Player & the Game Page 13

  Thank goodness, no one was the wiser of those little catastrophes . . . well, no one except a few patrons who wrinkled their noses at the lingering burnt smell near the buffet table.

  Hopefully, they’ll just think it’s the Limburger cheese, Dawn thought flippantly.

  Now people were milling about the gallery, admiring the Japanese anime-inspired artwork on display. The gallery had even made a few sales so far.

  “Everyone’s in awe, Dawn,” Percy said as he strolled toward her and Kevin. “You did a wonderful job, darling.”

  “Thanks, but I can’t take the credit. Kevin handled most of the logistics tonight,” she said proudly, patting her assistant on the shoulder again. “And the artist painted the artwork. I’m just standing back and enjoying everything tonight.”

  “Nevertheless, you’ve all done well.” Percy wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Darling, can I speak with you privately for a second? You don’t mind, do you, Kevin?”

  Dawn’s smile disappeared. Oh, hell, what now?

  Kevin hesitated then nodded. “Umm, sure . . . yeah. No problem. I’ll let you know if anything comes up, Dawn.”

  “Thanks, Kev,” Dawn mumbled.

  She and Percy then began to walk across the room. Percy gave a polite nod in greeting to a couple he passed before returning his attention to Dawn.

  “So how was your trip to New York a few days ago?” Percy asked, squeezing her shoulder.

  “Good. Good,” Dawn answered breezily.

  She knew he was fishing. He had been raving about Razor’s work since he saw that article in the Times almost two weeks ago. He was probably eager to hear about whether she had won over Razor and gotten him to agree to show his pieces in Templeton Gallery. She was surprised Percy hadn’t asked sooner.

  “So you met you know who?” Percy asked.

  “Yes, I did,” she replied.

  “And you asked him you know what?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “Not much,” she answered honestly, sipping from her glass. “He didn’t say yes. He didn’t say no. I told him before he turned down my offer to think about it for awhile.”

  “Awhile?” Percy exclaimed, dropping his arm from around her shoulder. He stared at her, aghast. “Darling, ‘awhile’ could be a very long time! I’d like to have him in my gallery before the next decade! Why on earth didn’t you give him a more concrete time period to respond?”

  Dawn shook her head. “Percy, I couldn’t exactly play hardball with him. You read yourself how every gallery in New York wants to show his work. He’s the belle of the ball, and we’re one of plenty standing around trying to get a dance with him. But don’t worry. He’ll get back to us before the next decade. Trust me. We’ll hear from him soon.”

  “How . . . How can you be so sure?”

  “Because I’m a woman who knows when a guy is going to call, and when he isn’t? I’m not an optimist. I’m a realist. And Razor is going to call.”

  Percy continued to regard her with an incredulous gaze. “Well, I hope for the gallery’s sake . . . for your sake, you’re right, Dawn. I’d hate to be disappointed.”

  He then turned and scanned the room. His face brightened when he noticed someone. “Charles, hello! I didn’t expect to see you here tonight!” he shouted before abruptly walking off.

  When he disappeared from view, Dawn sipped from her glass and sucked her teeth.

  She really wished Percy would leave her alone and let her do her work. She didn’t need him hanging over her like this. She did a damn good job in running this gallery, and even if the great and wonderful Razor decided to show his art somewhere else, it wouldn’t be the end of the world.

  After she finished the last of her wine, she set it aside on a nearby table. She then turned to survey the room and raised her eyebrows in surprise when she spotted a familiar handsome face in the crowd.

  Well, speak of the devil! He responded sooner than I thought. Take that, Sasha and Percy!

  She strolled across the gallery toward Razor. The young artist stood in front of one of the floor-to-ceiling canvases with a wineglass in his hand. From the bored expression on his face, she guessed he wasn’t very impressed with the art piece.

  Though everyone else was smartly dressed for tonight’s opening, Razor had shown up in a stained T-shirt, jeans, leather jacket, and scuffed black combat boots, like he had wandered into the gallery from a nearby construction site. A lit cigarette hung limply from his mouth, drawing stares from annoyed gallery patrons.

