Page 23 of A Crane Family New Year

Her mouth fell open but only for a moment before she blinked and then studied him beneath her lashes. “I’m not an early riser.”

“I’m flexible,” he rumbled.

“That remains to be seen,” she purred. She batted her lashes, clearly flirting with him. Maybe he wasn’t as rusty at this as he thought.

He gingerly guided her on the dance floor, trying not to step on her toes and trying to decide when to tell her how they knew each other. He was loathe to break the spell they were under but couldn’t let them go too far before he told her the truth.

Well. Here went nothing.

“When I told you I worked for Crane Hotels,” he started, “I didn’t share in what capacity.”

“I assumed you were in charge of something somewhere.”

“How very specific.”

“You know what I mean.” She nudged his shoulder playfully. “I assume you have a plaque with your name on it, and below that a very long, very complicated title. Like… Director of Human Resources and Marketability. Or Chief Counsel of…Financial Endeavors.”

God, she was cute.

“Are those actual positions?”

“No idea. I’m not the corporate type.”

“Says the President of Sable Concierge.”

“It’s a vanity title.”

He let her have the moment of humility, but in the future, and once he knew her better, he wouldn’t allow her to downgrade her accomplishments. Even though he couldn’t help arguing, “I doubt Isabella Sawyer-Crane would hand out pity titles.”

Chloe blushed prettily.

“I’m not very corporate either. I am allergic to going to meetings.” He shuddered for effect. “I, ah, I work for myself.”

“An entrepreneur. Impressive.”

“More like a contractor.”

She tipped her head. “Like a builder?”

“No. More like a…purveyor.”

“A purveyor?” Her expression shifted into an adorable look of confusion.

His palms grew slick as he relived the same sinking, rotting-gut feeling as when he’d pressed Send on the invitation he’d sent her—the one she’d never responded to online.

Just say it.

“I procure art for businesses. Paintings. Photography. It’s lucrative, and I can operate from anywhere in the world.” He cleared his throat and then opened the bag to let the cat out. “I have been chatting with a woman online who posts exquisite black-and-white photos of Chicago. I was enamored by her work. Still am. She refused to sell to me. I was very disappointed.”

Her hand on his shoulder slipped a few inches. “That sounds…very familiar.”

“That’s what I thought when I saw your photos hanging in the hallway in this very mansion, Chloe.”

He saw the exact moment when the truth dawned on her face—her eyes widened, and she blinked, stunned.

“Or should I call you Curly Q Sue?”

Chapter Eight

---