Kismet (Happy Endings 3)

I couldn’t agree more, and I want to say as much. My desire to see him naked is frazzling my brain. I also just want to see him, even more than I did when he called last night.

So much more.

That sharp wit, that gentle soul. The things he said to me in his office an hour ago. Take me to the Turners, please. Show me the gallery. Talk to me about art. We’ll solve the puzzle together.

My stomach has hitched a ride on a roller coaster, rising up, flying down.

Loop de loop.

Between the naked thoughts and the swoony thoughts, my brain hasn’t left much room for the work stuff.

That’s not helpful, as I try to share my own vision for the upcoming collection. “And to do that, um, I think we should, um, try to procure some of Benedict Winslow’s paintings.”

The words all come out staccato as I mention a London collector, but Riya doesn’t seem to care that I sound like a bumbling frog.

She simply smiles, her big brown eyes kind. “I was nervous on my first day here too,” she says, reaching across the table to pat my hand, her gold bracelets jangling. “Don’t worry about the collection. We’ll get it all sorted. And it’ll be excellent.”

I duck my head, embarrassed. If she only knew why I’m a mess. “Thank you. I think I might still be jet-lagged,” I say, trying to erase the moment.

Way to make a great first impression on your new team, Jo.

Don’t think about the dinner you’re not going to have with Heath at some adorable trendy restaurant with clever new menu items to delight in together.

Don’t picture the bookshops you aren’t popping into when the meal is through, or the museums you’re not visiting the next day.

And definitely don’t think about the sex you’re not having with him after dinner. After bookshops. After museums.

All that toe-tingling sex.

Must stop now.

Getting involved with a colleague in a new country, in a new office, in a new job is the definition of a no-no.

I’m sure the company has a policy on dating a co-worker. And even if HighSmith doesn’t, what if things ended poorly between us? I’ve lost my home in New York. I don’t have a job to return to either.

It’s this job here, this life in London . . . or nothing.

I must treat it seriously because it’s all I have.

I do my best to recalibrate, bringing my usual energy to the planning. I reroute my attention to my job, which I do damn well.

“I’ve got some great ideas on how to reach a new sector of collectors,” I say.

Exclusive video tours of artist studios. A percentage of proceeds to some of the artists’ favorite charities. A centerpiece work that we can market online, in our newsletters, and to our regular customers.

We toss these ideas about over sandwiches and sushi, and devise a plan to make our auctions innovative and fresh for the new collectors, as well as exclusive and bougie for the traditional ones. Freddy and Riya both have terrific ideas, and they’re unafraid to throw spaghetti at the wall and see what sticks.

Some of it does, thankfully.

Heath is quieter, but when he talks, his ideas are fully formed and right on the money.

When we’re done, I close my laptop and smile. “Thank you. All of you are making my first day at work in a new country terrific.”

Even if one of you made it hard for me to focus at first.

Ginger-haired Freddy tugs on his bright red bow tie then raises a hand, like he’s asking a question in class. “Total sidebar. One of my favorite galleries is having an opening for Petra Lorraine on Friday night. She’s a rising star here, and some pop stars have even licensed her art on T-shirt designs,” he says. “Might be a great chance to check out some cutting-edge works. Do you think?”

I tense for a second, since that sounds right up Poppy’s alley, but I can breathe again when he names the Zora Gallery.

It’s not hers.

That’s a huge relief.

“I think that’s a fantastic idea,” I say, glancing around. “I’m in. Who wants to go?”

“I’m there,” Riya says, enthused.

We all turn to Heath for his answer.

His brown eyes are hard, edged with something like frustration, but after a beat, he mutters, “Sure.”

Excitement pings in me. A gallery outing with the team isn’t at all a date. But it is a chance to grab a little hit of Heath outside of the office.

“Yay! It’ll be smashing,” Riya says, then swivels around to face me again. “Speaking of team stuff, do you play darts, Jo?”

I scoff, rolling my eyes. “What do you take me for? Someone who doesn’t know how to hit a target?”

Riya’s eyes shine with excitement. “Want to go with us after work today?”

An invite to hang out with my co-workers? Way to make my first day even better. I’m giddy. “I’d love to.”