Page 4 of One Wrong Move

“Harper has regularly advised me about art back in New York. I have her to thank for some of my best purchases.”

What?

I blink up at him from behind the desk.

“Is that so?” Aadhya says in a warm purr.

Eitan lifts an eyebrow and looks at me like he’s reevaluating everything he thought about his gallery’s brand-new American employee. “Well, well,” he says. “What a lovely surprise, indeed.”

I put the coffee table book down with as much grace as I can, considering it weighs more than any book ever should.

“I didn’t know you were moving on to this gallery, or I would have reached out,” Nate says.

He’s laying it on thick. I don’t know why, either, but judging by the looks on my coworkers’ faces, it’s working. I clear my throat. “It was a rather quick career decision, that’s true.”

He nods, and there’s a flicker of acknowledgment in his eyes. Quick is an understatement for what I’d done. Pulled the rug out from under Dean, got on a flight, and left everything I’ve ever known behind.

Only weeks before the wedding.

“But a great one. I’ve bought a fair number of works from this gallery. Wouldn’t you say, Eitan?” Nate gives the Englishman a wide grin.

Eitan’s lips curve slightly. “Indeed you have, Mr. Connovan. A most fruitful association.”

“For us both,” he says. “Say, would you mind if Harper shows me around for a bit? I would love to hear her take on some pieces, and then I’ll meet back up with you to finalize a few things.”

Aadhya stares at Eitan. I stare at Eitan. It’s a blatant snub, even wrapped up in the determined charm Nate Connovan has always exuded.

“But of course,” Eitan says. “You two must have a lot of catching up to do. Aadhya will be here if you need anything, and, please, come see me on the third floor when you’re done.”

Mr. White handles it gracefully, I have to give him that.

Nate looks at me with a raised brow. “Let’s.”

Okay then.

Rising from my seat, I don’t dare look in Aadhya’s direction. I can already hear the hundred-and-one questions I’ll have to answer when I return. Likely from each of them.

I fall into step beside Nate. He’s tall, towering nearly a head over me. His long strides are measured next to mine. I try to focus on the art around us and not on his presence, but it’s nearly impossible.

Here it comes, I think. The admonition. The questions.

Telling me how upset Dean is.

What a giant mistake I’ve made.

“How have you been?” he asks.

I glance his way. “Good. It’s been a lot.”

“Yeah. I can imagine.”

I match his tone of voice, keeping mine low, too. Lord knows galleries are great for making sound carry. I steer us toward the adjacent room, bypassing all of the Vesper pieces Eitan had been determined to show Nate.

“Did you know… Did you know that I work here?”

Nate is quiet for a beat, and my stomach sinks. Shit.

“I did,” he says. “But I’m also a regular customer. We would’ve met eventually.”

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