04 - Shock and Awesome (11 page)

 
   
"Yeah, can hardly wait. Just me, a millionaire, oh, and you listening at the end of the wire. How romantic."

 
   
"Sounds a lot better than some dates."

 
   
"I'll think of it as practice."

 
   
Solomon paused. "What for?"

 
   
"For real dating."

 
   
Solomon's eyes darkened for the briefest of moments, then he gave me a puzzled look and shook his head. "I left the keys for my neighbors’ place at the office. I should have given them to you earlier so you could check it out. Thanks for the ride,
Lexi
."

 
   
 
A car honked behind me and I pulled in towards the sidewalk to allow it to pass. "Anytime, boss," I replied although I hoped he wouldn't take me too literally. Solomon climbed out and by the time the other car passed, Solomon had ascended the steps to his house and was pulling keys from his jacket pocket. Not that he needed them. As I watched, the door to his home flew open and a startlingly beautiful young woman stepped into the doorway. She was nearly as tall as he, with straight black hair that hung to her elbows, and a perfect, hourglass figure. She was wearing a dark brown pencil dress only a few shades darker than her flawless skin. She threw her arms around Solomon and drew him inside.

 
   
The door shut behind them without a backward glance, leaving me to wonder just what Solomon's plans were that made him hurry home, and did those plans include the
glamazon
who was waiting for his arrival?

 
   
Chapter Five

 
   
After three days of failed and uninspired apartment hunting, combined with frustrated lurking and monotonous thumb-twiddling at the office, I scored my first date with a millionaire.

 
   
"It's on," said Solomon, his head suddenly emerging from the office. We'd barely spoken since the night I dropped him off, and honestly, I wasn't sure if I were sulking or not. Seriously, just how beautiful was that woman who opened the door? She was clearly younger than I too. Did I wait so long for him to make a move that I forfeited the opportunity to make one of my own? Not that I even planned to make a move. I was still a big, old pile of confusion when it came to the men in my life. "Go home and change. I sent the details to your phone and there's a Ferrari Italia in the lot downstairs. Enjoy." He tossed me the keys and I caught them, quick as a flash. It surprised the hell out of me. Catching something, that is, not the cool car. "What color is it?" I asked breathlessly.

 
   
"Like there's a whole bunch of Ferraris to choose from," laughed Solomon. "Go!"

 
   
I was out of there as fast as my four-inch heels could carry me, and minutes later, I made excited, squeaking noises as I slid into the cool leather interior of the cherry red Ferrari.

 
   
If this was how millionaires felt, I wanted to do it every day. I exited the Ferrari and planted my hard-earned
Louboutin
heels on the sidewalk, handing the keys to the valet before strutting towards the glass facade of the art gallery to meet suspect number one, David Markham. The gallery took up the first floor of what was once clearly an industrial building of some kind. On first glance, not a lot of work was evident, but after a double-take, I noticed the polished concrete floors, and sandblasted-bare brick walls and blinked at the clearly loaded clientele. The exhibition featured a visiting New York artist with a reputation for being edgy and raw. I knew that because Solomon made me search the Internet prior to the date so I would have some conversation topics. So far, all I'd come up with was, "My nephew, Sam, is an artist of similar methods", "The stripes are cute," and "Really? How much?"

 
   
Like the rest of the clientele, I was dressed up, but my dress was borrowed and last season - though damn nice. I had to give Serena plenty of credit for excellent fashion taste - but the wire attached to the inside of the dress was brand new. I doubt if many dates brought a bunch of guys to listen in either. According to Solomon, Flaherty was recording everything nearby outside, and Maddox was in close proximity. Oh, how I looked forward to this. As for Solomon’s whereabouts, who knew?

 
   
"
Lexi
?" The man who approached me resembled his photo. Unfortunately, for him, that was a bad thing, although I had to give him props for not using an old snap or a professional headshot. His face was pudgier than his photos, visibly losing the fight against jowls that would undoubtedly fully develop over the next couple of years, and his skin pasty. Considering that he worked in IT, and we didn't live in sunny climes like Florida, that wasn't surprising. What surprised me was the quantity of pomade that slicked back his thick dark hair. He clearly decided more was more. And then some. It gave it the appearance of wet glue. When I imagined running my hands through it, I had a mental vomit. "
Lexi
?" he said again, smiling nervously.

 
   
Snapping out of my hair angst, I smiled. "Yes, hi. David?"

 
   
"That's me." David held his hand out. I slipped mine into it and he pumped it enthusiastically, giving me a bicep workout that neither of us appreciated. "I've looked forward to meeting you ever since I saw your photo. Wow. Just wow." His eyes roamed my dress, fixing on my cleavage for a moment, before traveling down... and back up. Cleavage again. He smiled.

 
   
To be fair, I think my face took on the same glazed,
gormless
expression when I looked at his hair. All at once, I remembered what his hair reminded me of: a licorice swirl. I don't like licorice.

