The Bennett Brothers

ROSEMARY

The Gremlin hasn’t left the gallery since Rose told her about Alexander Bennett’s visit. Ms. Winters’s presence in the shop before Rose opened on Saturday surprised her even more than her freshly lifted face.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t enough Botox to prevent her expression from turning to disgust when Rose informed her which paintings Mr. Bennett bought—or the shock that followed when she told her about the twenty-five more he commissioned.

It was priceless.

But Ms. Winters had the last laugh when she pointed out that the sale of any artwork in her gallery belongs to her, with Rose getting the standard artist’s 50 percent. Ms. Winters also set the sale price, which was next to nothing, and said Rose could take it or quit.

So she had no choice but to agree. She did, however, choose not to tell Ms. Winters about the $10,000 check.

In the two days since, Ms. Winters—despite treating Rose in a way that could be considered kind—has basically locked her in the back room to ensure the Bennett contact is fulfilled on time.

As Rose paints, her mind wanders to Tom. If she is honest with herself, she has struggled to stop thinking about him.

Thomas Bennett.

While one half of her is excited—giddy even—to finally have met him, Rose can’t get over how shit the timing is.

She is in love with Eric. His behavior at the bar was inappropriate, but he was tired, and she really shouldn’t have worn clothes that tight. And blushing like she did only gave Tom the wrong idea. She can understand Eric’s anger, and she will do better next time.

Although, it would be best if there isn’t a next time. She is happy with Eric; there is no sense in ruining what they have over some guy she doesn’t know just because she has had a crush on him for twelve years.

Rose turns her attention back to the canvas, and just then, the gallery door jingles. Rose’s ear perks up as Ms. Winters greets someone.

“Good afternoon, sir. Welcome to the Winters Art Collection. How may I assist you?” Ms. Winters asks in her cheery money-making tone.

“I’m Thomas Bennett,” a deep voice says, and Rose’s hand stills on its way to her palette. “I came to deliver this and call upon Miss Dalton.”

“Oh, Mr. Bennett! Pleasure to meet you. Miss Dalton is busy, I’m afraid, but I would be more than happy to help you.”

Rose wipes off her hands before moving out to the front, careful to shut the door behind her.

Tom’s eyes snap to her, and a broad smile spreads across his handsome face. “Miss Dalton, nice to see you again.”

Ms. Winters spins and holds up a card in front of Rose. “Rosemary, Mr. Bennett here just gave me an invitation to the Bennett company party. Isn’t that so kind of him?” Her self-satisfied grin deepens her wrinkles, giving her a ghastly appearance.

“Miss Dalton is also invited,” Tom says, his words effectively wiping the smugness from her expression.

Shaking her head, Ms. Winters says, “I’m afraid that’s not possible. Rosemary is far too busy.”

“My brother, Alexander Bennet, insists.” Tom reaches into his inner suit pocket and hands Rose an invite of her own.

Ms. Winters’s face cycles through a range of negative emotions before she consents with a huff. “Well, we wouldn’t want to disappoint Mr. Bennett.” She grabs her overpriced handbag and Oroton sunglasses. “Rosemary, I’m stepping out, and you have work to do.”

“I won’t keep her long,” Tom says with a charming smile.

With Ms. Winters gone, the pair stand in silence. Tom opens his mouth to speak but shuts it. He does this two more times before Rose puts him out of his misery.

“Are you always delivering mail for your brother?” she asks.

“Only for special cases.” Tom rests an arm on the counter, leaning toward her, and his movement sends a gust of intoxicating musk her way. “I’m actually the head of interior design on the San Francisco project now. Thought I should come and check in.”

Rose crosses her arms, though it does little to block her from his masculine energy. “Was there a problem? The artist has completed another three paintings since your brother put in the order. I believe we are on schedule.”

Tom gapes at her, seemingly lost for words.

“Well?” Rose asks.

“No,” Tom stands straight and shakes his head. “No problem. I just—”

“What did you mean by ‘now’?” Rose cocks her head, and when Tom’s expression conveys a lack of understanding, she continues, “You said you were the head of the project ‘now.’ When exactly did you start working with your brother?”

With his eyes darting to the floor, Tom takes a step back and puts his hands in his pockets. “Oh, it uh…hasn’t been long.”

“Actually,” Rose says, raising her index finger, “I remember reading about how you famously don’t work with your brother. How you don’t work at all.”

Tom’s head snaps up, but instead of the embarrassed look Rose is expecting to see, he beams at her. “You read about me?”

It is Rose’s turn to be flustered.

“I…well,” she stammers out while Tom’s smile grows. Then she sighs. “Yeah, okay, maybe I googled you.”

“Maybe I googled you too.” He takes a step closer, his scent swirling around her.

“Me? Why?” Rose takes a step back, her heart pounding with the hope that maybe he did see her in all their near encounters.

“Due diligence. I need to know who I’m getting into bed with.” He moves closer. “Figuratively speaking, of course. It’s just good business to know who you’re working with.”

Rose nods, lost for words as Tom’s green eyes hold her attention. He exudes such confidence—a quality Rose deeply envies.

“Have coffee with me,” Tom says before reaching a hand toward her face.

His movement breaks her trance, and she blinks, stepping away from him before he can touch her. “No, that would be inappropriate, and I should get back to work.” Rose’s stomach twists with guilt and shame.

You have a boyfriend who you love! You can’t have these feelings for another man, even if he is the man you dream about. It’s bad timing, but maybe that’s meant to be. Maybe you’re not supposed to be with him.

“Coffee’s not inappropriate, and it’s a business meeting,” Tom says with a shrug. “You can bill me.” He flashes her a smile, one Rose would have swooned over, but now she finds it unsettling.

She also finds it irritating that he won’t take her no for an answer. Resolution to avoid him overcomes her, and she crosses her arms again, stepping back. “I need to work. Please leave,” she says.

Tom grabs the lapels of his jacket and clears his throat, his expression dropping but not hardening. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’ll let you get back to it.”

When Tom turns his back on her, Rose releases her arms along with the breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

“Oh, just one thing,” he says, pausing in front of the door before spinning to face her. “Today’s Monday, three paintings done already, over the weekend.” He counts on his fingers as he pauses. “I’ll expect your artist to complete at least two a day.”

“Sure, no problem.”

“Have them bring the paintings here as soon as they’re done. I’ll be inspecting them personally.” Tom grins. “So, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, Rose.”

And with that, he spins on his heel and walks out the door, leaving Rose gaping after him.

So much for avoiding him.