Page 13 of You Make Me Feel
He blinks slowly as I walk through the door into the bar, his eyes lazy as they assess me.
“Here she is,” Autumn says, jumping up to hug me. “Oh, your cheeks are burning up. Are you okay?”
“I had to run. I was running late.” I’m so stupidly aware of how disheveled I am. And I shouldn’t care. What does it matter if Mr. Asshole Art Dealer sees me with my hair falling out of my bun and my cheeks flushed?
But for some reason, it does. I take a deep breath and sit down at the table, choosing the chair furthest away from him.
It doesn’t stop me from looking at him though. Or seeing that his gaze is still on me. His mouth twitches like he’s amused at my appearance. I lift a brow at him because no, I’m not intimidated by him.
“Okay, we’re all here. Let’s get started,” Autumn says. “First of all, thanks to Zach who’s agreed to help out.” She looks at me. “I know how much work we’ve put on you to organize the artwork and the placement. I thought Zach could help.”
I try to keep my expression smooth, but I swear he’s smirking.
“Honestly,” I tell her. “It’s fine. I have everything covered. I’ve already sourced most of the art, and the placement just needs to be firmed up.”
The trail will last the whole summer. Making sure the right piece is placed in the right shop window, or the right room in the hotel, has been my job. Autumn is organizingthe rest. Jesse is here to make sure there’s a transportation plan – to bring in guests for the gala as well as the steady stream of day tourists we hope the trail will bring in.
And Mylene is here because she brings coffee.
“I’d love to help,” Zach says smoothly, like he’s enjoying goading me.
“I’ve got it,” I say again, my voice tighter this time.
“Oh no.” There’s a smile playing at his lips. “Autumn wants us both to do it. And who am I to deny my sister?”
“Great.” Autumn claps her hands together. “Teamwork,” she says brightly. “See? This is already going so well.”
Zach’s eyes flick to mine, that half-smile still there.
I stare back at him, trying not to show the way my pulse has started to race again. He’s smug and impossible, but there’s something about the way he looks at me that makes it a struggle to breathe.
God, I need to stop reading that damn book.
“Okay, let’s move onto the gala itself, because that’s our weak area right now,” Autumn says. “Zach has added some suggestions to the guest list. Mostly rich people who love to donate to charity.” She smiles widely. “And I’m working with the hotel on the menu. I think next time we meet we should do it at the hotel. We can take a walk through, and see any pitfalls there might be.”
“Fine,” I agree. The others nod too. But I’m so aware of him looking at me. Watching me. For a second he blinks, like there’s something in his eye. But then he smiles softly and looks away.
Thank God he can’t read minds. Because mine is so messed up now.
Autumn starts talking about deadlines, budgets, and promotional materials, but I barely hear a word. Because allI can think about is the fact that I’m now officially stuck working with Zach Fitzgerald.
And worse, the part of me that should be dreading it… seems to be too busy imagining his face when I start to run from him.
And how long it would take him to catch me.
five
ZACH
“I’ll send you over what I have so far,” Larry says through my earpiece, as I walk down Main Street, my phone in one hand, a six pack of beer in the other. “I’ve put feelers out in all the usual places. Galleries, dealers, the black market. But there’s no sign of it. I have no idea what to do next.”
“Go back and start at the beginning,” I tell him, stepping around a couple, both holding ice cream, the scent of waffle cones and sea salt filling the air. “Artist. Year. Provenance. Every gallery it’s been through. You’ll find it.”
Main Street’s quiet this evening, which is no surprise since most of the shops are closed for the day. Still, it looks as pretty as I remember, the store fronts painted in pastel shades, planters overflowing with tulips, lights strung between the lamp posts for no real reason except that it looks good.
There’s a salty breeze blowing in from the ocean, mixed with the smell of coffee wafting from the door of BrewedAwakenings. Tourists stroll slowly, locals stop to talk. Everything moves at half speed here, like the island’s heartbeat is slower than the rest of the world’s.
“The insurance company is already chasing,” Larry tells me. “They want to know what we’ve found so far.”
