Page 70 of Dropping the Ball

“Glassblower,” he says. “Incredible work.”

“Yeah. This is about her. A donor is willing to put up a custom chandelier commission for the auction if Gabriela agrees to it. A big piece, something you would see in the entry of a corporate building. She said ‘more than a conversation piece, a showstopper.’”

“That’s a generous offer. She could charge a ton for something on that scale.”

“We’ll easily be able to auction it for low six figures,” I say. “The right to commission a piece from her is exactly the kind of thing these gala guests will go to battle for. It’s exclusive, so it will matter more for bragging rights than it will for actual cost.”

“Where do I come in?”

I sigh. “She’s heard Rylan Hurley will be there, and she wants to catch his attention. He builds—”

“Hotels in Vegas,” Micah finishes, a small smile on his lips. “I pay attention to those kinds of projects.”

“Right.” Of course an architect would pay attention to massive luxury buildings. “It would be an amazing get for the auction, but she has a condition.”

Micah closes his eyes long enough for it not to be a blink before he meets mine. “She wants to collaborate?”

I give him that yes-and-no head shake, the one that saysKind of but not really. “Probably not on the scale you’re thinking. She does want some of her work to be incorporated. Something already existing. She had me take pictures of the pieces she’d like us to consider. She doesn’t expect us to take it all, but she’d like us to choose something—or things—substantial enough to makea statement. Whet their appetites, I guess. Or at least Rylan Hurley’s.”

He rubs his hands over his face then sighs. “I get it. Can’t blame her for trying to get her work into his hotels. May I see?”

I hand him my phone. Our fingers brush. Neither of us react, but inside, I feel that spark. It reminds me that resistance is futile but necessary.

He studies each picture for several long seconds. I can’t read his face. After a few minutes, he nods and goes back to one, standing to look out through the booth window. He rubs his finger across his lips several times. I’m very jealous of that finger.

“There’s a possibility here,” he says. “Mind if I text this to myself?”

“Go ahead.”

He does and gives back my phone. “That vase in the picture. How tall is it?”

“About four feet.” I hold my hand chest high.

He nods and chews at his bottom lip. “I have an idea. We’ll need to go to my workshop so I can show you. Is that okay?”

I don’t have time for this. I have no idea where his workshop is. I should ask him to send me a picture or tell him whatever he’s planning is fine. But I want to go to his workshop. This feels like an “inner sanctum” moment.

“Sure. Is it far?”

“No. It’s in my garage. I better drive.”

His garage. In his house?

Better and better, but worse and worse.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Kaitlyn

I follow Micah downthe stairs, pause while he lets Eva know that we’re running to his workshop, and then he’s opening his truck door for me. I’m buckled in by the time he settles behind the wheel. His truck is clean, like its “new car smell” days weren’t too long ago. No scuffs in the gray interior.

He starts the engine, shifts, and ignores the backup camera to put his hand on my seat so he can look over his shoulder to reverse.

I didn’t know I had a thing for guys doing this, but it turns out I do. It’s sexy. Which is ridiculous. What is sexy about an arm resting on the back of my seat while he’s looking past me, not at me? Maybe because it opens up his body frame and creates a perfect nook for nestling, like I could curl up beside him and he’d let that arm drop to settle around me instead.

Instead of backing up, Micah pauses, removes his hand from my seat, and puts the truck back in park.

“Do you hate this idea that much?” I ask, when he’s silent. “Maybe I can solve this another way, like turning one of the frontoffices into a ‘gallery space’ and put several of her pieces out there.”

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