  “You know, you aren’t supposed to smoke in here,” she said when she drew close to him, making him turn to face her.

  He grinned sheepishly and yanked the cigarette out of his mouth. “Yeah, I saw the sign. Just thought I could sneak one in before anyone noticed.”

  She glanced at a couple who glared at Razor. They gawked in horror as they watched him drop the cigarette and extinguish it under the heel of his boot on the glossy hardwood floors.

  “Oh, trust me. They noticed,” Dawn said. “So to what do I owe the honor of this visit, Razor? Did you decide to take an impromptu trip to DC to check out the Smithsonian, or did you come here to tell me that you’re taking me up on my offer?”

  He gulped down the rest of his white wine. She expected him to toss the glass to the floor. Thankfully, he set it aside on a Lucite tray. “I’m still thinking about your offer actually. I was hoping you could help me make up my mind.”

  “Really? Now how could I do that?”

  “Well, for example . . .” he said, taking several steps toward her. They stood so close that she could smell cigarette smoke, his shampoo, and the lingering smell of another woman’s perfume on his clothes. “You haven’t told me what you’re offering me, babe.”

  She didn’t like the sound of that or the look he was giving her. And if he continued to call her “babe,” she may have to punch him.

  “You mean what the gallery is offering as far as promotion, or how much commission we plan to take from each sale?” Dawn asked, playing stupid. Maybe if she steered the conversation back to business, he’d stop leering at her. “I can assure you we’ll have ads placed in every major newspaper and arts magazine in the DC region. We’ll even run them in the New York market. I’ve got good connections in the press too and a strong contact list. As so far as commission, traditionally we take 50 percent from retail sales, but we’re willing to negotiate if you don’t find that equitable.”

  “No, babe, I told you I don’t care about any of that shit.” His grin widened as he looped an arm around her waist. He drew her toward him. “I mean what are you offering me? Not what the gallery is offering.”

  Why does it always have to come to this?

  She swore men had one-track minds. It wasn’t enough that she was willing to offer him better contract terms than she had offered any other artist who had their work appear at Templeton Gallery. It wasn’t enough that she had trekked to Brooklyn, shown up at the hipster equivalent of a frat party, and wooed him personally. No, he felt he had to get into her pants too!

  And she wasn’t going to sleep with him. No way, no how! Razor was an artist she’d have to work with, and she never blurred the lines between work and sex. It was an old family rule.

  You don’t eat where you sleep.

  “You mean ‘Don’t poop where you eat,’ ” Lauren’s voice corrected in her head.

  But Dawn felt like she was in between a rock and a hard place, and she didn’t know how to get out of it. Her mother had taught her well how to seduce men. Unfortunately, Yolanda Gibbons hadn’t done quite as good of a job showing her daughters how to fend men off.

  “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, Razor,” Dawn said flatly, removing his arm from around her waist. “What exactly are you asking me?”

  “Look, there’s this awesome Moroccan restaurant that I go to in Brooklyn . . . on Leonard Street. Why don’t you come back up to New York next week and we can have dinn
er there together?” His eyes dipped to the swell of her breasts that peeked over her V-neck top. “Then I could tell you exactly what I’m asking for.”

  Dawn pursed her lips, summoning up all her patience. “Look, Razor, I can’t—”

  “She’d love to!” Percy shouted.

  Dawn turned in surprise to find her boss standing behind her.

  Where the hell did he come from?

  “She’d love to go to dinner with you!” Percy extended his hand to Razor. “Percy Templeton . . . I’m the owner of this gallery, and it’s a pleasure to meet you, Razor! I adore your work!”

  Razor frowned down at Percy’s hand before taking it and giving it a half-hearted shake. “Thanks, dude.”

  “I’m sure Dawn would be willing to clear her schedule this week to meet you,” Percy assured before turning to her. “I believe she’s even open tomorrow night! Aren’t you, darling?”

  She opened her mouth to say, no, in fact she was busy tomorrow night. She had important things to do like laundry and, uh . . . closets to clean. But she could tell from the expression on Percy’s face that it would be a poor decision to disagree with him.

