Celt. (Den of Mercenaries #2)(3)

She was almost afraid it would be Rob, but after checking the caller ID, she was glad to find it was just her boss.

“Yes, darling,” Elliot said with a grand air after she answered. “I was hoping you could come by today?”

Elliot Hamilton III was the owner of Cedar Art Gallery, named for its custom wooden floors with intricate, but subtle designs carved into the wood. He was a buyer and collector of fine art, and more importantly, Amber’s boss. He wasn’t a hard man to work for, though he did require near perfection in most things, but he was quite demanding of her time.

It had only been about three months ago that she’d brought in a few of her own pieces for him to peruse, hoping he would be interested in showcasing them for the upcoming ‘New Artists’ show that they were having a few days later.

After his acceptance, which had come as a surprise to her considering his reputation, he had inquired about her technical skills, then put her to the test to see what she could do. Before the Art Institute, she had studied at other art schools, some of the best in the country since her father could afford to send her there.

And once she had passed his test, besides her work in the gallery, she worked with him personally to restore paintings that his clients entrusted with him to have brought back to life.

At first, she had been surprised by his trust in her with something so priceless. Art restoration was a daunting task. It took an eye for detail, a knowledge of the time in which the painting was created, and more importantly, the right mixture of paint, and canvas. Amber knew some artists that had practiced and studied for more than four decades, so she was honored to be given the task.

And more, there was always a bonus for her when she finished a piece.

Glancing at the time, Amber contemplated whether she felt like going in, especially with the headache that was now more of a dull ache.

“I only need you to look at a painting that was brought in by a good friend of mine—a personal favor, I should say,” he went on when she had grown quiet. “It’s an original, and I only want the very few I can trust to see it beforehand.”

Amber rolled her eyes, already heading toward her closet for something to wear. If there was one thing Elliot was good at, it was kissing the ass of whoever he needed to get what he wanted.

“Sure, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Thanks, doll.”

He promptly hung up before she could get another word in.

She wanted nothing more than to throw on a pair of sweatpants, a threadbare T-shirt, and a pair of sneakers, but even if she wasn’t officially working, Elliot always expected everyone to either dress like a professional, or dress like you had just stepped off the runway—there was no in-between.

He had an image to uphold after all.

New York was known for its fashion, but SoHo, where Cedar was located, was home to a lot of celebrities and elite members of society, and the only way the gallery could survive was to keep up.

Eventually deciding on a pair of black skinny jeans with a slash across both knees, a loose white crop top that dipped low in the front, along with an oversized plaid shirt tied around her waist, and a pair of matte black Doc Marten’s, Amber grabbed her satchel, threw in everything she needed, and was out the door.

Her apartment was only a few blocks down from Canal Station, but in the time it had taken her to get ready, clouds had rolled in, obscuring the once beautiful sky. Just as quickly as that thought formed, the first few droplets of rain splattered her face, and before she knew it, the skies were opening up.

She ran the last block, glad that she hadn’t gotten too wet in her dash down the street, otherwise she would have looked like she was competing in a wet T-shirt contest. Heading down into the station, she swiped her metro card, walking through the cage-like turnstile. Her train was already boarding, and as she hurried across the platform, she could hear the beeps, the red lights flashing, signaling the doors were closing.

Before she even had a chance to curse her bad timing, a rather large hand reached out, snagging one of her belt loops and tugged her in, seconds before the doors closed at her back.

She stumbled as the train started to move, her Docs squeaking with the movement. Reaching her hands out, she tried righting herself without knocking the guy over that helped her, not that she could, she soon realized. He seemed to be made of stone.

Prepared to thank him—or thank his chest since that was what was directly in front of her face—the moment she tilted her head up to get a better look at him, her breath caught.

Not just because he was attractive, he was definitely that, but because he looked so familiar. It wasn’t because of Rob—Rob was very selective about the circles he ran in. Those were the same circles she had tried so desperately to fit in, but he would never associate with someone so … scruffy.

And this stranger was definitely that.

His eyes were a perfect blend of greens and yellows, flecks of silver near the pupils, brightening them to an even lighter shade of green. How eyes that pale could seem warm, she didn’t know, but they were. He also had a full beard, one that was a deep auburn, a few shades lighter than his darker hair.

Amber realized, almost belatedly, that she was still pressed against him, her hands resting on the firm planes of his stomach, and even if the train wasn’t so crowded, there was still enough space for her to stand on her own.

But she kind of liked where she was.