Park Avenue Prince(16)

“Oh, really?” he asked as he followed me.

I stuffed my phone and keys into my purse and logged off my computer. I needed to get out of this gallery, and if it meant going with Sam Shaw, so be it.

“Come on, Mr. ‘I can buy whatever I want, including people.’” I picked up my bag and stepped back into the storeroom behind my desk to set the alarm. “Let’s rearrange your art quickly so I can go get drunk.”

“That sounds like the kind of night I was hoping for,” he replied.





“Good evening, Miss Astor,” Gordon, the doorman at 740 Park Avenue, said, tipping his hat as we arrived. I’d expected Sam to pick me up in his car, but instead when we’d gone outside, he hailed a cab. His driver must be sick or something.

“Good evening, Gordon, how are your girls?” I asked. His twin granddaughters were beyond cute.

“Very well, and more beautiful by the day.”

“Be good to them,” I said, following Sam through the lobby.

“Always,” he called after me as I hurried after Sam.

As we stood in the elevator, facing the tiled mirror, Sam said, “You make friends fast.”

Before I had a chance to reply, the elevator stopped at the twentieth floor. “Damn, they need to get this thing fixed,” I said. It was as if the west elevator was haunted.

“Get what fixed?”

“For some reason, this always stops on the twentieth floor,” I said, pushing the thirty-fourth button furiously.

“Someone probably just called it, then realized they forgot something,” Sam said. “You get irritated easily. How many times has it happened to you? Once, twice? Get over it.”

“It’s been like this for seven or eight years, smartass.”

“Seven or eight years? What do you do, ride all the elevators of the Upper East Side, checking they’re running smoothly?”

Despite my sullen mood, I couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, I do, actually. What do you care how I spend my spare time?” I grinned at him and he smiled back and I remembered the way he’d held me, tightly but gently, as if I was something precious that he should be careful with. I looked away.

“Gallery owner by day, elevator rider by night. There’s so much to know about you, Grace Astor.”

“You have no idea, Sam Shaw, no idea at all.”

As we entered his apartment, the lack of any furniture took me by surprise again, even though it was exactly the same as it had been before. “Okay, so tell me which of these pieces are hung incorrectly.” I turned when I didn’t get an answer and found myself alone in the living space. “Sam Shaw?” I called out.

“In the kitchen, Grace Astor.”

I followed his voice. He was in the kitchen, which, unsurprisingly, was almost empty, pouring whiskey into two crystal tumblers.

“Drink?” he said, handing me a glass.

Hell yes. I threw the whole thing back, thrilled to let the liquid happiness trickle down my throat and make everything better. “Thanks.”

He didn’t say a word, just grabbed my wrist and held it as he added more whiskey to my glass.

As he took his hand away from my arm, his fingers trailed across my skin. I blinked and looked up at him from under my lashes. He needed to reel it in. Stop his flirting, hold back his kisses.

My heart was bruised, shut down, and if it wasn’t it would never be open to a man like Sam Shaw. Too rich, too spoiled, too willing to do whatever it took to get his own way—including show up at my gallery and drag me to his apartment.

At least he’d given me whiskey.

If he’d just stop looking at me like that. I felt the pressure of his gaze all over me.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

He eyed me over the edge of his own glass before taking a sip. His Adam’s apple bobbed and I imagined tracing my tongue down his throat.

“One of those days?” he asked.

“Hmmm.” I turned and moved out of the kitchen, back into the living space and toward the La Touche.

“Want to talk about it?” he asked from behind me.

That was the last thing I wanted to do. I wanted to forget about my day. Forget what a horrible judge of character I’d been about Steve. He’d always been so humble about his art whenever I’d told him how talented he was. He’d seemed so grateful when I’d agreed to hold an exhibit for his work—concerned he wouldn’t do anything for the reputation of the gallery. Most of all, he’d acted like he loved me.

And yet at the first sighting of success he’d morphed into someone so alien it must have been there all along. I’d tricked myself into thinking he was one kind of man when he was entirely another. He’d used me to get what he needed and then when he thought I might hold him back he was gone.

I took another sip, wanting to dilute my realization.

“This looks just as we discussed.” The frame was exactly where I’d placed the pencil marks on the wall.

“Do you like it there?” Sam asked, his voice soft from just a few feet behind me.

The whiskey loosened my muscles, and blurred the stress of the day into something more manageable.

“It would look good anywhere.” I didn’t turn around, just tipped back my glass, wanting more of the day to slip away from me. If I let myself be seduced, just for the evening, just for now, the worries about how I’d pay the rent, how I’d buy more inventory, would all seem less important. Even if just for an hour or two. “The whiskey’s good, too.”