Page 84 of Captive Ruin

“You know I have a lot of work to do today,” I say, a little aggrieved. “Why did you let me sleep?”

“Isn’t it your gallery? Does it matter what time you get there?”

“Well…” I suppose not. And in truth, I still have tomorrow to set out the art if we overrun today. “…that’s not the point.”

“Hurry up then, Little Stray. Wouldn’t want to be any later, would you?”

I give him a glare and turn away.

“You’ll be faster if I come and wash your back.”

That, I doubt very much indeed. I flip him off as I walk out, and his chuckle follows me into the bathroom.

“The Wolfgang Tillmans interspersed with the Taryn Simon pieces, or both as their own set?” Sierra asks.

“Definitely their own set,” I tell her as I assess a cityscape sculpture from Liu Wei.

“Back wall for Tillmans?”

“Yes, with plenty of light.”

“Of course.”

With me directing Sierra and her marshaling the Crozier team, we’re done by early evening. I’m grateful to the guys for their heavy lifting prowess. They’re not cheap but they’re very good, and without them, I never would’ve managed the sculptures, two of which are the size of a small car.

The distraction of planning it out and getting it all set up has kept my mind off Van Wyk… mostly. I still find my thoughts wandering in his direction more often than I’d care to admit.

Now I’m sitting in my office, ostensibly emailing our invitees the change to the exhibition program, but it’s not keeping my mind occupied.

Instead, it drifts back to the image of him lying in my bed, that torso on display.

What does he really want from me? Am I just a piece of ass to him—figuratively and literally? Surely he doesn’t break into other apartments to cook a woman dinner, does he?

Does it mean something that he did that? Do I even care?

It’s confusing. He’s confusing.

One moment, he’s all civil and polished, intelligent, reserved, yet with a hint of playfulness. The next, he’s dominant, dirty as fuck, pinning me down and making me come hard.

I press my thighs together beneath my desk. Sitting gives a mild ache, and it’s not the spanking. It comes from the very hard fucking.

But that’s not all there is to Van Wyk. What about when he’s possessive, with a side order of psychopath?

I haven’t told Sierra about the finger in the box. How can I? I haven’t told my sister, either. I’ll need to tell her something, but not that. I can’t even think how I’d start the conversation.

Sierra knocks on my open office door. “Ammy? The guys are leaving.”

“The packaging?”

“All tidied away into the storeroom.”

“Fantastic.” I get up, following her into the main gallery.

It’s been completely transformed with all-new art, each piece from Fournier’s collection. It looks amazing. It also looks incredibly expensive. It’s everything I’ve worked toward, more than I’ve ever dreamed, and for a moment, standing in the middle of it, I have to press my lips together and breathe.

The lead Crozier guy is waiting with an easy grin.

“Thank you, Jerry, it’s perfect.”