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  A man had come in offering more than the asking price for the place. He probably knew it was worth more than Mr. Lundstrum was asking, too.

  Regina’s mind suddenly flew to Nigel—flashing five-thousand-dollar checks around and wearing his fancy suits. He had had a case for his business cards, and if she remembered correctly, his card said he worked at an investing firm. He was also the only one she could think of who hadn’t come in shopping. Could he have been the one to make an offer on the place? Did he know that she was planning to buy it? He could see that they were trying to fix it up; he might have assumed that they were trying to get it. If it was him, she was going to be angry as a wet cat.

  In fact, the more she thought about the possibility, the angrier she got. Maybe he wanted it as leverage to try to get her back. There he was thinking he could buy her again. Or it could be that he was trying to get back at her for not seeing him. Or... What else, she didn’t know, but she sure as hell was going to find out.

  It was three o’clock, and no customers were there. She could close the store for a couple of hours and probably not miss a sale. She called Amelie to let her know, ran upstairs for Nigel’s business card and got in her car.

  Chapter 5

  She could tell from the outside of the building that she would feel out of place entering the investment and accounting firm of Hoffman, Johnson and Dowd, and when the elevators opened on their floor, she knew she hadn’t been mistaken. They had plush beige carpets, mahogany furniture and expensive art in the lobby, and she was greeted simultaneously by two receptionists. Everything about the place was swank.

  “How may I help you?” one of the receptionists asked.

  “I’m here to see Nigel Johns, and no, I do not have an appointment.”

  “Who may I say is here?”

  “Regina Gibson.”

  “Does he know what you’re here about?”

  “I believe he does.”

  “He has someone in his office right now, but as soon as he’s free, I’ll let him know. Please have a seat.”

  The receptionist gestured toward the waiting area, but Regina didn’t feel like sitting down.

  “Can I get you coffee, a soda?”

  “No, thank you.”

  She remained standing but moved off to the side.

  She spotted the door marked Nigel Johns from her spot in front of the receptionist’s desk, and though she didn’t have an appointment, she moved right for it when she saw it swing open. Her orange capris, African-print chemise tank and flat gold sandals may not fit in with the decor, but her anger made her more than assertive.

  Just inside the door, she found Nigel hugging a tall Black woman who was holding a toddler on her hip. The little boy looked like Nigel, and Regina’s temper flared even more. It would make sense that he’d fathered another child or two after leaving her, reckless as he was. And if he already had another child of his own, why would he come worry her about theirs?

  He seemed surprised to see her. He must have read the anger in her gaze as jealousy because he immediately introduced his guest.

  “Regina, please meet my cousin Michelle and her son, Andre. We were just saying goodbye.”

  Regina didn’t feel like being pleasant, but she nodded at the woman and moved out of the way for them to leave. She shouldn’t have let them spike her temper anyway. He had a right to his life, whatever it was. Why should she care?

  Nigel stuck his head out of the door behind them to speak to one of the receptionists. “Please tell Mr. Harris that I’m running a bit late. I’ll see him shortly.”

  He closed the door and turned to her.

  “My cousin Michelle just moved to DC from down South after a vicious divorce. She needed to get away. I’m helping her out a little, just to get her on her feet. And Andre is just a doll. I gave him some of the presents that I had for...”

  He didn’t know how to finish, and she wasn’t interested in helping him.

  “All the ones that weren’t too big for him, he got.”

  He strolled back to his desk and perched his behind on the front side of it—all businesslike in his tailored black suit and red power tie, all innocent-looking, as if he hadn’t pulled the rug out from under her.

  “That’s none of my business,” Regina said, spitting anger.

  He seemed a bit confused by her tone.

  “It’s been over two weeks,” he said. “I thought you had written me off for good, but I’m glad to see you. You look beautiful.”

  She glared at him, waiting for his pleasant exterior to crack and reveal the louse he was, but he just leaned against his desk, waiting. He seemed to fit in here. His Italian watch shone above his French cuff, and his class ring glistened on his finger. She hadn’t noticed it before; he must have finished school after all.

  “I think you know why I’m here.”

  “I know why I want you to be here. But no, I don’t have any idea why you’re actually here. You seem angry. Have I done something? Is something wrong?”

  “Nigel, stop playing. You’ve made a nice little niche for yourself here.”

  He smiled proudly at her acknowledgement, ignoring the unpleasant tone that accompanied it.

  “So why are you trying to take mine away?”

  He leaned forward, concerned. “What are you talking about? If anything, I wanted to make things easier for you, not take anything away.”

  “Well, your little ploy hasn’t made it easier. You’ve made it harder. Much harder. There’s nowhere else in the art district that we could get for that kind of money. What are you going to do with it? Turn it—”

  She had started pacing furiously, her cotton capris swishing in the hush of the office. She was trying not to let her voice escalate, but she was distraught, and she was wearying of his innocent act.

  “Reggie, sit down.”

