Page 18 of Obsession

A glass artist’s wet dream.

Before I could think better of it, I traced the copper seams of the clock and sighed. The glass was fashioned in separate panels and cut to fit the design. Beveled glass in pie-shaped sections gave dimension to the piece and was framed by a copper seam that even had lines for each minute of the hour.

Huge copper hands were set to the correct time with a working second hand slowly ticking around the clock face. It had to be eight feet tall.

I turned around to him. His eyes were gold fire, and his fists were clenched at his sides. “It’s beautiful. Superb, actually.” I turned back to the clock. His stare was too intense. If my heartrate went any higher, I was going to need a damn doctor. I tried to even out my breathing, but my chest wasn’t cooperating.

I pressed my hand to the glass.

It centered me. This, I understood. It had been my one constant with all the changes in my life.

“Did you create this?”

I wish I hadn’t asked. I really didn’t want to know. I could deal with Blake Carson, mogul and inventor, but he wasn’t allowed to move into artist.

How was I supposed to hold out against someone who clearly loved glass as much as I did?

Chapter Seven

Iturned around, but he was gone. The door to a room on the far side was slightly ajar. I let out the breath that had been trapped by my malfunctioning heart.

It was really better if I didn’t know.

I followed him into the room. He’d unpacked the tins. I touched the side of the one left for me, and it was surprisingly hot to the touch. He sat down and stabbed at his food with a plastic fork.

“I think you have mine.” I wanted to cut my damn tongue off. Who cared? I’d pretty much eat anything from a Thai place.

“Evidently, we have the same taste in Thai, Ms. Copeland.”

“Oh.” I pried the cover off and moaned at the scent. Sitting at the tiny condiments table would be rude, so I followed him to the conference table. A screen on the far end of the room told me it was probably for showing off some important movie about how awesome Carson Covenant Inc. was.

I took the complimentary chopsticks and sat down across from him. “So, am I to assume you’ve been working in second gear, and I should be very afraid?”

He peered up from his food, the slashing dark brows still furrowed. A muscle in his jaw flexed. “I’ve been without a secretary?—”

“Assistant.”

The muscle in his jaw jumped again. I shouldn’t poke the bear, but I couldn’t help it. Not when he was all buttoned up and trying to eat pad Thai noodles with a fork. I clicked my chopsticks at him. “Much easier.”

“I don’t use them.”

“Don’t use them or don’t know how?”

“There’s a difference?”

His voice was icy and made me want to poke at him all the more. I got the feeling that people were afraid of him. Part of me was as well, but evidently, I’d drowned that bit of self-preservation this morning.

Or maybe it was the six bottles of Pepsi Max over quota for the day. Whatever it was, my foot bounced under the table as I scooped up the thinly sliced chicken and tilted my head to eat it as daintily as possible.

He swore when his fork snapped.

I stuck my chopsticks in my food and stood up. I rummaged into the bag.

“I don’t know how to use them,” he said through his teeth.

“Now, now. You can learn.” I snapped them apart and rolled a rubber band off my wrist. I habitually put them there for either my hair or when I was working in my shop. They were good for holding glass in a lead channel. I wrapped it around the end and handed them to him.

“Isn’t this what you do for a child?”

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