She didn't bother to wait for my response before she grabbed her black cashmere wrap and traipsed out the back door. I was nothing if not reliable, so she didn't have to worry about whether I'd clean or not. By the time she returned on Monday, her gallery would be spotless.
As I swept up the last cocktail napkin and put the last champagne glass in the holder for the caterer, I thought about how my boss saw me. Dependable. God, that was an awful way to be seen! Garbage bags were dependable. Wrenches were considered dependable. A good car was dependable.
The only thing worse would be if she'd called me sturdy.
With that cheery thought in mind, I turned off the lights, tied up the garbage bag that shared my dependable nature, and headed toward the back door to drop it off and go home for the night. One last job and I was Brooklyn bound.
I threw the trash in the Dumpster behind the building and locked the gallery's back door. Lost in thought, I heard someone behind me say, "Nice show, huh?"
The sound of his deep voice nearly made me jump out of my skin, and I spun around to see him. The man from earlier. Tristan. He stood leaning against a black sports car, arms folded across his chest, still dressed in that grey suit and looking even more incredible than when I'd first seen him. As I stared at him, drinking in how gorgeous he looked, my brain switched from pure fear back to normal to ask the obvious question.
Why is he here?
"Yeah, it was great. The artist is quite talented," I lied.
"It was shit and you know it. Nice outfit, though."
Instantly, I was once again acutely aware of how silly I looked in my waitress getup. His remark stung, and I snapped back, "It's called working. Now unless I can help you with something, I have to go. Have a good night."
I checked the lock on the gallery door and turned to walk away. I hadn't made it two steps before he quietly said, "I didn't mean anything bad by that. You look nice."
Was that sincerity in his voice? I didn't know. I just knew I didn't want to feel embarrassed by my work anymore that night.
Turning around, I tried to get a feel for this guy, but he just stood there staring at me like I was the most important person in the world at that moment. "Thanks."
"What do you say we go for a ride?"
"A ride?" I was confused, but I probably should have been afraid. I was standing in a back alley with a strange man, no matter how incredibly sexy he was, and there wasn't anyone nearby. How the hell was it possible that in a city of eight million Tristan and I were the only two there at that moment?
"A ride," he repeated in a slow, silky voice that made my stomach flip. "At least I can give you a ride home."
"You don't even know my name."
He stepped away from the car and in two strides was in front of me just inches away. Looking down at me, he smiled. "You're Nina Edwards, you work at this gallery, and unless I'm mistaken, you don't live anywhere near here."
As much as I wished he wasn't right, he was. Sunset Park, Brooklyn was miles away. However, that didn't mean I should forget everything I'd been taught all my life, even if he was the hottest man I'd ever spoken to. And even if this was one of my fantasies come true.
"I don't even know your name," I lied again.
A slow smile spread across his perfect mouth. "My apologies. I'm Tristan Stone and I'd like it if you'd let me take you home."
He extended his hand and I shook it, noticing how powerful it felt as it enveloped mine. His very expensive suit coat sleeve rode up just enough to show his Rolex, and I smiled at the fact that I'd called it correctly earlier. He probably had gold cufflinks just under those sleeves too. But where was the brunette?
As my mind raced with these ideas, I realized he knew my name. "How do you know my name? We've never met."
Placing his hand on my lower back, he guided me to the passenger side of his car. His touch was light, yet it was thrilling, making my head spin. As he opened the door, he stepped aside and let me sit down before he leaned in close and said, "I asked."
I watched him walk in front of the car while I enjoyed the lingering scent of his delicious cologne, and as he passed through the headlights, I noticed now that he wasn't flirting with me that he seemed to be frowning. He must have sensed I was looking at him because when he stopped and turned to face me, the smile reappeared, almost on cue.