The Chase. Vanessa Fewings
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for three miles.
And as most Brits didn’t have sleek-looking helicopters on their roofs or a line of silver Jaguars parked outside their multimillion-dollar houses, I knew this was it. Something told me Tobias liked toys. The expensive kind.
My modest flat was a shoe box compared to this place. My bedroom looked like a hurricane had swept through the place. I’d changed my outfit so many times and even now doubted this was the right choice. Black slacks, a white chiffon blouse, Ralph Lauren heels. I’d treated myself to a trip to my local salon for a professional blow-dry and now my unruly locks were shiny curls tumbling down my shoulders, and I might have spent a little longer than usual on my makeup.
I’d left my parka in the car.
The last time I’d seen Mr. Wilder was at the meeting yesterday morning. He apparently needed me in the field immediately. I was curious why time was such a factor. The art world moved at a snail’s pace right up until a painting went to auction. Then all hell broke loose with bidders scrambling to release funds so they could possess that certain piece they’d been waiting to come onto the market. Sometimes for years.
I knocked several times on the front door. With no answer I took the liberty of heading on in. There was sure to be security to signal my arrival.
Tobias’s foyer had a minimalist’s opulence.
Modern, if not futuristic, with chrome-lined trimmings and stark white marble tiles and yet vaguely homey in a high-tech kind of way.
“Hello!” I called out again.
My voice echoed, my fingers tense from holding my phone too tightly. I went to call out again—
A blur of movement shimmered in the far corner.
The petite geisha was dressed in the traditional kimono and moved swiftly toward me, her head bowed, her lips marked with a red kiss of lipstick, her movement serene as she made her way into the center. Her black hair was rolled into several elaborate buns and her striking features were highlighted by her pure white foundation.
Why was I not surprised that Tobias had a pretty woman working for him? She came closer, her hands held together in greeting and her fingers eerily pale.
“I’m Zara. I’m expected by Mr. Wilder?” I gave a quick “I hope so or that would be awkward” smile.
She raised her line of sight and stared at me. “Yo¯koso.” Unease rose in my chest; a sense something was wrong. She vanished.
I staggered back, my handbag slipping from my grip and my iPhone joining it on the marble with a loud crack as it bounced at my feet.
My throat constricted with fear.
Blinking around the foyer, all air gone from my lungs, heart racing, my brain telling me to run and yet my legs too weak to respond.
The geisha girl was back before me. Right there. Her head respectfully bowed, her gaze rose to meet mine, her line of sight exact. And yet—
“Yo¯koso.” She bowed low.
These impossible seconds unfolded like a cruel nightmare. Her fading image flickered back into focus.
“What the fuck...” I hissed through clenched teeth.
“She’s a bit glitchy.” A male voice. My stare shot toward it.
Tobias Wilder stood at the top of the stairs with his hands tucked casually inside his trouser pockets, his thoughtful frown deepening. He was more striking than I’d remembered him, that dark blond hair crowning his handsome face and his green eyes were mesmerizing as they held mine. His well-defined physique was now dressed sharply in a classically styled tuxedo, his white shirt open at the collar with no bow tie.
I chastised myself for staring too long. The geisha was gone.
Blinking furiously, my brain tried to process what I’d seen.
Tobias made his way down the stairs. “The uncanny valley.”
“I’m sorry?”
“A hypothesis.” He paused on the last step. “From the field of aesthetics.” He raised his gaze to the ceiling. “The brain triggers unease. It clearly senses what it’s seeing isn’t real. What was your initial emotion?”
My thoughts swirled, my jaw easing its tension.
If try not to pee yourself was an emotion, that would be it.
He gave an assured nod. “Revulsion? Even if she is pretty.”
“A hologram?” I wanted to tell him that was wrong in so many ways.
He arched his eyebrows playfully. “I started off with a rat. That did not go down well.”
This man was bloody insane.
And I was in the middle of the country and quite possibly alone with him.
Trying to pull back on my startled expression, I said, “You have a beautiful home, Mr. Wilder?” It came out as a question. “Long driveway.”
“Please, call me Tobias.”
My gaze darted around to see if anyone else was here.
“Would you like a drink?” He gestured to the left.
I knelt to retrieve my handbag and cringed when I saw the shattered glass on my iPhone’s screen.
He stood above me in that devilishly handsome pose, his face calm as though he’d not just scared the crap out of me and smashed my phone. I peered up to see his intense stare locked on mine, and a rush of ill-timed excitement flooded my veins.
He’d frozen me there with his stare.
“I’ll get you a new one,” he said firmly. “You’re three models behind, Zara. This will not do.”
My gaze swept over my phone.
He held out his hand, and I felt his firm grip as he assisted me up. I stared at him. “That won’t be necessary.”
“I think you’ll find contradicting me is unwise.” He winked.
God, I’d forgotten how gorgeous he was. How his striking green eyes crinkled so seductively when he smiled.
“I insist.” He waved it off.
My cheeks scorched with embarrassment as I followed him out of the foyer. This was my first day out in the field, and I intended on getting my act together and impressing both Tobias and my boss when he reported back to him.
For now, I’d have to tuck my cheeky retorts away.
His cologne wafted around me and I subtly sniffed him in. The scent of a fresh forest in the morning, and something spicy, something forbidden. A poorly timed vision of his naked, toned torso flashed through my thoughts.
I wondered if Tobias’s messy-yet-artful, post-fucked hairstyle was on purpose. His flawless bespoke tux showed off his tall frame and broad shoulders and his onyx-and-silver cuff links shone as they caught the light. He had the kind of walk that proved his unwavering confidence as he went about intimidating those who dared to enter his stratosphere.
He’d either come from a posh dinner or was heading out to one. Probably with some übersexy vixen who made me look like the girl next door. Might as well have worn that parka, it wasn’t like he was going to be admiring my curves anytime soon.
“This shouldn’t take long,” I reassured him.
He turned and flashed a heart-stopping smile. “I’ve already had the pleasure of a demonstration of your skills, Zara.”
“The Jackson Pollock?”
“Quite a gift.” He gave a ghost of a smile and his American aura oozed approachable and yet those stunning good looks were unnerving.
We made our way into a large sitting room, sparse like the foyer, a leather couch facing the long sweeping