  He tried to put his hand on her shoulders, but she twisted free of his reach.

  “Reggie, sit down, and tell me what’s wrong.”

  His voice was low and soothing, but she wasn’t about to be lulled by it, not again.

  “Did you know we were going to buy it, or did you just decide to snap it up for fun?”

  “Reggie, I haven’t snapped anything up. Tell me what’s going on. Maybe I can help.”

  “No, I’d say you’ve done enough. Wouldn’t you?”

  “Regina, calm down. Sit down. Talk to me. What is it that I’ve done?”

  She stopped pacing and stood her ground to look him right in the eyes.

  “Did you or didn’t you buy the studio right out from underneath us?”

  “Oh, no.” Nigel went to her and stopped right in front of her. “I assure you that I didn’t, and I didn’t know about it either.”

  He spoke firmly, looking right at her. She scanned his face for a lie, but his features only registered sincerity. If anything, he seemed surprised by her accusation. And worse, he also seemed concerned.

  She had no choice but to believe him. She finally sat down in one of the chairs facing his desk. She just sat and stared at the carpet while the anger drained out of her and realization dawned. She should have waited until tomorrow, when Mr. Lundstrum would be bringing her the information on the buyer, rather than rushing over here.

  “I do purchase and resell property from time to time. But if I had purchased it, it would have been to give to you, not to take from under you.”

  “I don’t know what I was thinking. Except there you were flashing money in my face, and then...I called things off between us.”

  “I’m not vindictive, Reggie.”

  Regina threw her hands up. “You I could fight. But now there must be someone else who bought the property, and there’s nothing I can do.”

  There were tears in her eyes, but she wasn�
�t going to let them win. The last thing she wanted was to have Nigel comfort her again. She didn’t want to seem like she was overly emotional or like someone who needed a man. She’d been doing okay on her own so far without him. She stood.

  “I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

  “Wait,” he said, cornering her in front of the chair until she sat down again. Then he took the other chair. “Let’s talk about this. I didn’t buy it, but maybe I can help you get it back. As I said, I do invest in real estate sometimes—buy old places, fix them up, make a little money. I have some experience in this kind of thing. I can afford—”

  “No, I’m sorry to waste your time.”

  “Why not let me try to help you?”

  “I don’t want to owe anything to you or anyone else. My business partner and I will figure it out.”

  “Why are you being so mule-headed? Maybe I can help. Think of it as repayment for—”

  “There’s nothing you need to repay me for.”

  “Then let me try to acquire it, and you can buy it from me.”

  “No, I’m sure the new owner has plans for it. It’s a perfect location. And we weren’t ready to make the purchase anyway.”

  She stood again, feeling small in her flat sandals and out of place next to his black suit, which dominated the posh office space.

  “Please, Reggie, don’t go. I might be able to help.”

  “I’ve bothered you enough. I’m sorry—for everything.”

  He put his hands on her shoulders to keep her from fleeing. She stared at his chest, feeling as stupid as could be. Then he cupped her chin to raise her face to his.

  “It will be okay. I don’t know if I can help, but I’d like to try.”

  She pushed his hands away and straightened. “No, I’ll be fine. It was my mistake.”

  Head held high, she walked through the reception area as fast as her sandals would carry her.

  Once outside, Regina stopped for a newspaper and went back to the studio, feeling like a fool for having barged into Nigel’s office slinging accusations. To add to her embarrassment, he had been nothing but concerned and kind the whole time. Her reaction seemed so silly now. Anyone walking by could have scouted their studio and seen that it was a perfect location. And in the DC area, there were probably a thousand investors with tailored suits and business-card holders. It just so happened that Nigel Johns was the only one she knew.

  And that was the other news of the day: Nigel Johns was now a well-tailored investor-accountant who worked at a top firm and was totally at home in that world. How had he gone from the brother with baggy pants to that?

  Regina shifted her mosaic to the side and started looking in the paper for rental spaces where they were—near the Torpedo Factory in Alexandria, Virginia, not that far from downtown DC. There was nothing on King Street, nothing on Union Street, nothing listed for the area at all. She would have to try online later that night.

  In the end, she tried to concentrate on the mosaic for the installation, but the news of losing the place still occupied the center of her mind. They were just starting out but had been knocked off their feet, and she didn’t know if they could get up again.

  She was also trying to pull her face out of the mud after the tantrum she’d thrown in Nigel’s office. The tables seemed to have turned. She had gone from being the one telling a bumbling boy to get his act together to being the one whose life was falling apart. And it was falling apart in front of him.

  Maybe that shouldn’t matter, but it did. It stung like a slap to the face. And worse, she had cracked open a door that she had wanted to keep closed. Now he wanted to help. Hopefully he would remember that she didn’t want and didn’t need his help.

  Chapter 6

  Nigel pulled one of his best suits out of the closet and laid it on his bed. It had been almost a week with no sign of Regina since she’d left his office, and he was going to see if she would have a late dinner with him after closing the shop. He hadn’t called because she would have said no, but he hoped that if he showed up, he could change her mind.

