Fifth Avenue Devil

Chapter 14

Fourteen

Nate

W hen my driver pulls to stop at the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s distinctive Greek revival-style entrance, I smile. I have set up the perfect date. A private showing during the hours that the famous museum is normally closed to visitors. A self-guided tour through the most famous gallery. Dinner for two set up in the grand rotunda while a string quartet plays Bach and Handel.

Annalise only mentioned loving modern art in passing, so I’m pretty sure this will be a complete surprise to her. I’m about to woo her so hard that I’ll sweep her off her feet… and into my bed.

Getting out of the SUV, I dash around to the other side to wait for her. When the driver opens Annalise’s door, she is fidgeting with the strip of black silk that I tied around her head to keep her from seeing where we were going.

I step in, scolding her in a joking tone. “Are you trying to spoil the surprise?”

I can’t see her eyes, obviously, but I like to imagine that she rolls them.

“No. I’m being patient.” She sighs heavily, touching the delicate strap of her gold and silver evening gown. She looks so innocent and lovely in the dress. It stirs my darker impulses. “Have we arrived?”

“Yes. But don’t open your eyes yet,” I tell Annalise. I unbuckle her and help her from the car. “I’m going to guide you inside. There are some stairs that we’ll have to ascend to get to our destination.”

Annalise clings to my arm as we head up the sidewalk and down the red carpet. We hit a short flight of stairs, heading between the khaki-colored columns that tower on each side of us.

Whisking Annalise through the entryway, I pause when we are just about to step through into the grand foyer. “Hold on.”

“As if I could do anything else,” she quips. “You’ve literally blindfolded me.”

I smirk, untying the silky piece of fabric and letting it fall from her eyes. She gasps when she sees where she is, her hands flying to cover her mouth.

“The Met??” She looks at me, eyes wide and excited. “How did you know that I love art?”

I give her a sly smile. “You mentioned it once.”

She walks into the rotunda, gazing straight up at the frosted glass ceiling. “How on earth did you convince the museum to let you in after hours?”

I follow her, enjoying her innocence. “You can do almost anything you want if you write a big enough check.”

"Good evening, Mr. Fordham," a staff member greets us as he approaches. "Welcome to the Met, Ms. Gellar. Please, follow me.”

The peculiar scent of aged wood and centuries-old canvases fills my nostrils as we move inside.

"Did you know that the Met houses over two million works of art from around the world?" I casually mention to Annalise as we stroll past the darkened galleries that are not open tonight. Their masterpieces are protected from prying eyes by velvet ropes.

“I did actually know that. I have been to the Met before.”

“And I might or might not have read that fact on the museum’s website.” My mouth curls in a smile.

“That counts.” Annalise takes my arm and looks at me with sparkling eyes. “Keep telling me museum facts. It makes me forget what an ass you’ve been to me for the last couple of weeks.”

“Will do.” I smirk, but something like pride blooms in my chest at her approval.

As we meander through the hushed halls, we’re guided by the soft footsteps of the staff member who has introduced himself as Mickey. I point out several artworks that catch my attention.

We venture deeper into the museum and our conversation flows effortlessly. With Annalise, nothing is ever stilted or a lot of work. It’s just… natural. Like it should be between a man and a woman.

The hushed silence of the museum hangs in the air around us as we continue our exploration. We walk through a gallery with entire assemblages of knights in medieval armor, beautiful faux-outdoor Japanese pagodas, and several rooms devoted to 18 th -century paintings. My gaze lingers on Annalise's slight expression of awe as she studies the artwork hanging on the walls. Her wide hazel-green eyes take in everything.

One thing about Annalise, is that she is always learning, calculating, digesting information.

It’s a good trait to have in the business world. Doubly so for a CEO.

Annalise pauses at one particular painting and I stop to admire it too. It depicts a sunny day in a lush garden, filled with vibrant flowers and delicate butterflies. The style of painting is stunningly realistic. It’s hard to believe that it was painted over a hundred and fifty years ago.

Annalise studies the painting for a moment. I can see something stirring within her, underneath the surface. There's a hint of wistfulness in her gaze.

"My grandmother had a garden just like this," she shares softly. Her voice is soft and faraway. "I used to spend hours there when I was a child, exploring every nook and cranny, discovering all sorts of hidden treasures."

"Really?" I ask, genuinely intrigued by this unexpected glimpse into her past.

She nods, her eyes still fixed on the painting. "It was my secret garden. Just like the book. You know?"

“Interesting,” I say. It sounds a little forced coming out. I damn sure haven’t read whatever book she’s talking about.

Her lips twitch with humor. She gives me a little side eye as she moves on. I follow, feeling like I said the exact wrong thing. Curious, as I’m normally so well-spoken and quick with my quips.

We walk on, slowly passing through several rooms before she speaks again.