  “Sure, I’m free,” she said through clenched teeth.

  Percy clapped his hands. “It’s settled then! You and Razor will enjoy a lovely dinner and iron out the details of his work appearing in our gallery. I’m sure you’ll both have a wonderful time!”

  Dawn turned back to Razor who was smiling again. The lusty look was back in his eyes.

  “Oh, I’m sure,” she said dryly.

  Chapter 16

  “Where can a guy grab a bite to eat around here?” Keith asked as he stood at the motel counter.

  The scrawny clerk stared up at him. “You didn’t like our complimentary continental breakfast?”

  Complimentary continental breakfast?

  Keith glanced across the vacant lobby at the white buffet table sitting in the corner. It was covered with platters of rock-hard muffins and biscuits, squishy grapes and slices of pineapple, and jars of jelly with a freshness date that was highly questionable. Only the coffee had seemed vaguely acceptable . . . until Keith had poured himself a cup, that is. He had set the coffee aside too after he sampled some.

  “No offense, but I’ve had better,” Keith muttered.

  “Well, there’s a diner up the road,” the clerk drawled, handing him back his credit card and receipt. He pointed toward the window. “It’s about five miles from here. They sell flapjacks, bacon, and eggs for three dollars and fifty cents.”

  “Three-fifty, huh?” Keith tucked his credit card back into his wallet. “Maybe I’ll go check it out. Thanks.”

  The clerk nodded.

  Keith turned and walked toward the glass door then let it slowly swing shut behind him. He strode across Starlight Motel’s parking lot toward his Ford Explorer and glanced at his watch. It was ten minutes after. Stephanie should be here by now. He had covered his hotel bill and told her to meet him at the car at 9 a.m.

  Where the hell is she?

  “Typical,” he muttered. “Just typical.”

  He should have known the pampered princess would have an issue with punctuality. She seemed to have an issue with everything else.

  Stephanie had been in full diva mode since they arrived in South Carolina late last night. First, she had been appalled when she saw the state of their motel rooms.

  “Oh my God,” she had sneered with a curl in her lip, “it’s like I stepped into a time machine and got dumped back to 1973! Is that shag carpet?”

  Then she complained about the lack of room service and other amenities. “What decent hotel doesn’t have turn-down service? Will I have to wash my own towels and sheets too?”

  Then she squawked about them having to leave bright and early at 9 a.m.

  “How am I supposed to get my beauty sleep? I’m exhausted, Keith!”

  But worse than her whining and complaining was the fact that Stephanie had kissed him. And heaven help him, he had almost kissed her back before he quickly got his wits about him. That woman was a temptress . . . a treacherous one! The longer she was around, the more and more he felt like he had made the wrong decision letting her come here with him. But he had been swept by her pleas and sad brown eyes. Now he knew for sure that if she was going to keep tagging along, he had to be sterner with her. He had to lay down the law. He couldn’t have her messing up his schedule anymore or messing with his head and libido.

  He tossed his duffel bag inside the car and glanced at his watch once more. He shook his head again, slammed his car door shut, and stalked across the parking lot to her motel room.

  It was a small motel that sat on a hill not far from the highway. The yellow-and-black sign facing the roadway advertised hot tubs and new wireless access in all rooms. Keith admitted that the bland brown décor and cheap particle-board furniture left much to be desired as far as accommodations, but the motel had served its purpose while they were here. Now they were moving on and headed to meet Ms. Beaumont to find out more about Isaac.

  That is if Stephanie ever manages to leave her damn room, he thought with exasperation.

  Her room was three doors down from his. He pounded on the door several times with his closed fist. He paused and waited for an answer. When he didn’t hear one, he pounded again. After a couple of minutes, the door swung open.

  “I heard you! I heard you!” she shouted. “Geez! Did you used to be a cop?”

  He paused then nodded. “Yeah, why?”

  “Because you’ve developed the art of banging on doors like one,” she muttered peevishly with her hand on her hip as she glowered at him. “I thought I was in a drug raid and someone was about to cart me off to jail!”

