“Hello,” Cath said. “I’m right here.”
Nev looked over at her and smiled. “Hello, darling. How am I doing?”
She shot a glance at Judith, whose expression was truly terrifying. “You’re holding your own, but don’t push your luck.”
“What do you do?” Judith asked abruptly.
“I work in the City. Haverford Bank.”
Judith snorted. “I should’ve guessed. You dress like money. You’re probably going to take her out for sushi at one of those awful trendy places.”
“I was thinking of Italian, but if you have suggestions, I’d be happy to hear them.”
“Still standing right here,” Cath said, starting to prickle at being so thoroughly left out of whatever odd power game the two of them were playing. This time, they ignored her completely.
Judith pronounced her sentence. “Cath needs someone creative. I don’t think a banker will do.”
“I paint, too,” Nev offered.
“Are you any good?”
He looked at Cath. “Am I any good, love?”
“What do you mean?” she asked, momentarily surprised out of her irritation. “Of course you’re good. You’re great.”
He looked back to Judith. “You see? She thinks I’m great.”
“She only thinks that because she’s sleeping with you.”
Nev shrugged. “Quite possibly.”
Cath had never in her life felt so much like crossing her arms, stomping her foot, and screaming. “What is with the two of you? This is, like, the world’s most bizarre pissing contest.”
Judith’s eyes twinkled with mischief. Cath hadn’t seen her boss so entertained since the time she’d engineered a meeting at the Christmas party between Christopher’s wife and the female security guard he was having an affair with. “Is he actually good?” Judith asked.
“He’s incredible.”
“Sorry, are we talking about the painting or the shagging?” Nev asked.
“The painting!”
He grinned. “Right.”
She let out an exasperated breath. “For heaven’s sake. He does portraits,” she told Judith. “They’re gorgeous. Tell her how much they go for,” she instructed Nev, “and then let’s please get out of here.”
“I would,” he said, “but I’ve never sold one.”
The announcement caught her off guard. She’d always assumed Nev had a gallery somewhere that sold his work. She’d figured he was as quietly successful at his painting as he was at whatever he did at the bank. He was such a Golden Boy, and the paintings were so excellent, all of them alive and full of character. “How is that possible?”
“I don’t show them.”
“Why not?”
Nev frowned slightly. “To be honest, I don’t even know how one goes about it. I wasn’t raised to be a painter. According to my mother, art is a fine hobby for a gentleman, but only a hobby.”
In her shock, Cath had forgotten all about Judith, so it was a surprise when she piped up. “All grown up now, though, aren’t you? Maybe you should cut those apron strings.”
Nev laughed, which served to confuse Cath even more. She couldn’t see what was so funny. Did he not know he’d just been insulted?