“So what’d you wish for?” asked Tanner.
“None of your business. But if you must know, I wished to learn all of Ryder Storm’s secrets.”
Tanner had no response. He just stared at me as I turned and walked triumphantly out of his office.
Gotcha bitch.
An hour later when I looked up from my computer to stretch, I noticed a little black envelope sitting on my desk.Where did that come from!?The obvious answer was Tanner. But how had he put it there without me knowing? He was so damn sneaky.
For once it was my turn to interrupt Chastity in the middle of work. I spun her chair around. She jumped and almost tossed her laptop on the floor.
“What the…” She squealed with excitement the second she saw the envelope. “Open it!”
I slowly broke the gold wax seal and pulled out the thick white parchment. I cleared my throat and read: "Raven Black, it would be my pleasure to escort you to an exclusive exhibition at the Metropolitan Museum of Art this evening at 8:30. Signed, Ryder Storm.”
YES!But what did this have to do with his secrets? Was he a world-class painter? I’d find out soon enough…
***
I had polished off half a bottle of champagne by the time my limo rolled up to the Met. It was the only way to prevent myself from hyperventilating. My mind was running a mile a minute, second-guessing every decision I’d made since I got the date card.
Is this too much cleavage?Yes.
Are these the right Odegaards?Definitely not. Choosing one of 74 pairs had been my worst nightmare. Eventually I had just playedeeny, meeny, miny, moeand landed on the snake-skin Medusas. So I wore them.Ha. Yeah right. I didn’t have the confidence to wear those things in public. Instead I just wore some sparkly pumps.
Here goes nothing.I took a deep breath and got ready to step out of the limo. I expected to be attacked by paparazzi as I made my way down the red carpet to the doors of the Met…but there was no red carpet. And no paparazzi. Because this wasn’t the Met Gala. It was just the Met on a random Tuesday.Duh.The only person who even looked at me was a hotdog vendor, and that was just to tell me that I looked like I was in the mood for one of his nice juicy wieners.
See? Too much cleavage.
I tugged my top up and rushed up the stairs to the Met. The view inside took my breath away. And I’m not talking about the view of the great hall. I’m talking about the view of Ryder in his maroon and gold suit. He was sexy when he was Tanner, but when he transformed into Ryder, when he showed his confidence with his man bun and wild tuxedos…that was when I really found him irresistible.
I tried to do my sexiest walk towards him, but I only managed to trip and nearly break my ankle.Fuck!I threw my hands out to catch myself, but there was no need. Because Ryder caught me in his strong arms.
“Are you stalking me?” he asked, while still balancing me in his arms.
If I hadn’t been before, I definitely would have been now. Because this would have been an epic meet-cute. “Technically you’re the one that happened to show up when I fell. I believe that means you’re stalking me.” I patted his chest. All I wanted to do was rip his shirt off.
He smiled as he steadied me back on my feet. “Your dress is stunning.”
“You too.”His dress is stunning?I coughed to try to distract him from my stupid comment. And I shouldn’t have said something nice, anyway. I was supposed to be playing hard to get. I took a deep breath and reminded myself of the plan. I wasn’t interested in him. We were boss and employee. Nothing more. I tried to think of a way to change my compliment into an insult. I pointed at his tux. “I know this is an art exhibit, but I didn’t realize we were supposed to wear the art.”
“You look like a work of art as well,” he said.
No! I wasn’t complimenting you.It was supposed to be a sick burn. Why did he have to be so dense? “Are you stalking me?” I used his own line against him.
But he wasn’t fazed at all. He just grabbed my hand and twirled me. The way he looked at me as my dress flared out made me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. If he had finished it off with a dip, I would have lost all control and made out with him right then and there.
“You’re just in time for the tour. Shall we?” He put his hand on the small of my back and led me to one of the smaller rooms of the gallery. A dozen couples were milling around admiring the paintings. Based on their appearances - all super attractive, dressed to the nines, and wearing black wristbands - I assumed they were all Society members.
The docent cleared her throat and asked for our attention. Everyone gathered around and she started describing some ugly Jacques Louis David painting that was apparently worth millions.
“What do you think?” asked Ryder.
“Of the painting? It’s fine.”
He nodded. “Insightful critique. Want to know what I think of it?”
“Sure.”
