Page 21 of Tempt Our Fate
I get lost in my own thoughts as Rhonda finishes painting the dye on my strands of hair. The only thing that pulls me from my thoughts is hearing Rosemary speak up, now from a chair next to mine.
“I think I might have Harold try out one of the scenes from our naughty book club this week.”
Rhonda and I share a look through the mirror. My entire body shakes as I try to hold back a laugh. It’s no use—the snort that comes from my body is completely unladylike and probably a little rude.
Rosemary’s shrug tells me she doesn’t mind. “What, girls?” she asks incredulously. “Surely it isn’t a secret that Harold and I go to pound town.”
13
CAMDEN
I’m sittingin my tiny office in the Sutten gallery, reviewing new pieces I’m having shipped here, when the bell to the gallery chimes. My eyes fall to the time in the corner of my monitor screen. It’s barely seven in the morning. We aren’t open yet. We aren’t open at all today. Almost every piece of art had sold at the opening over the weekend. And anything that didn’t sell that night sold on Monday. It’s Wednesday, so the gallery is empty, and I won’t have new inventory until this weekend.
Sighing, I push my chair away from my desk and head down the hallway. I hadn’t bothered locking the door to the gallery because I thought the closed sign on the door and the lack of lights would inform anyone curious enough to wander by that we were closed.
I’m ready to tell the customer I have nothing to sell them when my feet come to a halt. It isn’t a customer in the gallery. It’s Pippa.
She doesn’t notice me, her eyes trained on a piece of art on the far wall that isn’t for sale. It was one of the first pieces Margo ever did for me. I’d wanted to keep it because of her take on an artist’s life. I’d always displayed it in the Manhattan gallery, but for some reason, it feels more at home here.
Pippa stands a safe distance away from the drawing. I can see her profile, but I’m tucked away in the hallway enough for her to not notice me yet. I welcome the few seconds where I can take her in without either of us having our armor on. I’m sure the moment she notices me, we’ll be back to the thing we’ve created where we throw insults at one another. But for a moment, I forget about all of that.
She holds two coffee cups, one in each hand. The pink lids look out of place in the stark white gallery. She’s the one bit of color in here, the white floors and white walls—and muted colors of Margo’s painting.
My eyes trace over her hair. It seems lighter than the last time I saw her, but I’m wondering if maybe it’s just my eyes playing tricks on me. The first thing I notice after the possible change in color is that her hair looks tame for once. It isn’t in her face, and it isn’t messily knotted at the top of her head. It’s sleek and smooth. If I were any closer, I might be tempted to reach out and run my hand through the locks just to discover what they feel like.
The unwelcome thought has me ripping my eyes away from her because it’s Pippa. This is the woman who spilled an entire pitcher of beer on me, who ruined my suit for Beck and Margo’s wedding with an array of different-colored icing. The one who isn’t shy about making it known her feelings toward me—or lack thereof.
Despite the bad blood between us, as a fan of art, I can’t deny that she’s a work of art herself. Her skin is effortlessly sun-kissed, like she’d spent a lot of time outside during the summer. I can’t help but wonder what she does in her free time, what her hobbies are. The glow of her skin tells me that whatever she was doing, she spent time outdoors. She wears a baby pink shirt that cuts off right above the waistband of her light denim jeans. I can only see the side of her, but the square neckline shows a good amount of her cleavage. There are so many beautiful lines to her body. Her high cheekbones and upturned nose. Her breasts that seem to be a perfect handful. Hips that slightly curve out at her waist and all the way down her legs. My eyes catch on the way the jeans hug her body perfectly. I could spend hours getting to know every slope and curve of her body, beginning with her thighs and getting lost in between them.
I clear my throat, catching her attention. Her features harden, the wistfulness she had in her eyes as she stared at Margo’s painting was all but gone.
My eyes blink repeatedly as I attempt to wipe the thoughts I was having of her. It really isn’t any use; those dirty thoughts of her are ingrained in my mind forever when they absolutely shouldn’t be.
“Why are you looking at me weird?” Pippa questions, coming to a stop in front of me.
I swallow, trying to avert my gaze from the way her breasts almost spill over the top of her shirt. It’s her exposed skin above the fucking ruffle catching my attention and tempting me, even though it’s the one person in this town I can’t tolerate standing right in front of me. At least I didn’tusedto tolerate her. Now, I don’t understand why the sight of her doesn’t completely ruin my morning. In fact, I think it excited me a little to see her here.
“Nice jeans,” I counter, trying to ease the tension between us. It doesn’t help.
She smiles, looking down at them. “Funny story. A giant box full oftenpairs of my jeans showed up at Wake and Bake.”
“I told you I’d replace them.”
Her head cocks to the side as her eyes roam over my face. “I looked online. They still say that they’re sold out.”
“I pulled some strings. It’s not a big deal.” I clap my hands together, wanting to change the subject. She doesn’t need to know how hard it was to track down the brand and get some early stock from their next launch. Trisha spent almost an entire day doing it when I pay her for far more important things. “Why are you in my gallery when we’re closed?” I ask, guiding the conversation in a different direction.
“It’s weird. I have this very vivid memory of you showing up at my business when I told youmultipletimes we were closed.”
My lip twitches, wanting to smile at her response. I fight it tooth and nail, not wanting to show her that maybe she’s thawed my icy defenses just a little. “You’re not welcome here.”
She beams. Her teeth are perfectly straight and white. I could easily reach out and trace the cupid’s bow of her top lip. It’s pronounced, like a flashing neon light bringing attention to her perfectly kissable lips. “I’m welcome anywhere I want, Camden.”
“You sure about that, shortcake?”
She pushes one of the coffee cups my way. “I brought you coffee.”
I look down my nose at it. “Is it poisoned?”