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the paintings are abstract pieces, while a few focus on people. Each one is more beautiful than the last. One, in particular, catches my attention.
    It’s Alexander.
    He sits in a high-back leather chair, and the dark background causes the red tie he’s wearing to pop out against his gray suit. It’s uncanny how lifelike the piece looks. There’s a hint of mischief in his gray eyes paired with that signature cocky grin. Even in a painting Alexander King appears to be up to no good. It’s amazing how even a picture of him causes my body to do crazy things, like yearn his touch.
    “These are beautiful,” I tell Aggie, who’s waiting patiently for me to study the pictures that I’m sure she’s passed by a million times. “Are they all the same artist?”
    “They are.” Alexander’s voice causes me to jump.
    Clearly, I wasn’t expecting him to be the one to answer me.
    My back goes ramrod straight with the arrival of the unwelcome asshole who owns the place. The relaxed mood that Aggie and Darby had created the moment I stepped foot inside this building is suddenly gone.
    Alexander comes strutting down the hall, wearing a white oxford rolled up to his elbows and the same dark slacks he had on earlier in the office. He’s clearly made himself more comfortable since the last time I’d seen him today.
    He stops about a foot away and then turns to stare at the portrait of himself. “It’s a great likeness, don’t you think? I look pretty damn fantastic, if you ask me.”
    I have to fight the urge to roll my eyes at his outward show of cockiness. “It’s very nice work. It’s too bad the artist didn’t have a better subject. If they’d had someone different, then perhaps this would be in a museum somewhere.”
    A hint of a smile crosses his lips. “Margo, you have an uncanny ability to insult me and yet throw out a compliment. In this case, I’ll allow your snide jab at me to slide, considering you’ve just praised my little sister’s work.”
    “Diem did this?” I raise my eyebrows, and it hits me instantly that I remember his sister from high school. Even back then, she was an artist, which made her stand out from all the other kids, and that’s how I remember her. Most kids I went to school with were obsessed with getting into top-notch colleges in order to be able to work for their family businesses, but not Diem. She was all about art and expressing herself.
    He motions to the other paintings hanging on both sides of the hall. “She did all of these. She very passionate about her work, and she actually just sold her first piece shortly before we left for Las Vegas.”
    “That’s fantastic,” I answer honestly. “She’s clearly very talented.”
    This time when he smiles, it’s more reminiscent of a proud parent. It’s nice to know he’s not a heartless jackass in all facets of his life.
    “Come,” Alexander instructs. “I’ll show you to your room.”
    He turns to go back the way he came down the hall, and I follow, suddenly aware that Aggie is no longer with us.
    We pass a couple of doors. Alexander explains that one is a bathroom and that there are seven in total in the apartment. The second door belongs to his little sister who still stays with him from time to time.
    “I take it that the two of you get along well,” I state as we pass by Diem’s room.
    He shrugs. “For the most part, we do. There are times when she tries my patience, but I guess that’s what little sisters do.”
    “Does your mother still have to break up fights between the two of you like she did when you were children?”
    This question causes Alexander’s body to stiffen. “My mother hasn’t been in our lives for quite some time.”
    “I’m sorry to hear that,” I tell him as the feeling of pity for the loss of a mother wafts over me. Nowhere in my research about Alexander King did it talk about a strained relationship with his mother. It then falls upon me to lighten the mood since I seemed to have