Page 25 of Scrooge

“Fine. Let’s just go,” Haylee says as she zips up her handbag.

“Don’t wait up,” she says to her sister, who follows us to the door to lock up.

“Oh, I will.” The two of them share a knowing look and a smile before I take her hand and lead her to the car. My fingers entwine with hers naturally, so much so, it isn’t until I notice Dan staring at where we are joined that I realize what I have done.

“Dan, this is Haylee. Haylee, Dan is my driver and will happily take you anywhere you need to go as well,” I tell her as Dan opens the back door and we slip into the back seat.

“Pleasure to meet you, Miss Haylee,” Dan says formally.

“You too, Dan,” Haylee quips, giving him a wide, beaming smile. My stomach coils a little at how easygoing she is with him, even though they just met.

“Straight to the gallery, please, Dan,” I say, and Dan nods, closing the door and getting into the driver’s seat, starting our journey to the gallery, which is only a few minutes away.

“Does everyone always do what you tell them to?” she asks, and I look over at her. She seems smaller in my car as she looks at me inquisitively. The city lights hit her glossy lips, and combined with her shiny hair, she is almost glowing.

“Usually,” I tell her honestly, feeling smug. “Have you always been so stubborn?” While my team all listen to me and do as I ask, so far, Haylee has pushed me at almost every encounter.

“You call it stubborn; I call it independent.” Her lips tip at the sides, and my jaw tenses.

“You don’t like to depend on people?” I ask, trying to pick up exactly what she is not saying.

“I don’t make a habit of it,” she replies too quickly, and I feel like I have hit a nerve.

“Me neither,” I admit.

“Well, there you go. We have something in common,” she teases, and my chest warms at the sound of her light laughter.

“Have you been to Maddison Miller before?” I ask. As an artist herself, I would assume she has visited all the museums and galleries New York has to offer.

“No. I mean, I love it. I walk past it almost weekly, but I have never been inside. Rumor is, the mob owns it,” she whispers, looking at me a little wide-eyed, and it isn’t far from the truth. Maddison Miller is married to Sebastian Romano, and heisthe mob.

“Truth be told, they own a lot of the city.”

“They do?” she asks on a gasp, and my lips quirk a little at her innocence when it comes to New York business. It is a dog-eat-dog world, and just when you think you have a handle on it, it changes again. That is just another reason why I am so laser focused on making Jackson Enterprises a big success.

“Yeah, but don’t worry, I own the other half.”

As the car pulls up, I already see a few media photographers at the front, waiting for the parade of people walking inside.

“Ready?” I ask her as I see her looking past me and out the window. She swallows some obvious nerves, and I wait until she nods.

“I’m ready,” she says, and I knock on the door. Dan opens it immediately, and as I step out, a few flashes go off, but then I lean in, offering her my hand.

“Come on, Sunflower, let's go.”

She places her soft hand in mine, and I hold on to her tight. As she steps out of the car to stand beside me, the flashes increase. I am often seen out with women, so it isn’t a surprise. But I don’t hold their hand. I usually walk first, and they follow behind. But I help Haylee out of the car, and together we walk in, side by side, before I pull her through the doors and she comes to an abrupt stop.

“Holy cow,” she breathes out, and I feel my lips quirk again. Seemingly a common occurrence around this woman.

“What do you think?” I murmur, pulling her into me and skirting my hand around her waist, resting it on her lower back. It feels comfortable, her body curving into my side just right. She looks up at me, a little startled, before her face changes slightly, like she is getting into character.

“This is amazing,” she says, and I am not sure if it is genuine or not, until I see her look around like she’s in a state of wonder. Immediately, I feel good for bringing her here. My dates usually consist of a boring dinner, mundane small talk, and a signed confidentiality agreement the next morning. Bringing a woman to an event like this is well outside of my usual. As we stand, I look around, admiring the room. I can see the time, money, and effort that has gone into it.

A waiter walks past, and I grab two glasses of champagne and hand her one.

“Shall we go take a look around?” I ask her as I notice a few people watching us, clearly wanting to see who I am with. Spotting a few business associates, I give them a curt nod in greeting.

“Yes. Oh, look, this is the work of Tom Hendrix,” Haylee says, looking at a photography display on the wall and walking to it as if a magnet draws her right in front of a portrait of a young man. There is a collection of them. All black-and-white photo portraits of various people, no one who is well-known. “See how he captures the reflections in their eyes.” It is a great shot. I don’t know anything about the photographer, but I look at the portraits and focus on their faces and see the display of their room reflected in their eyes. It is very clever.

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