3. Chapter 3

"You're a lifesaver," Madyson gushes as she slips out of kitten heels and into sky-high stilettos. "I knew my assistant wouldn't last long, but I'm a sucker for a starving artist, even if that artist is an actor. Of course her big break leaves me working crazy hours." Madyson's words sound like a complaint, but I can tell she's thrilled for her assistant.

"I hate to leave you, but Jayce planned a romantic surprise." She sorts through a stash of jewelry in her desk drawer. A clue this isn't the first time she's gotten ready in her office.

Leaning in the doorway, I'm waiting for some instruction on what I should do while she's gone. I've only had minimal training in the past week, and I can't believe she's going to leave me here alone. I don't have a completed piece of art and feel like a fraud representing myself as one of her artists.

"There's a showing in an hour, but Alec will be here to help you with that. He'll also train you on our computer system. He knows it better than I do, anyway. Other than that, try not to scare away any walk-in customers." She laughs.

"Alec?" My voice is too high and she must sense my concern. My fears of being left alone die as a greater fear of Alec flashes throughout my body. Too happy and too good-looking to ignore.

"He's the best, and he was coming over to talk about the auction I mentioned, so instead of trying to find someone else to cover for me, he said he would. But he can't get here until he finishes with his last client. He may flirt, but he's harmless."

"Baby girl," Jayce purrs from behind me, and Madyson's RBF morphs into a wicked grin. "Von, thanks for letting my enchanting wife skip out early."

"No problem," I lie, knowing that if she had told me I'd be working with Alec, I would have invented some excuse to say no.

Alec is infuriatingly handsome, but he knows it. My best defense against him and his dimples is remembering his unappealing qualities. Such as, his pretty face is attached to a dreadfully loud and boisterous man. He commands all the attention in the room. I prefer to disappear in the crowd as a nameless nobody.

But Alec's dimples will not leave my thoughts. I see his face when my concentration wanders. And he's tall. It is attractive when my partner can match my strength, so stature matters. Those thoughts are irrelevant because Alec's physical qualities are not important. According to Madyson, he's not dating material and I don't do one-night stands. A reason to stop thinking about him.

The gallery is currently empty, so I sit behind the reception desk and check my phone. I've ordered materials and am waiting for delivery. Most of the equipment already arrived. But finding decent recycled metal is hard. My pieces will be sustainable art. I ordered used equipment and researched the best places to find pre-used metal.

My family knows I love to create things out of old metal, but they don't believe it's a viable living. I don't know what else to do. My past life was so focused on one career goal, leaving me little else.

The door chimes and I'm hit with double dimples that almost knock me off my chair.

"Hey, darlin'," Alec greets me.

He waits for my response, so I nod. Unlike me, most people talk too much to hear their own voice.

"Awww, my mere presence has rendered you speechless. Don't feel sad, I get that a lot." He winks, and it's hard to tell if he's joking.

I roll my eyes and realize I have played into his little game. A game I cannot win. If I talk, it's because he's baited me and if I don't, he will harp that I'm so attracted to him that I cannot speak. Staying quiet and keeping him guessing is the better option.

"Mads gone?" Alec scans the gallery.

His nickname for her is against her character and I don't understand it.

"I guess we're all alone." He waggles his eyebrows as his devilish brown eyes twinkle.

I clench my jaw and turn my attention to the couple who have blessedly walked in for their appointment. Alec saunters over, greeting them, and it's not my fault that I notice his ass fills out his dress pants nicely. He's there, right in front of me. Last time he was here, he wore jeans and a hoodie. Tonight, he's wearing a pink button-down with gray pants. It occurs to me that I should not remember what he wore. His clothing is not my concern.

I also have no idea if he's another artist at the gallery or a friend of Madyson's.

"Hey, Viking," Alec calls. "Come join the tour to get familiar with the artists and their work." He grins as if he's trying to annoy me. Then he turns to the clients. "This is Von Blixt. He's a new artist. His medium is…" He waits for me to fill in the blank.

I clear my throat. "Metal. I create sustainable art by mixing recycled metals."

"That's fantastic." The woman waves her hands excitedly. "I'd love to see it. Eco-friendly art is so important."

I agree and start talking about how important it is to take care of the earth and that sustainable art creates beauty out of waste. I realize too late that I've gone on a tangent and it's hard for me to tell if they're actually interested. Sustainable art has become trendy, and some people pretend to care. "I do not have a piece ready to show yet," I finish lamely.

"Where are you from?"

"Scandinavia," I reply vaguely.

Alec smirks but takes the couple around the entire gallery, displaying a massive amount of knowledge. He starts at the perimeter where the paintings are displayed, and once he's covered the entire rectangle of wall space and expounded on the background of each painting and artist, he zigzags through the statues and display cases. I should be taking notes so that I can replicate his tour. Unfortunately, I am fixated on him.

The man embodies walking happiness. If he's not careful, I'll infect him, and then it will be a contest to see if his joy kills me or my pain annihilates him.

My instinct is to run from him, but I miss lighthearted fun. Alec is all light and fun and sunshine. The opposite of my black sorrow.

Alec is charming. He's insightful and funny. He annoyed me the other night for taking up all the oxygen in the room, but tonight, his personality fills the spaces between the artwork and he makes the 15,000 square feet intimate instead of cavernous.

Alec teaches me the computer system and how to check them out with laid-back patience, ignoring that I'm fumbling the keys as if I have never typed before.

The couple leaves with a painting, one of Madyson's ceramic vases, and a necklace. They spent more than I could have guessed they could afford. But Alec nudged them without pressure, and they were thrilled when they left.

"Nice job," I say.

"Don't need to compliment me, Viking, I'm all yours." Alec's smile should be infuriating, not sexy. He turns serious. "I'll teach you the closing procedures. I doubt there'll be another sale."

"Do you have art here?" My curiosity slips out.

He lets out a loud belly laugh that bounces off all the walls and wraps around me. "No," he replies, daring me to ask more questions.

Forcing myself not to nod, because that seems to be my standard form of communication with him, I try not to frown. I want to know more about him. But it feels dangerous.

"I'm a tattoo artist." His dimples appear deeper. "I bet your skin is milky white all over, Viking."

"I have a couple of tattoos," I admit, trying not to envision all the artwork I'm sure covers his irresistible body.

"Wow, look at us bonding and finding all the things we have in common. By the time Mads gets back, we'll be engaged."

"Hilarious," I reply, cursing the fact that he's funny and my dead insides come alive when I'm with him.

"I'm here for your entertainment." He bites his lip as he juts his chin toward the computer, which makes his dimples disappear. I scowl, wanting to see them again. He starts explaining how to close the day out but stops mid-sentence, probably because of my expression, and asks, "If you have somewhere to be, I can do it."

Attempting to let go of my tension, I scrub my hand over my face. "No, please show me. I have to learn."

Alec launches into an expert tutorial, as if he is not concerned about my odd behavior. His endless talking relaxes me, knowing I don't have to carry the conversation. He tells me about his tattoo parlor and his friend Cole, who has over fifty paintings Alec hopes he'll donate to the charity event. My insecurities flare until Alec explains Cole's paintings are from decades of work.

The man is in constant motion and honestly could hold a conversation with a painting. He drags answers out of me, and after a while, I notice I'm willingly participating in our exchange.

Alec is human sunshine and, in his presence, I laugh as if I'm carefree.

The feeling of normalcy shocks me so much that when it's time to leave, instead of saying goodbye, I flee out the back door.

I cannot find this flirty, loud American appealing.