternoon.”
Anticipation and satisfaction surged through Stark as he watched Desdemona sign the catering contract. Absolutely perfect. He should have thought of this day he'd found himself standing alone at the altar. He wondered what the hell had taken him so long to realize that Desdemona was the answer to all his problems.
She put down the pen at that moment and raised her eyes to meet his. She smiled. Stark stopped breathing. He felt something twist deep inside him.
Perfect.
He took a deep breath and pulled himself together. This was business, he reminded himself sternly. “You don't have any objection to acting as my hostess?”
“No, not at all. Most people in your position have someone around who can help them host a business affair. A wife or a husband or, a, uh, something….” She broke off, blushing.
His recent debacle of a marriage hung in the air between them. Stark could see the sympathy in Desdemona's eyes, and it annoyed him. He didn't want sympathy. He wanted…something else.
He wanted her.
The realization poleaxed him.
“A something,” he repeated carefully.
“Yes,” she said hastily. “But once in a while a single person finds himself or herself in your shoes, and in those cases it's not uncommon to hire a professional hostess.”
“Good. Excellent.” He looked at her, unable to think of anything else to say. He badly wanted to delay her departure from his office, but he could
“I'm not your patron, I'm your employer.”
“Not anymore.”
“You think you're actually going to be allowed to carve anything you want to carve at the Fountains?”
“That's what I have been promised.”
Desdemona lost her temper. “All right, go ahead and take the job. See how long you get to enjoy your artistic freedom. When are you leaving?”
“Today.”
Desdemona was outraged. “You can't leave today. I've got the Cosini luncheon on Thursday and the Lambeth-Horton wedding on Friday. I'd planned to have ice sculptures on the tables for both events.”
“I'm sorry, Desdemona.” Rafael got to his feet. “You must find someone else to do your silly swans and dolphins. I am no longer willing to compromise my integrity as an artist. I must seek my true path.”
“Rafael, wait.” Desdemona leaped out of her chair and started around the edge of the desk. “Let's talk about this.”
“There is nothing more to discuss. I must be free of the shackles of commercial art.” Rafael flung open the door.
“Damn it, you're going to regret this. If you think your new employer is going to let you do a bunch of sexy ice sculptures for the Eastside Sunday brunch crowd, you've got another thought coming.”
The phone rang on Desdemona's desk. She snatched up the receiver. “Right Touch.”
“Desdemona Wainwright, please.”
Business first. Desdemona forced herself to speak calmly and pleasantly. “This is Desdemona Wainwright. How can I help you?”
“This is Maud Pitchcott. I'm calling on behalf of Mr. Stark of Stark Security Systems.”
Desdemona's hand clenched around the phone. For some reason she was suddenly a little breathless. “What can I do for you?”
“Mr. Stark wants to know if you would be interested in a contract with this firm. He would like to hire you as a social event consultant.”
“A social event consultant?” Desdemona waved Rafael out of the office. She sank slowly back down into her chair.
“You would assume the responsibility for handling all of Stark Security Systems' social commitments for the next three months. You would also act as his hostess when necessary. Are you interested in the contract, Miss Wainwright?”
“Are you kidding?” Desdemona grabbed a pen. “I mean, yes. Yes, I'm definitely interested.”
“In that case, Mr. Stark would like to see you in his office this afternoon.”
Anticipation and satisfaction surged through Stark as he watched Desdemona sign the catering contract. Absolutely perfect. He should have thought of this day he'd found himself standing alone at the altar. He wondered what the hell had taken him so long to realize that Desdemona was the answer to all his problems.
She put down the pen at that moment and raised her eyes to meet his. She smiled. Stark stopped breathing. He felt something twist deep inside him.
Perfect.
He took a deep breath and pulled himself together. This was business, he reminded himself sternly. “You don't have any objection to acting as my hostess?”
“No, not at all. Most people in your position have someone around who can help them host a business affair. A wife or a husband or, a, uh, something….” She broke off, blushing.
His recent debacle of a marriage hung in the air between them. Stark could see the sympathy in Desdemona's eyes, and it annoyed him. He didn't want sympathy. He wanted…something else.
He wanted her.
The realization poleaxed him.
“A something,” he repeated carefully.
“Yes,” she said hastily. “But once in a while a single person finds himself or herself in your shoes, and in those cases it's not uncommon to hire a professional hostess.”
“Good. Excellent.” He looked at her, unable to think of anything else to say. He badly wanted to delay her departure from his office, but he could
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