Her mother’s occupation was also listed as artist, but he didn’t recognize her name, and after ten years of marriage to Candra he was very familiar with the art world. He did recognize Sweeney’s father’s name; the man was moderately successful in Hollywood. A brother was down as next of kin. Richard wondered why she hadn’t listed either of her parents.
Bare facts weren’t enough. He wanted to know her, what she liked to eat for breakfast, her favorite books and movies, whether she slept sprawled out or curled in a ball. He wanted to strip her naked and spend all night on top of her, inside her. He knew she wanted him, too, though she seemed surprised by her own lust. He grinned again, remembering the look on her face when she jumped away from him as if he were a lit stick of dynamite. This was going to be fun, and frustrating as hell. He’d had a hard-on for two days, and it didn’t show any signs of going away soon. All he had to do was think about Sweeney and his dick started throbbing, and he hadn’t been able to think about anything else. The abstinence of the past year had been a bitch anyway, and now it was becoming unbearable.
In attitude, she was Candra’s polar opposite. Candra was very conscious of her beauty, her appearance, and dressed according to the image she wanted to project. Sweeney had no idea how pretty she was, and from what he could tell, she threw on whatever was closest to hand. Candra was socially adept; Sweeney was constitutionally unable to play social games, assuming she even recognized them. Candra was social, period; Sweeney was a loner. Getting her to admit him into her life was going to take perseverance and careful planning—perseverance more than anything else. Most of all, Candra’s attitude toward sex was casual and permissive, while Sweeney was so exclusive she was startled by a kiss.
He wanted her. In bed, out of bed, it didn’t matter. If he couldn’t coax her into a relationship so he could seduce her, then he would have to seduce her in order to coax her into a relationship. He didn’t want her just for sex; he wanted to spend time with her; she was the only woman with whom he had ever wanted to watch the evening news, just to get her take on things. Sweeney might be in the same parade, but she was definitely marching along to a different rhythm.
And Candra was in the way.
He picked up the phone and called his lawyer, Gavin Welles. He was put through immediately. “This has been going on long enough,” he said without preamble. “Get it finished.”
“Considering the amount of your assets, a year isn’t a long time. Be patient,” Gavin advised. “Your position is strong, and sooner or later Candra will realize she’s throwing away a fortune in legal fees. She’ll cut her losses.”
“I’m going to make her losses bigger every day she delays. Call her lawyer and tell her I’m reducing the settlement offer by ten thousand every day. After five days, if she hasn’t signed the papers, I’m rescinding my offer to sign over the gallery to her.”
Gavin was silent a moment. “She’ll fight to the bitter end for the gallery, and you know it.”
“And she knows that in the bitter end she’ll lose. I want her out of my life. This isn’t a bluff, Gavin. I should have forced her hand months ago, but I wanted to do what I thought was right. That’s over. Give her lawyer the message.” He hung up and sat back, his expression grim.
In his downtown office, Gavin Welles shrugged and placed a call to Olivia Yu, Candra’s attorney. When she heard Richard’s ultimatum, her responding blast nearly ruined Gavin’s eardrums. “That bastard! Was he serious?”
“Serious as a heart attack,” Gavin said.
“What the hell brought this on? I could have eventually convinced Candra she had the best offer she was likely to get, but she’s going to hit the ceiling over this. He must have her replacement waiting in the wings.”
Gavin had already thought of that possibility, but he was too discreet to say so. “Not to my knowledge.”
“Bullshit. He has a little honey lined up and you know it.”
“So what if he does?” Richard could have slept with a different woman every night, in the middle of Times Square, and his position wouldn’t have been weakened.
Olivia knew it. Only Candra’s reluctance to settle for what she thought was an unfairly minuscule amount had kept her from signing the papers before now. Olivia had tried to make her see she couldn’t hope for anything more, but Candra had seemed almost desperate for more money. “All right, I’ll call her. You’d better take cover under your desk.”
* * *
“What?”
Contrary to Olivia’s expectations, Candra’s reaction was a horrified whisper, not an outraged shriek. Olivia repeated the terms.
“He can’t do that! We’ve already agreed—”
“You haven’t signed the papers,” Olivia said pointedly. “Legally, he isn’t bound by his offer because you refused it. He can do anything he likes.”
“But the gallery is mine. I’m the one who searched out artists, who built their reputations and made the gallery profitable. He can’t take it!”
“His money bought the building. His money backed the gallery, got it started. His name is on all the checks paying all the bills. A smart lawyer—and believe me, Gavin Welles is smart—could make the argument that Richard is the driving force behind the gallery and you were little more than window dressing. You should have incorporated the gallery in your name, but that’s hindsight.” In Olivia’s profession, she saw incredible financial stupidity every day.