 
   
"Pleased to meet you," I said, keeping my voice pleasant even as the idea of an evening with David made me break into a cold sweat. "Do you like the artist?" I asked to prompt the conversation.

 
   
"One of my favorites," David replied, finally averting his eyes from my cleavage, which was showcased in the
vee
cut neckline of a fabulous little dress. He held out his arm for me to hook mine around. "I might buy a new canvas this evening. Why don't you help me?"

 
   
Well, who wouldn’t admire a man who lets his date pick out a pricey piece of art only minutes after meeting her? It was just a shame I knew nothing about art. I hated to think of selecting a lemon, but I figured he would probably take responsibility for his own decisions. Much as I do when shoe shopping. If I make a mistake, I return them and buy another pair, along with a coordinating purse.

 
   
David seemed happy to talk, and not in a must-fill-the-silence kind of way. David
loved
to talk. Specifically, David loved to talk about David: how smart, successful and rich he was. He also referred to himself in the third person, which was most disconcerting. I couldn't work out whether he was pompous or nervous, but I suspected the balance favored the former.

 
   
"Champagne?" David swiped two flutes from a passing waitress and handed me one without waiting for my response.

 
   
"Mmm." I sipped it. Bubbles slipped over my tongue. Something told me this wasn't supermarket champagne, but the real deal. "Delicious."

 
   
"So... when did you join the agency?" David asked after
awhile
, looking over his shoulder to see who was within earshot. At first, my heart thumped before I realized he meant the
dating
agency, and I hadn't been rumbled. "Recently," I said. "Actually, this is my first date."

 
   
"Maybe it'll be your last." David winked.

 
   
I gulped. "And... um... you? Have you been a member very long?"

 
   
"A year. I've been on a few dates. I had to join, you see," he said, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially, "too many gold-diggers. I want to meet a woman who doesn't see me as a walking ATM. Is it the same for you?"

 
   
"Absolutely," I agreed. "Not women, though. I want to meet a guy who doesn't care how loaded I am, or that I have diamonds and rubies in the home safe and drive a Ferrari," I added, checking David's reaction to see what he thought of that. He didn't blink. He didn't even seem very interested in my wheels. Instead, he just nodded as if that was perfectly reasonable. I guess to some people, it is. I just didn't move in those circles. At least, not until today. "You can never be too careful about whom you meet," I added.

 
   
"So true. Shall we look around?" David guided me through the gallery, pointing out this painting and that, stopping to chat with the gallery owner, as well as a local artist or two, and greeting everyone by name. Watching him pumping hands, I could see he was clearly enjoying himself. I barely had to say anything, just nod and appear interested when he asked me a question before interrupting my answer. Just as I tried to say something witty after a comment he made, he cut me off, while pointing to a large painting on the rear wall, which he guided me toward. I politely say guided; it was closer to being yanked. "What do you think of this one?" he asked as we approached. The painting, several feet in height and width, was a garish mix of neon oils that appeared to have been hurled at the canvas, then left to drip. The bottom half of the work dried into a mixture of colorful streaks, blobs and peaks. Yet there was something insanely attractive about it.

 
   
"I like it," I told him.

 
   
"Then I'll buy it." David turned, raising a hand to someone I couldn't see, and leaving me a moment to check the price tag. My eyes widened at the price. Holy guacamole! More than I earned in a year. Much, much more. And David planned to buy it because I said I liked it. "My date says this is the one to buy," he told someone behind us and I turned around. My gaze flew past the woman in the smart, black sheath dress to the couple standing a few feet away. A very familiar couple.

 
   
"
Craptastic
," I muttered under my breath.

 
   
"Pardon?" said David.

 
   
"I said, it's fantastic!"

 
   
"Perhaps you would like to see it when it's delivered. I think I'll put it in the family room," he told me, suddenly sounding as bashful as a little boy asking a girl if she wanted to see his new toy.

 
   
"Maybe," I muttered, my eyes fixed elsewhere.

 
   
I waited while David signed some paperwork and exchanged pleasantries with the gallery owner. He was promised an introduction to the artist later in the evening, and all the time, I tried to ignore Maddox and Detective Blake hovering. What the hell were they doing here? As far as I knew, Maddox's salary didn't include this kind of art, and I had to assume neither did Blake’s. I was pretty sure Maddox wasn't even an art lover. Maybe Blake was? And that's when the horrifying thought entered my head: were they on a date? Was Solomon being sarcastic about Maddox being nearby?

 
   
David looped my arm through his again and started babbling about the artist. How excited he was to have another of his paintings and some other stuff that I forgot to pay attention to when Maddox's eyes met mine. He raised his glass with a nod to me. Then Blake gave me a little wave. I waggled my fingers in return and offered them a weak smile. Unfortunately, they mistook that as their cue to approach. Damn it.