Kismet (Happy Endings 3)

“And I can’t wait to get to know you,” Emily says as we walk. Her kind eyes latch on mine. “Miranda told me you have your eye on the VP post we have open.”

“I’m definitely working hard for that promotion. I think I can bring a lot to the table.”

“It’s a plum position, and we want exactly the right person for it, so I held off on making any decision until you arrived. That way, we can get to know each other before I fill the role. I can’t wait to hear all about your vision,” she says, and I want to squee.

I’m not a squee-er so I don’t, but I’m doing a fist pump inside. My dream is so close. Emily seems to like me already. Heck, she’s been waiting to fill the position until we met. That’s humbling and amazing, and I won’t disappoint her.

“I look forward to sharing my thoughts, and also just to diving into, well, anything,” I say as she whisks me through the office.

“Fantastic. Let me tell you a little more about how we like to operate here. We endeavor to make sure all members of the contemporary department at HighSmith work in tandem with others. Over the last week, I’ve been brainstorming the best pair-ups here at the house, and I’m going to put you on a handful of projects with one of our top art experts. He’s been here for nearly twenty years, has curated loads of collections, and has the respect of all his clients.”

“He sounds great,” I say with a smile.

“He’s brilliant. His knowledge and expertise are truly unparalleled.” She drops her voice to a conspiratorial tone. “He’s a little salty, but that’s why I thought you’d be a great pair.”

Balance—that’s a smart strategy in this field. I like her style already. “I’m not afraid of salty. I’m from New York,” I say with a bob of my shoulder. “Salty is de rigueur there.”

“Perfect. When Miranda told me about your energy and approach, I knew you’d be a brilliant addition, and I’m so glad you were willing to relocate straightaway.”

She sails down the hallway, and . . . yes! Today is just . . . yes. A few minutes in and I’m already making a good impression. Surely the promotion will be mine—I can feel it.

At an open door, Emily stops, turning to me with a smile. “And this will be your new team partner. Josephine Brennan, meet Heath Graham.”

Nooooo! Denial slams into me like a bolt of electricity out of nowhere.

Please, oh please, let the first name be a wild coincidence.

But when I turn into the doorway, my Englishman is seated behind the desk, tapping on the keyboard, eyes on the screen.

He looks up without taking off his glasses. His face goes blank for a beat, and I imagine his synapses struggling to process that, yes, he’s seeing me standing in his office doorway.

His lips part as the reality hits, and I’m pretty sure he mutters something not safe for work.

Yeah.

Fuck me too.

9

HEATH

The first meeting between the hero and heroine of Pride and Prejudice might be the most disastrous first impression in literature, but at least Mr. Darcy knew Elizabeth Bennet’s last name.

Jay Gatsby, for all his many flaws, realized that Daisy Buchanan was off-limits.

But me? When I met Jo on Sunday night at Sticks and Stones, I avoided such practical things. Last night on the phone, too, I focused only on our chemistry. The fun we were having. The connection. Words and wordplay trumped worldly details.

But even if at some point we’d touched on something as basic as, I don’t know, identity, would it have occurred to me to ask, Hey, wouldn’t it be a coincidence if we happened to work in the same field?

Or, maybe, at the same damn company?

True, her name might have triggered a query as to whether she could be our new director of contemporary European art—that is, if I’d known of Josephine Brennan’s hiring, but Emily circulated the news of the acquisition of Bancroft House only hours before we were due to welcome the import.

Josephine Brennan will be starting tomorrow now that we’ve acquired Bancroft House. Big plans afoot!

That was all her email said. Did I think twice about it? No. Because it seemed impossible that the incoming director could be the same as my Jo.

But here she is, standing in my doorway. The lovely, captivating woman who I’m slated to have dinner with on Friday night is mere feet away, looking deliciously professional in a black dress with short sleeves and tiny white polka dots—it’s a little arty, fitting for our field, but businesslike too. A perfect mix of classy and pretty, which describes Jo perfectly.

And she’s still utterly sexy to me.

But she can’t be.

She’s my co-worker. My new colleague.

As I take off my glasses, Emily beams, gesturing to Jo like she’s a prize. “Jo has a master’s degree in art history. She worked at Christie’s in New York, then The Met, and she’s been curating the modern European art exhibits for Bancroft in New York for the last year,” Emily says. “And at the rate Bancroft has been building their client base and winning business away from the other houses, we just thought it better to buy the competition.”