Page 85 of Captive Ruin

“Our pleasure. The office will email the invoice tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” With this much art to sell at sixty percent commission, that’s just a cash-flow problem, not a financial burden. I owe Van Wyk a great deal.

“Good luck,” Jerry says, and the other guys give me nods and smiles as they walk out.

“Jerry’s cute,” Sierra observes as we watch them leave.

“Is he?” I don’t see it, but then he’s too young for me. Men of that age are so rarely emotionally mature. He’s probably not intelligent enough either—that sounds horribly pretentious, but it’s true. I know I’d be bored by his mind.

Not the case with someone else I know.

Sierra looks like she wants to say more, but fortunately, she doesn’t. Instead, she turns her attention to the gallery. “It looks good, doesn’t it? And it’s all yours.”

“Yes, it is.” With more than a little help from Van Wyk. And Serranto, ironically—this wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t done what he did. I’d be looking at Michael Amiento and Jeanne Quek’s work, wondering if I was going to sell enough to make rent. Not the high-value artists on display around me, any one of them enough to keep the wolf from the door for weeks to come.

And if I sell all of them? Or even half?

“That was a happy sigh,” Sierra comments.

“Yes, it was.” I smile at her. “Why don’t you head off home? It’s been a big day, and we have another tomorrow.”

She gives me an apologetic look. “I haven’t finished updating all the listing documentation.”

“Do it tomorrow. It’ll be fine.”

She makes a face. “I’d rather do it tonight. Then I know it’s done.”

“As you prefer.” Sierra won’t be happy otherwise. “Then come in late tomorrow, okay? I’ll open up.”

“Thank you, I will.” She gives me a hug. Not her first, but they’re quite rare, and this one catches me off guard. I have to blink hard before I can let go. “Nerve-racking, isn’t it?”

I smile, standing amid my dreams given form. “It’s… thrilling. It’s everything. It’s amazing.”

She beams back at me. “Good night, Ammy. See you in the morning for the big day!”

I’m expecting Van Wyk to be waiting at my apartment when I get back home, and I’m surprised to find there’s no one sitting in the dark.

That’s fine, I can cook my own dinner.

I’m halfway through making a stir fry before I realize I miss him. I set down my spatula and stare at the wall, hating myself a little.

How the hell did that happen?

Worse, it’s not the sex I’m missing, or even the company. It’s him. Those steel-grey eyes that miss nothing. His dominance, his confidence, his too-perfect body and his way of just going through barriers like they’re not even there. My front door, my kitchen, all of my refusals. He does what he wants to do, says what he wants to say, and I… like it.

The smell of burning garlic drags me back to the present. Muttering, I finish making my food and sit down with it in front of the TV.

My phone rings when I’m barely halfway through, Sierra’s number on the screen.

I answer it around a mouthful of noodles. “Everything all right with the documentation?”

“Amelia.” She sounds breathless. “It’s… it’s…”

“Slow down,” I say, trying for calm as my own anxiety spikes. “What’s the matter? Everything is fixable, right?”

“It’s on fire!” she sobs down the line. “The gallery! It’s on fire!”

Twenty-One