She grew still, watching him from wide eyes. “How terrible.”
Garek looked amused. “It wasn’t a huge tragedy. In fact, it was probably the best thing that could have happened to me. I was able to focus all my attention on the business.”
“But you must have been terribly hurt—and at a time when you needed her the most.”
He shrugged. “I survived.”
Obviously. But at what cost? Was that when he’d acquired the air of cynicism that marked his features so strongly now? Was that when he’d begun to have so little faith in people—especially women?
The meal finished, he drove her home and walked behind her up the outside stairs to her apartment. “The Institute of Art is having a private opening of their new exhibit tomorrow night,” he said. “I’ve arranged for tickets. I’ll pick you up at seven.”
More networking, Ellie thought, stopping in front of her door. And more time spent with Garek Wisnewski. “Wasn’t the symphony enough?”
“I thought you would like going to the art show.”
She would love to go, despite a slight lingering doubt about his motives. Once again, how could she refuse? “Okay. Thanks.” She smiled at him.
His gaze narrowed a bit and drifted over her.
“What?” she asked, her smile faltering.
“You’ve got salt on your coat. Hold still.”
Glancing down, she saw him brushing at a gray mess on her side. She must have grazed against the spray of salt and ice on his car, she realized.
She swayed a little, and he put his hand on her shoulder, holding her firmly as his gloved fingers swept along her hip, removing the last traces of dirty salt, his touch brisk, efficient, impersonal. When he finished, he released her, said good-night and left.
She watched him until he got in his car and drove off.
An uneasy feeling curling in her stomach, she went inside.
Chapter Six
Stacy Hatfield, the assistant Garek had assigned to work on the foundation, was bright, enthusiastic and very young—barely eighteen. Ellie would have enjoyed working with her if it weren’t for one thing—the girl had a huge crush on Garek Wisnewski.
Ellie’s own feelings were growing more and more confused. During the last week and a half, he’d taken her to the art show, several dinners, a play and a basketball game. She kept reminding herself that their relationship was purely business, but sometimes, for a moment or two, she would forget. She’d lain awake all night thinking about him, her thoughts going round and round in circles, until she swore she wasn’t going to think about him at all. But that was difficult to do when Stacy talked about him constantly.
At the gallery, Ellie tried to escape the girl’s chatter by going upstairs to the framing studio, but Stacy merely packed up her laptop and followed.
“Mr. Wisnewski’s the best employer I’ve ever had,” Stacy said, her fingers flying over the keyboard. “Actually, he’s the only employer I’ve ever had, unless you count Mrs. Bussey, whose kids I babysat when I was fourteen—she had a nervous breakdown after she had her fourth child in six years—but everyone at the company agrees that Mr. Wisnewski is the best. He is so generous. I told him he was paying you way too little, and he said to double your salary.”
Startled, Ellie looked up from the long, thin piece of oak she was pretending to inspect. “Stacy! I can’t accept that!”
“Of course you can. You deserve it. You’ve been working like a dog.”
It was true—she had been working long hours. But accepting a raise didn’t feel right. If Mr. Vogel had given it to her, she wouldn’t have objected. But Garek…
“Did you have a good time at the game?” Stacy asked. She had an amazing ability to talk and type at the same time at a combined speed of approximately eight hundred wpm.
Ellie sat down at the miter box with the piece of oak molding. “It was very nice. We had courtside seats, we ate catered food in a private box at half time, and the Bulls won.” She’d enjoyed herself at the game. Afterward, though—
“Are you going out with him on Saturday?” Stacy asked, her fingers flying across the keyboard. “It’s his birthday, you know. He’s going to be thirty. Kind of old, but he’s so gorgeous, I almost don’t care.”
Ellie hadn’t known. Why hadn’t he told her?
“How is the catalog for the silent auction coming along?” she asked, hoping to divert the girl.
“Fantastic. The pictures the new photographer took of the art turned out great. He also took a picture of Mr. Wisnewski and Mrs. Tarrington, Mr. Wisnewski’s sister, to send to the newspapers to help publicize the event. I was surprised Mr. Wisnewski agreed to that. He hates any kind of publicity.”