  He needed to see how she was doing, and he wanted to talk to her more about helping her to get the property back for the studio. He had done an online search for the address and had started making calls almost as soon as she left his office, and it didn’t take him long to find out who was brokering the purchase, who was buying the location and how much they were paying.

  As pigheaded as she’d been at the firm, he expected to have a hard time getting her to let him help, but he was pursuing it anyway. She’d frustrated him to no end in his office, not because she’d accused him of deliberately buying it out from under her but because she wouldn’t let him help.

  He sprayed some cologne across his chest and pulled on one of his Italian dress shirts. She had come to the office in her casual work clothes, but she had looked amazing. Even when she was ranting at him and pacing his office, he could remember feeling her in his arms, feeling her beneath him.

  She’d had on a sleeveless top, which made him want to touch her shoulders, and it was made of two layers of a sheer printed material. It would be cool in the heat, but it made him want to run his fingers over her breasts until he raised the nipples. Even more, he wanted to run his tongue along the curve of the fabric until she moaned the way she’d done that night.

  He pulled on his slacks and took a belt off the hook. Even her pants, which came down just below her knees, had made him want to caress the bare curves of her calves and squeeze the rounded globes of her behind. He remembered the way she felt when he had lifted her against him, and it made his knees weak.

  He slipped a tie from the rack, looped it under his collar and began tying the knot at his throat. He had been wanting her since she’d given him back his grandmother’s ring, but he had stayed away. Seeing her standing in his office had been a gift that made his pulse race.

  He hoped to see her tonight again, but this time just to talk, just to get her to stop being obstinate and let him help her. He wanted more, but he would have to wait for that—maybe forever.

  Nigel finished dressing with a pair of silver cuff links. At his car, he checked his tie in the window before opening the door, and then he was on his way.

  When he got to the studio, he saw that it was still open and parked out front.

  Once he got inside, though, he saw that they were already beginning to dismantle the place. Boxes were piled up in the back room and along the back walls. Display cases had been broken down and moved to accommodate the piles of packing paper, bubble wrap and boxes that were lined along the walls and shelves. Only the finished pieces at the front of the studio were still on display.

  “Hi, can I help you with anything?”

  It wasn’t Regina. It was a shorter woman wearing big African-print pants with braids piled high on her head.

  “You weren’t here when I came last time. I’m looking for Regina Gibson.”

  “You just missed her. She’s on her way home.”

  “I’ll head out back, then.”

  Nigel stopped, intrigued by the other woman and the possibility of finding out more about what was going on with the studio. He turned back.

  “Are you her partner?”

  “Yes, hi.” She came to shake his hand. “I’m Amelie Richards. Were you looking at a particular piece? Perhaps I can help you.”

  “No, I’m an old friend of Reggie’s. I wanted to help her look into getting this place back. I didn’t know that you’d be packing up so soon.”

  “We tried to get it back, and Regina even talked to the man who’s buying it, but it seems like a done deal.”

  Nigel thought he knew better but left it alone.

  “Mr. Lundstrum would have waited for us if he could, but he has his own worries.”

  He knew that name f
rom the research he’d done so far.

  “Do you have a card?”

  “Yeah, right by the register.”

  Nigel wandered toward the register to pick up the card. Amelie had gone back to packing beads into little plastic baggies and throwing them in a large box.

  “Do you guys have any plans for what to do next?”

  Amelie seemed to become lost in thought for a moment and then shook herself out of it. “We’re trying just about everything we know. We’re looking for other places. We’re checking into consignment shops. We’ve ruled out anything in the immediate area being in our price range, so we’re spreading our net wider. All of that to say ‘we don’t know.’ I wish we did, but right now, it’s all up in the air.”

  Nigel already liked Amelie. At least she would talk to him, confide in him. He had probably learned more in the last five minutes than he would get all evening with Regina.

  “Why are you packing up so soon? You don’t have to be out yet, do you?”

  “We have a few more weeks, but we want to do most of the moving ourselves to save on the cost of movers. It means we need to start now. We’ll still need movers for the heavy stuff—the tiles, the kilns.”

  Nigel leaned against the counter near the register.

  “I’m sorry for your loss. I know it meant a lot to both of you.”

  “You make it sound like a person. But I guess in a way it is like that. It hasn’t been easy letting it go.” Amelie’s eyes misted over, and for a moment, Nigel thought she might cry, but she didn’t. She sighed and went back to the beads.

  “Where do the boxes go from here?”

  “Beadwork comes home with me. Regina has to move as well, so hers are along the back for now.”

  “Why not rent a storage compartment until you can move into your new place?”

  “We thought of that. But we don’t know how long it will be, and we both need to keep working on our art or there won’t be income coming in. And Regina has a big installation she’s working on this week. I don’t know how she’s getting it all done.”