Was I staring?
I blew out a quiet breath.Yes. I was.
But in my defense, it wasn'tonlybecause he was obscenely good-looking. It was because he looked so far out of place that I didn't know what to think.
This was a formal interview. But he was wearing tattered jeans and a black T-shirt that looked like it had been washed at least a hundred times. True, the shirt looked good on him – maybetoogood. The dark cotton clung to his finely cut muscles, only to fall a shade too loosely over his slim waist and narrow hips.
Confused, I gave his jeans a better look. They looked good on him too, but that was hardly the point. They weren't exactly dress-jeans, assuming there was such a thing. I saw a hole in one knee and paint smears along his right hip.
I felt my eyebrows furrow. It was like he hadn't gotten the memo, literally. It was beyond odd, but not as odd as my unseemly reaction to him.
His clothes aside, there was something intriguing about his stance – too wide, too defiant, and definitely too masculine, at least compared to what I'd been expecting.
Shifting in my high-backed leather seat, I smoothed down my skirt, hoping to cover not only my skin, but my growing embarrassment.
After Beatrice left, the guy strode forward and claimed the usual spot, standing at the far end of the ornate conference table. His dark gaze scanned the room, passing quickly over the six of us seated at the table, along with the dozen others sitting in chairs behind us.
When his gaze passed mine, I sucked in a breath.
It suddenly hit me that I was nervous. For me? Or for him? Either way, this was a big deal. If he was selected, he'd have a shot at the kind of fame and fortune that most people could only dream of. The next year could literally change his life.
Or, he could flame out like last year's crop of artist wannabes.
Still, I was rooting for him. Of course, I'd also been rooting for the ten other candidates that we'd interviewed today. But when it came to this guy? Well, I was rooting a little harder for reasons I couldn't quite understand.
It had nothing to do with his clothes, or how obscenely good he looked in them. It was those eyes, dark and dangerous, with a hint of sadness that tugged at my heart.
I felt myself swallow. Yup, those eyes were definitely a problem. I wanted to get lost in them and forget everything else – the fact that I hated this whole process, the sad state of my financial affairs, and the awkward truth that, unlike my dad, I couldn’t even paint a bathroom, much less a string of masterpieces that had gained him worldwide fame.
It was official. My life was a mess.
Next to me, Derek leaned close and whispered, "I know what you're thinking."
God, I sure hope not.
Derek wasn't just the attorney for my dad's estate. He was the closest thing I had to a brother. He was tall and lean, with blonde hair and light blue eyes. If Derekdidknow what I was thinking, I'd never hear the end of it.
I reached up to touch my face. Was I blushing? Probably. If I was lucky, the dimmed lights hid the worst of it.
I lowered my hand and whispered back, "I'm not thinking anything."
Or, at least nothing I wanted to discuss.
"Right." Derek gave me a faint smirk. "You're thinking she could've been at leasta littleless obvious. Am I right?"
I wasn't following.She?
Into my silence, Derek continued. "If you ask me, she's slipping." He gave a small laugh. "But hey, don't tell her I said that."
Who on Earth was he talking about? I gave Derek a questioning look and waited for him to elaborate.
But all he did was smile in that old familiar way. It was the same smile that he'd given me on my thirteenth birthday, just before Aunt Gina had surprised me with a singing clown who stank of whiskey and fell down the front steps.
Oh, my God.Aunt Gina. My stomach twisted, and my hands grew clammy.
Suddenly, I wanted to crawl under the table. Today was my birthday. The big twenty-one. With growing dread, I snuck another quick glance at the stranger.
Insanely hot? Check.
