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stepped into the Madden gallery.
    She’d done a good job, she assured herself as she looked around. There was a nice variety of subject matter and canvas size, and the flow was simple and straightforward. The plaques with Madden’s biographical information were informative without detracting attention from the art. Overall, it was certain to be a successful exhibit.
    As she turned in a slow circle, taking everything in, Violet realized that there was a reason the layout felt so familiar. Minus the paintings still in Ian’s gallery, she’d hung everything in the same order he’d had it in. Snickering to herself, she reflected that there was no way he could refuse to green-light the exhibit without calling his own taste into question. She was home free.
    Feeling more secure, she arranged herself behind the front desk to do some paperwork and wait for Ian. At precisely nine o’clock, the door swung open. “Good morning, Miss Fabre.”
    He’d traded his black shirt for a navy blue one that made his green eyes look even deeper, but otherwise, Ian looked much the same as he had a week ago. Although Violet had assured herself that there was no way the man would look as sexy in the mundane setting of the museum’s lobby as he did surrounded by priceless works of art, somehow the familiar location just highlighted his rugged beauty.
    Trying not to think about it, she came around the desk and held her hand out for a brisk, firm shake. “Good morning, Mr. Carlisle. You’re here to see the exhibit.”
    She was conscious of the quizzical look he was giving her as she turned on her heel and led him into the space, but he said nothing, falling into step behind her. “Obviously these are just mockups of the paintings, but they should give you an idea of how the exhibit is to be arranged.”
    Ian followed her to the middle of the room and halted, turning to take in every aspect of the room. “Is everything else finished?”
    “We’re going to give the floor a good polish, but other than that, yes,” she said with satisfaction. “Do we have your approval?”
    “No.”
    “Thank you—wait, what?” Violet blinked rapidly. She’d been so prepared for him to agree that she had no idea how to handle a no.
    “I do not approve. Neutral walls, a conventional arrangement—it’s passé,” he explained, his mouth twisting with distaste. “I was expecting something with more flair.”
    “I set everything up the same way you had it!” she blurted.
    “Exactly.” Ian nodded as if she’d proved his point.
    “So, it’s good enough for your gallery but not for an exhibition?” she challenged, folding her arms across her chest.
    “Miss Fabre, you’re a professional curator with a degree in the fine arts. I’m just an amateur.” He sighed, looking regretful.
    “An amateur,” she repeated in disbelief. Ian’s house was a damned museum, and he was calling himself an amateur.
    He gave her an infuriating smile. “I look forward to seeing your next attempt.”
    Without another word, he headed for the door, leaving Violet to chase after him. “Wait! That’s it? You’re not even going to give me any suggestions?” If replicating his own choices didn’t please him, she had no idea what would.
    “Do what you think is best, and we’ll take it from there.” With a friendly nod, he was gone.
    “Oh for—” Swallowing a curse, Violet stalked back into the exhibit. When she was in school, she’d been accustomed to harsh critiques, but those had at least been specific. Ian hadn’t even given her a hint about where to start.
    Well, he hated the wall color and the arrangement of the paintings. That was something. “Right,” she muttered. At least she hadn’t made any public announcements about the exhibit because at this rate, they wouldn’t open for another year. Of course, by that time, they wouldn’t be able to pay their electric bill, so sooner would be better than later. “Back to the drawing board.”
     
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