He shakes his head, amused.
I try again. “Don’t you want to hear about the artists’ backgrounds?”
Another head shake.
“But, Mr. Croft—”
“Miss Summers.” His voice is firm. “Did you come here to sell me art?”
After a beat of hesitation, I nod.
“Then why are you trying to talk me out the sale?”
“I…well….” I trail off.
“Good,” he says decidedly. “It’s settled, then.”
I sigh. “You didn’t even get to hear my sales pitch. It was good. Really.”
A smile tugs up the left side of his mouth. “I’d love to hear it. Unfortunately, we don’t have time today.”
“What do you mean?”
He opens his mouth to answer but before he can, there’s another knock at the door, seconds before it swings wide.
The Hulk is back.
“He’s here.”
“Right on time.” Brett laughs boyishly, but there’s a dark edge to it that makes me nervous.
The Hulk’s expression never changes; his voice never wavers above a low rumble. “Should I let him in, sir?”
Brett nods, his face still split by a grin. “Yes, immediately.”
The Hulk nods and disappears, the door clicking shut at his back.
My head swivels from Brett to the door and back again. “What’s going on?”
“We’ll meet again, in a few days, to finalize the sale, if that’s all right with you.” He phrases it like a request, though we both know I don’t have a choice about it. Rising to his feet, he buttons his blazer and circles the coffee table until he’s right beside me. “It was lovely to meet you, Miss Summers.”
“You too,” I say automatically, staring up at him and feeling like my brain is ten steps behind whatever’s going on here.
He offers me a hand. “Come.”
Not wanting to be rude — after all, the man has just agreed to purchase not one butthreepieces of art, which will make Estelle so happy she probably won’t fire me any time in the foreseeable future — I slide my hand into his and allow him to pull me to my feet. His cool skin sends a strange, squeamish chill up my spine.
“Thanks,” I murmur, as soon as I’m upright. I begin to pull my hand from his, when his grip tightens and he steps closer.
My heartbeat picks up speed.
“The pleasure was all mine, Miss Summers, I assure you.”
“It’s Gemma,” I blurt stupidly, at a loss for words and rational thought with those too-blue, too-intense eyes locked on mine, less than a foot away. “Just Gemma.”
Brett’s lips twist in a smile and he opens his mouth to say something, but before he gets a word out, the door to the study is thrown open with so much force, it rattles on its hinges. Startled, I nearly jump out of my skin as my eyes fly toward the entrance, fully expecting to see The Hulk standing there, green and raging, suit in tatters, ready to rip us to pieces.
Except it’s not him.