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scarlet wingback chair was visible near the window. The edge of a green, yellow, and purple patterned rug peeked out from beneath an abstract glass coffee table.
    The strange combination of colors and designs should have looked garish but for some reason it all went together perfectly. That was a disturbing sign but it was not what really worried him.
    What bothered him the most were the glimpses he caught of the paintings hanging on the yellow walls.
    There were a number of them. Not framed reproductions or posters. Lillian bought originals, apparently.
    A real bad sign. She obviously cared enough about art to have formed her own opinions.
    From where he stood in the doorway, he could not get a good look at any of the pictures but he got an impression of strong light and dark, edgy shadows. He thought back to the conversation in the café, the part where she had detailed her job history working mostly in museums and art galleries.
    A sense of deep gloom settled on him. He could no longer deny the evidence of his own eyes. Lillian was into art big-time.
    “Thank you for the drink and for dinner,” she said politely.
    He pulled his attention back from the ominous scene inside her apartment. Realized that she was watching him closely, maybe reading his mind.
    “Sure,” he said. “My pleasure.”
    She gripped the door with one hand, preparing to close it. A speculative expression crossed her face.
    “You know, when you think about it—”
    “Forget it,” he said.
    “Forget what?”
    “You aren’t going to get away with calling that dinner we just had my sixth date. I’m not letting Private Arrangements off the hook that easily.”
    Her mouth tightened. “You have been a difficult client from day one, Madison.”
    “People say stuff like that to me all the time. I try not to take it personally.”
    chapter 3
    Lillian watched Octavia Brightwell’s expressive face while she examined the painting. Rapt attention radiated from the gallery owner.
    Octavia stood in the center of the studio, her red hair aglow in the strong light cast by the ceiling fixtures.
    Her slender frame was taut with concentration; she seemed lost somewhere inside the picture propped in front of her.
    Or maybe she hated the painting and didn’t know how to deliver the bad news, Lillian thought.
    She berated herself for the negative thinking. She considered herself to be a positive, glass-half-full kind of person under most circumstances, but when it came to her art she knew she was vulnerable.
    Octavia was the first and, thus far, the only person from the art world who had seen her work. Until recently, she had allowed only the members of her family and a very few close friends to view the paintings.
    She had always drawn and painted. She could not remember a time when she had not kept a sketchbook close at hand. She had been fascinated with watercolors and acrylics and pastels since childhood. She picked up her brushes as easily as other people picked up a knife and fork. Her family considered her painting as nothing more than a hobby but she knew the truth. It was as necessary to her as food and water and fresh air.
    She had been born into a family of financial wizards and entrepreneurs. It was not that art was not respected in the Harte clan. Some of the members of her family actively collected it. But they treated it as they would any other investment. Hartes did not establish careers as artists. She’d dreamed her dreams of becoming an artist but she’d kept them to herself.
    Until now.
    The time had come to turn her dreams into reality. She could feel it. She was ready. Something inside her had changed. She sensed new dimensions in her work, new layers that had not been there in the past.
    She was sure of her decision to try her hand at painting full time, but she did not know if her work had a market. She had enough Harte business instincts to understand that in the real world, art was a commodity like any other. If there was no consumer