  “I was banging on the door because you were supposed to meet me at the car at nine a.m. You were supposed to be ready to leave at that time.” He pointed down at his wristwatch then gazed at her. She was standing in the doorway in a pink satin robe and her hair was partially in curlers. “It is now nine-fifteen and you are obviously nowhere close to being ready.”

  “Well aren’t you just a big bottle of sunshine in the morning,” she muttered then waved her hand at him dismissively. She turned around. “It’ll only take a few minutes to get ready.”

  She sashayed across her motel room to the bathroom, pulling curlers from her hair as she went.

  Keith told himself for the umpteenth time to count to ten. He then took a calming breath, stepped inside her room, and shut the door behind him.

  He looked around and saw that piles of clothes were thrown all over her bed. The lid of her suitcase was open. Makeup and bottles of lotion were still on her dresser top. He closed his eyes.

  “Stephanie, you are not going to be ready to go in a few minutes.”

  “Yes, I am,” she sang through the cracked bathroom door. “You’ll see!”

  “It’s impossible!” He opened his eyes and thought for a bit. “Look, why don’t I do this? I’ll head to breakfast and then come back to—”

  “Oh, no! You think I’m going to let you leave me here alone? How do I know you won’t do your interview without me?”

  “I wouldn’t do that,” he answered tersely. “I promised that you could come along and I meant it. I’m a man of my word.”

  “So take me at my word, Keith!” she yelled through the door crack. “I swear that all I need is another ten minutes. I’m almost done anyway. Stop being such a slave driver,” she mumbled under her breath.

  Enough of this crap, Keith thought with frustration. He strode toward the bathroom doorway. “Damn it! Why don’t you just . . .”

  His words faded.

  He caught a glimpse of her reflection through the cracked doorway. She was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, furiously running her fingers through her long hair, trying to comb out her nest of curls. She had taken off her satin robe and was now topless, revealing beautiful brown breasts that were a perfect handful and pointed dark areolas—little Hershey’s Kiss
es that any man would be happy to nibble on. She also wore a black lace thong. She turned slightly and bent over, giving him a delectable view of her curvy bottom and sculpted thighs.

  Keith’s eyes raked over her. His mouth literally watered. He instantly became rock hard.

  “Why don’t I just what?” she snapped, completely oblivious to the fact that he was now ogling her naked body.

  “Uh . . .” He loudly cleared his throat. “Uh, never . . . never mind. I’ll . . . I’ll wait for you at the car.”

  She furrowed her brows. “Huh?”

  He abruptly turned, walked across the room and out her doorway, shutting the door behind him.

  He took several deep breaths as he walked across the mostly deserted parking lot toward his SUV. When he opened his car door and plopped onto the leather seat, his craving for Stephanie still hadn’t subsided. His jean zipper felt like it was straining to hold in Mt. Kilimanjaro.

  This woman was pushing him closer and closer to the edge and if he wasn’t careful, she would push him right over. He could make a big mistake if he wasn’t careful, like giving in to his desire for her. Even now, he was finding it hard to control the urge to go back to her motel room, push her against the bathroom wall, and show her just how much of a “slave driver” he really could be. If she let him, he could do things to her body that would leave her quivering in ecstasy and begging him not to stop. He’d make love to her until both of their bodies were sapped and spent.

  But I’m not going to do that, he resolved.

  He was going to stay focused on this case and not get distracted by her, yet again. He decided then and there that after they spoke to Ms. Beaumont, he was sending Stephanie back to Virginia. If the trail following Isaac continued to another county or another state, it didn’t matter. He was following the trail alone. He didn’t care how much Stephanie pled or whined or argued this time. She had to go.

  Chapter 17

  Stephanie glanced at Keith as he drove, wondering why he was so quiet all of a sudden. He had barely spoken to her as they ate breakfast at the small diner that morning. He hadn’t looked up from his plate of pancakes and bacon, even when she tried to talk to him about the case, even when she waved her hands in front of his face and asked him, “Cat got your tongue?” He had only shaken his head and mumbled something in response, irritating her even more. He had paid the bill, left a tip for the waitress, and silently got up and walked back to his car, leaving her sitting alone in the diner booth.