“Are you ready?” I ask, slipping my hand into hers.
She gives my fingers a soft squeeze, her smile soft but determined. “Yes. Let's charm them so they can give you this gallery.”
I raise an eyebrow, gesturing toward the door. “Let’s get out of here. And remember, if you fall, aim for Liam.”
Laughing, she shakes her head. “You’re impossible.”
“Impossible to resist,” I shoot back, leading her out the door.
The car comes to a stop in front of The Warne Gallery, and I slip out, the cool evening air brushing against my face. My palm feels clammy, an unfamiliar sensation that irritates me. I’m not the type of person who gets nervous about business deals. Yet here I am, discreetly wiping my palm against my black pants beforeholding it out for Karley. She steps out gracefully, her hand slipping into mine.
We take the steps to the gallery entrance, the glow of warm lights illuminating the sidewalk. My heart pounds, each step bringing me closer to what could be the night everything changes. If I play my cards right, this gallery will finally have my name above the door.
The Lincoln Gallery.
And it’s not just the business acquisition that matters, there’s Karley too. This arrangement between us has grown into something I never expected, something I’m not ready to lose.
“Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln,” the doorman greets us, his tone polite and welcoming.
Karley’s fingers squeeze mine lightly. I glance down at her. Her lips curve into a sly smile, the kind that makes my pulse race for an entirely different reason.
Hearing that title doesn’t scare me the way I thought it might. If anything, I fucking love it. But what about her? Did the squeeze mean she liked it too? Her expression gives little away.
The doorman ushers us in, and as we step into the softly lit space, I lean down to murmur in her ear. “Mrs. Lincoln. God, I love the fucking sound of that.”
Her body shivers slightly, and the reaction gives me my answer. But this time, the possessive rush inside me is stronger than ever before.
The gallery’s interior is stunning, exuding understated elegance. A long wooden table dominates the room, surrounded by chairs and lit by the warm flicker of candlelight. Gentle amber lighting highlights the art on the walls, each piece perfectly curated, creating a calming atmosphere. The faint strains of instrumental music fill the space, soft enough to soothe, with just enough volume to mask the echo and our footsteps on the polished concrete floor.
For the first time tonight, my nerves begin to settle. The anticipation remains, but with Karley beside me, her presence grounding me, I feel like I can handle anything.
We approach the table, where Dan and Eden stand to greet us. I scan Mr. Warne’s face for any hint about tonight’s purpose, but his expression gives nothing away. Their smiles are wide and welcoming, genuine warmth radiating from them.
“Oliver, Karley, welcome!” Mr. Warne says, shaking my hand firmly while Eden leans in for a cheek kiss.
Karley mirrors the greeting.
As I glance around the table, I take in the unfamiliar faces. There are more guests than I’d anticipated… Dan and Eden’s friends, no doubt. But my gaze quickly lands on two I recognize: Liam and Paige.
Liam is already seated in a black suit, leaning back in his chair like he owns the place. Of course, he got here early, probably to position himself as Mr. Warne’s favorite. Asshat.
I briefly nod to the table, playing nice for now. Karley, ever the picture of grace, kisses Paige on the cheek and, of course, extends a friendly greeting to Liam.
I, however, can’t bring myself to shake his hand. Instead, I opt for a curt nod, my jaw tightening. She’s a better person than I am, that's for sure.
We slide into the last two available seats, side by side. As I settle into my chair, I take a deep breath, stealing a quick glance at Karley. She meets my eyes, and for a moment, her lips twitch with the hint of a smile.
Yeah, I’ve got this. With her, I’m unstoppable.
Karley leans in, her caramel-sweet scent enveloping me, her breath brushing warm against my cheek. The candlelightbrightens her eyes, making them dance with curiosity. “What’s this?” she asks quietly.
“Truffle gnocchi,” I murmur, turning my head. The proximity startles me… My lips are just a whisper away from hers. Her gaze lingers on mine, unspoken words swirling between us before she turns back to her plate.
“I like gnocchi,” she said, picking up her fork. “So, I’m sure I’ll like this.”
She takes a small bite, her expression unreadable at first, until a faint sound from the back of her throat draws my attention. Amusement tugs at my lips. “Not a fan?” I ask, biting back a laugh.
Karley shakes her head slowly, her expression slipping into an exaggerated smile that doesn’t fool me. She swallows, wincing slightly, and then reaches for her wine, chasing the taste away with a long sip.