"This is gorgeous," Annalise says, nodding to a large painting. It’s from the 1600s and it depicts a woman in a transparent dressing gown, draped across her bed. "It's so… raw. Powerful. She’s obviously beautiful but also sort of sickly and apathetic. But there's also something deeply troubling about the way she looks off at something we can’t see."

My eyebrows rise. Again, I can't help but appreciate her keen dissection of the feelings that the painting evokes. She’s so fucking smart.

A completely novel thing for me to notice about a girl I am only interested in sleeping with. And I am still firmly in the no-relationship camp. But damn, this little girl is really fucking with my head.

I stare at the painting, trying to grasp for some comment, something to say. “It’s… unusual to see a painting of a naked woman in the 1600s. Right? Most art was like… biblical scenes?”

“Most nineteeth century art was commissioned portraits, I think.” Annalise’s eyes light up. “But your point still stands.”

I narrow my eyes on Annalise. “This isn’t fair. You’re just out of college. You’ve probably taken an art history class in the last few years.”

“Correct.” She smiles winningly. “I took Women Depicted in Art two years ago.”

Rolling my eyes, I glance at my watch. To my complete surprise, almost two hours have slipped by. "Annalise, I have another surprise for you.”

I start guiding her down a secluded corridor adorned with delicate frescoes.

"Another surprise?" She raises an eyebrow, a playful smirk gracing her lips. "You really know how to keep a girl on her toes, don't you?"

"Only the best for you," I reply, a hint of mischief in my tone.

As we round the corner, a beautifully set table comes into view, nestled in a quiet alcove surrounded by masterpieces from centuries past.

"Wow, Nate, this is...." She pauses, searching for the right words. "Incredible. It’s really thoughtful. I didn’t think you were capable of thinking about anyone other than yourself."

“I’m trying to get you in bed, not proposing marriage.” I toss off the words like they don’t mean anything. But inside, the strange feeling of pride expands because she gave me a compliment.

Take it easy , I tell my swelling ego. She’s just a girl. No need to react like the queen of England just offered to make you a knight.

We approach the table. Apparently, I want to be considered gentlemanly, because I pull out her chair, gesturing for her to take a seat. As she does, I can't help but marvel at how effortless she looks in this elegant and refined space. Like Annalise herself might be a piece of art.

"Thank you, Nate," she says.

As the dinner unfolds, a string quartet begins to play. Their quiet melodies provide the perfect backdrop for our conversation. Between sips of wine and bites of exquisite cuisine, I find myself talking about my childhood.

"Growing up, I always felt like I had to prove myself," I admit. "We were rich, but my parents were distant. My grandfather was the only one who seemed to believe in me. But his expectations were so high that it felt suffocating at times."

Annalise listens intently, her gaze never leaving mine. "It made you into the man you are.” She pats her mouth with her cloth napkin, then reaches out to trace the veins in the back of my hand. “A powerful CEO with a secret heart of gold. Or maybe bronze. We’ll see.”

Her tinkling laugh spreads and fills the air between us. My whole setup is working like a charm. We’re sitting close. She’s touching me. I’m telling her stories that make me seem sympathetic.

But damn if this moment isn’t also working on me. I shouldn’t be feeling the intense connection that I’m feeling between us right now.

I raise a glass to her. “We will see. Tonight, I think.”

She blushes and drops her gaze, pulling her hand away. Damn. I tripped on my own words again. But she starts speaking, taking me by surprise.

"You know, Nate, I've also felt this immense pressure to prove myself," she admits, her voice wavering slightly. "I have always felt that I was not good enough or strong enough or..." She waves her hand. "But I'm determined to make things right. I plan to earn the respect of those around me and show them that I am capable."

"Annalise, you're incredible," I blurt out. "You couldn’t let anyone down if you tried."

“Hah!” She laughs dryly. “That tells me that you don’t know my mother.”

I spread my hands. “I get the picture, though.”

I try to keep my tone light. But I mean every word. Our eyes meet, holding.

The air between us seems to crackle with electric energy. I reach across the table, taking her hand in mine. Her hand is warm, and I revel in it for a moment.

"Annalise," I say softly. "In another life, I can picture myself with you, laughing and vacationing on my yacht somewhere off the coast of Santorini."

Her breath catches in her throat and she shivers slightly. Her eyes seem endless at this moment.

"Nate," she replies, her voice equally soft. "You still don't want a relationship. Neither do I."

"Who said anything about a relationship?" I quip, attempting to lighten the mood. "I just meant that if we ever found ourselves stranded on a deserted island, I think we'd have a hell of a time."

A smile tugs at the corner of her lips.

“Oh. Well, when you put it that way," she teases. "Maybe I could see myself there with you too.”

“Well, in that case.” I feel a wave of relief wash over me. "I'd like to take you back to my penthouse now, so we can discuss this in more depth."

Arousal flashes in her eyes as she nods, her breath hitching in her chest. "I'd like that too," she agrees.

"Then let's not waste another second," I say. I stand up and offer her my hand.