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know how you found me, but I’m not giving you another red cent for that overpriced skirt you said I damaged.”
    Fury gripped her. Ellie drew herself up to her full height of five foot two inches and leaned toward the fool, ready to...to...muss his hair. “For your information, you big klutz, I have no idea who you are and I haven’t been looking for you.” She lowered her voice to a hiss. “I’m here to see a client and I hope you scram before he gets here because I’d like to make a good impression.”
    Blue eyes blazed into green ones as the silence mounted. Behind them, Monica hung up the phone and coughed politely. “Excuse me, Mr. Blackwell.”
    Ellie heard the name and the pieces fell into place. She felt the blood drain from her face. “You?” she whispered.
    â€œMe, what?” he asked impatiently.
    â€œYou’re Marcus Blackwell?”
    â€œMark Blackwell,” he corrected. Turning to Monica, he asked, “What’s going on here?”
    â€œThis is Ellie Sutherland, sir. She’s here about your portrait.”
    He frowned and threw up his hands in a gesture of frustration. “I’m lost.”
    â€œDidn’t Mr. Ivan tell you? Your portrait will go up in the boardroom beside the other partners’.”
    Mark Blackwell glanced from Ellie to his secretary. Ellie relaxed her stance and offered him an exaggerated shrug, smiling wryly.
    â€œI’m not prepared for this,” he said finally, in a guarded tone.
    Ellie gave him a shaky smile. “This isn’t litigation—there’s nothing to prepare for.”
    He looked at her, chewing his lip. Obviously Mark Blackwell stood in unfamiliar territory, and didn’t like it one bit. His eyes narrowed. “And how, may I ask, did you get involved?”
    Ellie smiled brightly. “I’m an artist.”
    Mark rolled his eyes and sighed mightily. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
    She glared. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    He waved dismissively. “Forget it, um—what did you say your name was?”
    â€œEllie,” she said with growing impatience. “Ellie Sutherland.”
    He ran his fingers through his hair, a gesture she recognized from the deli incident. “Well, Ms. Sutherland, perhaps we can discuss this, er, project in my office.” He swept his arm toward a door a few steps away and motioned for Ellie to precede him.
    She stood her ground. “After you.”
    He pursed his lips, then turned and walked toward the door.
    Ellie noticed the painting as soon as she entered the huge masculine room. She walked over to it, soaking up the familiar shapes and colors. An afternoon in the park. A cliché, really, but her first truly good piece. There had been others since, additional impressionistic renditions of city landmarks, but she had been especially proud of Piedmont Park and the price it had brought. She lifted a finger, and almost touched the canvas. “Nice picture,” she murmured.
    â€œNice purse,” he said sarcastically.
    Ellie’s hand flew to her bag as her eyes swung across the room to his feet. They were big feet, wearing nice black leather loafers with tight little tassels.
    â€œDo you make a practice of skulking in men’s washrooms, Ms. Sutherland?”
    She felt a blush start at her knees and work its way up. She raised her scorching chin indignantly. “Certainly not. I told you, I didn’t know it was the men’s room.”
    â€œSure.” He smiled a disbelieving smile, then leaned on the front of his desk. “Now then, what do you need from me?”
    Ellie turned and took a step toward him. Their eyes locked. And just like that, something passed between them. At least she felt it.
    A shiver ran up her back, and a low hum sounded in her ears. Looking at him, she realized she’d done a shamefully good job of capturing his features for the caricature.