Page 3 of One Wrong Move

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. He’s fit. I know that first hand.” She grins and inclines her head slightly in his direction. “One of the gallery’s best customers, too, so you know he’s got deep pockets.”

“Right, that makes sense. You kinda have to if you’re into art,” I say. My voice comes out high, laced with nervousness.

Aadhya taps her manicured nails against the closed cover of the Sterling Gallery’s collection catalog. “He makes Eitan very happy, at least, whenever he visits. I’ve tried to get him to ask me on a date for months.”

My eyebrows rise. “You have?”

“Of course,” she says with a smile. “Do you know how rare it is to have fit customers?”

I look back at Nate, where he’s chatting with our eccentric boss, a legend in the art industry and someone I remember hearing about in college.

The two of them start strolling through the gallery toward where Aadhya and I are lingering.

Shit.

My heart rate speeds up with every step they take. Dean and Nate have been friends for nearly twenty years. They went to college together, and Nate had been over at our place plenty of times for dinner.

He was also supposed to be Dean’s best man at our wedding.

The last time I saw him was at a dinner party, months ago. He’d been sitting across the table from me, surrounded by Dean’s family and friends and so much candlelight that it sucked all the air out of the room until I felt like I was about to suffocate. But everyone else near me laughed on, oblivious to the danger.

Dean must have sent him.

Sure, he’s interested in art, but what are the odds of Nate being here on my second day?

I grab one of the gallery’s oversized coffee table books, resting it upright on top of the sleek desk that holds our single computer, and drop onto the lone chair facing the screen. In a panic, I open up the hardcover and concentrate intently on the pages.

“We have more from Vesper in the room across here,” Eitan says. “If you’re interested in some of their more fluid expressions, there’s a piece in purple that I personally find very expressive.”

Nate gives a thoughtful hum.

“Good afternoon,” Aadhya says warmly. “As always, just let me know if you two want anything while you browse. A cup of coffee?”

“I’m good, thank you,” Nate says. His voice is so close. Right in front of me, above the edges of a glossy Monet I’m barely looking at. My breaths feel too fast, my heart beat too rapid.

Footsteps start up again, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Harper?” he asks. “Is that you?”

Shit.

I lower the enormous book to find three pairs of eyes staring at me. Eitan, with barely concealed surprise. Aadhya, with her mouth gaping wide. And Nate, standing on the other side of the desk, his dark eyes intent on me.

I give him a small smile. “Hi, Nate.”

“What a lovely surprise,” he says. His voice is deep and assured, and not the least bit surprised. He knew, I think. The suspicion grows thicker in my throat, and fear lodges deep.

He wouldn’t come here on Dean’s orders. Would he?

“You know our new colleague,” Eitan says. His voice is impossible to decipher, and I glance from my ex-fiancé’s best friend to my new boss.

“I do, indeed,” Nate says. “How have you been, Harper?”

“Great. Yeah, it’s been… fantastic. Settling in here, in London.”

He nods and gives the others a charming smile. The top button of his dress shirt is undone, and the cut of his suit looks tailored. Every inch, the man I’ve always known him to be. Indecently rich and unfairly handsome.

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