Part 9:
Something about new markets, new products. Jennifer’s expression darkened. I shouldn’t talk about this. Patrick would be furious if he knew I mentioned them. I touched her arm gently. It’s okay. I won’t say anything. James doesn’t tell me about business anyway. He thinks I’d be bored. Patrick’s the same. Treats me like I’m decoration. She looked at me with sudden intensity.
Grace, can I ask you something? Do you think you’ll marry him? You’re James. The question caught me off guard. I Yes, I think I will. Why, if you don’t care about the money or the power? I thought about James’ hands framing my face, his voice promising protection and partnership and truth. About three evenings in his penthouse, learning to read his expressions and anticipate his thoughts, about the way he listened when I talked about manuscripts in medieval history, genuinely interested despite having no practical reason to care.
Because he sees me, I said honestly. Not what I could be useful for, just me. And I see him, too. The parts he doesn’t show anyone else. Jennifer’s eyes went bright with unshed tears. That must be nice. We exchanged numbers after that. Plans to meet for coffee later that week. As I left the gallery, I texted James, made contact.
She’s unhappy and drinks too much. Mentioned Vulkoff Brothers and New Markets. meeting her Thursday for coffee. His response came immediately. Well done. Come to the penthouse now. We need to debrief and I need to see you. The last part made my pulse jump. William picked me up outside the gallery. And 20 minutes later, I was riding the private elevator to James’ penthouse, my heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with spycraft.
He opened the door before I could knock, still in the white dress shirt and dark slacks from his own evening, sleeves rolled up, top button undone. His hair was slightly must like he’d been running his hands through it. “Tell me everything,” he said, pulling me inside. “I did, sitting on his leather sofa while he poured wine and listened with complete focus.
” When I finished describing Jennifer’s mention of the Vulkoff brothers and new markets, his expression went grim. New markets means new cities. He’s planning to expand beyond our territory. James set down his glass with controlled precision. That violates every agreement we’ve established.
It’s grounds for open war. What will you do? Gather more information first. Confirm his timeline. Identify his supply chain. Find leverage. He moved to sit beside me close enough that our knees touched. Your coffee date with Jennifer. Can you get her talking about Patrick’s schedule? I need to know when he’s meeting with the Vulovs next.
She’s lonely, James. Trapped in a relationship with a man who treats her like property. I met his eyes. I can’t just use her and disappear afterward. That makes me as bad as him. What are you suggesting? When this is over, when you’ve stopped whatever Sullivan is planning, you help her get out. Set her up somewhere safe.
Give her enough money to start over without needing him. I touched his hand. Make it part of our agreement. Something shifted in his expression. Surprise, then approval, then something warmer. You’re negotiating terms for someone you just met. I’m protecting someone who reminds me of myself 3 years ago before I found the courage to leave.
I laced my fingers through his. You said you don’t hurt innocence. Jennifer is innocent. She’s just collateral damage in your war with Sullivan. James studied our joined hands, his thumb tracing circles on my palm. You’re going to cost me a fortune in moral compromises, aren’t you? Probably. Is that a problem? No.
He lifted my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles that sent heat spiraling through me. It’s one of the things I He stopped himself. one of the things I admire most about you. What were you going to say before you censored yourself?” His eyes met mine, storm gray and intense. Something that would complicate our arrangement considerably.
“Maybe I want complicated.” “Grace!” I kissed him before he could finish the thought, before rational considerations could stop me. He responded immediately, pulling me into his lap, his hands tangling in my hair while his mouth claimed mine with desperate hunger. This wasn’t the controlled kiss from his office. This was need stripped bare.
Six days of tension and attraction and partnership crystallizing into something that felt inevitable. When we finally broke apart, I was straddling his lap, my dress hiked up, both of us breathing hard. James’ hands spanned my waist, his forehead resting against mine. We should stop, he said, not moving.
Probably this crosses professional boundaries. We crossed those at the auction. I kissed him again, softer this time. James, I know this is complicated. I know there are a thousand reasons this is a terrible idea, but I’m tired of pretending this is just business when it stopped being business weeks ago. His grip tightened.
If we do this, if we make this real, it changes everything. The contract becomes meaningless. You’re no longer protected by clear terms and exit clauses. Good. I don’t want exit clauses. I cupped his face, forcing him to look at me. I want you. Not the performance, not the arrangement. You. You don’t know what you’re asking. My life, my world.
