Close Up

She certainly didn’t. Not at the moment. Well, actually she did give a huge shit, considering this was a super important event for the gallery, and if she screwed this up, she would be fired, and then she would be destitute and living on the street. But at the moment, that didn’t matter. All she could think about was that Sean’s dimple seemed to have disappeared. Was that possible? Could a dimple simply fill itself in?

It just seemed to her that after ten years, the small talk might extend beyond an obligatory query into her health and a generic compliment before skipping straight to business.

“Will the caterers be here again tomorrow?”

Apparently, he didn’t feel the same way.

Focus. On work, not Sean’s serious sexiness. She could do this. Moving forward, that was her, and he obviously felt the same way. He didn’t appear to have any interest in an extended stroll down memory lane. He didn’t even seem to want to jog it, let alone stroll.

“No,” she said. “They’re only setting up. They’ll be back around six on Friday with the food.” She strove for a breezy and casual tone, studying him from beneath her eyelashes. It was bizarre to see the man he had morphed into, to realize they had once been intimately connected, physically and emotionally. It felt surreal to finally see him face-to-face. She had been back in Minnesota for only three weeks, and she had been wondering how to go about contacting Sean. Even though it had been a decade, she wanted to be courteous and give him a heads-up about the divorce papers he would be served, but she hadn’t been sure what to say. Whether to be matter-of-fact, funny or friendly.

It didn’t feel necessary to tell him her exact reasons for suddenly filing. That she had realized in order to grow and become the success she knew she could be, she had to let him go. Walk away from the security he had been and still represented to her. Mostly, she had rehearsed phrases like “moving on,” “wanting to allow you the freedom you deserve,” and “long overdue.”

In all her considered and discarded thoughts on approaching him, though, never once had she visualized she would be in an art gallery surrounded by a mass-nudity exhibit while they discussed the catering access to the event. It was so surreal, she couldn’t be entirely sure she wasn’t dreaming. She glanced down to make sure she wasn’t standing there in her underwear.

Which suddenly and inappropriately reminded her of just how smoking hot the chemistry between the two of them had been during their relationship. Sean had been an excellent lover, and he’d been only twenty-one at the time. She briefly imagined all the bedroom skills he might have improved on over the years and shivered at the goose bumps that rose on her skin.

Not a good way of thinking. Moving forward, that’s what she was doing.

The divorce papers were supposed to be served to him tomorrow, which made this a perfect opportunity to broach the subject with him. Truthfully, she should be glad he had been put in her path. Now she didn’t have to call him to discuss it. She could tell him in person, which was better anyway. You didn’t marry someone then dissolve that union without at least looking each other in the eye as you discussed it, no matter how much time had passed. Once they were done with the business details, she would ask him to go for a cup of coffee so they could talk.

That was the right thing to do, and it reflected her new determination to face tough choices head-on, instead of hiding or running away.

Sean stopped eyeing the gallery and slid his hand into his pocket, the picture of casual confidence.

“Do you have a list of the employees the caterers are sending?” he asked.

“No.”

“You should.”

She supposed that made sense. But frankly, it hadn’t occurred to her. She had been too worried about all the other nine thousand little details that came with planning a party of this size. The security issue seemed like something that, well, the security firm should handle. Her mind just didn’t work in those ways. Truthfully, she wasn’t sure how her mind worked. That was half the problem. She had been a flaky kid raised by a flaky mother, and now she was a flaky adult.

It wasn’t that she meant to be flaky. It’s just that she wasn’t very organized. She liked to think her talents were more in creative ventures and in making people happy. Since she was little, everyone had always commented she made them smile, that she was a ray of sunshine.

“Okay,” she said when she realized the pause had stretched too long and his relaxed posture had tensed. Sean was smiling at her, but Sean was also smoldering. Whether it was anger or desire, she wasn’t sure, though she couldn’t imagine he was actually still angry with her after all this time. Maybe it was just his efficiency face. She wasn’t as well versed with him as a businessman.

Whatever he felt, it bubbled under the surface of control he had such mastery of. She had always envied him that, but now she wished if he were frustrated or angry, he would just explode at her, so they could get this awkwardness over between them. On the other hand, maybe it was naive to think there wouldn’t be a significant amount of discomfort, given the huge passage of time.

Maybe the discomfort was purely on her part. Maybe Sean was just doing his job and was annoyed that she clearly didn’t know how to handle the event security.

“Congratulations on all your business success,” she told him, sincerely. At random intervals over the years, she had heard from friends, or seen on social media, what he was doing, and she had felt a spark of pride for all his accomplishments. He was a prime example of a man who had started with nothing, and through hard work, now ran a multimillion-dollar corporation. Pride at the man he’d become had been paired with the realization that the demise of their relationship had probably been the best thing for him, as she was monstrously unsuited to be a corporate wife.

“Thanks,” he said, his expression inscrutable. “So how did you end up an events coordinator? And what brings you back from Sin City?”

“It’s the only thing I’m qualified to do,” she told him, truthfully. “I can plan a party—that’s about it.”

“Oh, come on,” he said. “That’s not true.”

“Hey, I plan a damn good party,” she said, with a smile, even though she knew that wasn’t what he meant. Of course, she wasn’t sure specifically what he meant as her potential talents, come to think of it. She didn’t think it was a sexual innuendo, because honestly, she’d just been enthusiastic in that arena, not skilled or experienced. But at nineteen, she hadn’t been bursting with various practical talents.

Sean laughed. “Funny. No, I mean I’m sure you could do whatever you set your mind to. That was always your setback—you didn’t believe in yourself enough.”

It was difficult to explain to Mr. Moneybags that while he was good at virtually every business venture he touched, she had always lacked the focus required to stick with something. But she wasn’t looking for sympathy. It was what it was, and she was trying hard to change, to stick around long enough to make something work.

And she didn’t need him psychoanalyzing her.

“I think it’s safe to say I’m not as insecure as I was at nineteen when you knew me, thank God.” She still hated her ass, because it was the consistency of flan, but otherwise she had grown accepting of who she was, as flawed and imperfect as she may be. She was also kind, generous and quick to laugh, so there.

Sean didn’t respond. He simply stared at her, because that was what Sean did. He waited. He bent people to his will. He commanded. He used charm and confidence to get exactly what he wanted, which at one time had been her. The question was, what did he want today? His expression was too enigmatic for her to read.

With no sign to hold any longer, Kristine felt self-conscious, her hands fluttering in front of her chest. She wore a black pencil skirt and a purple floral sweater set with a respectable amount of cleavage on display. Sean’s eyes followed her fingers.

She couldn’t stand the silence anymore and started to babble. “You’re right. I’ll get the name of all the staff. I suppose I should know better. This isn’t my first rodeo, so to speak.”

“I don’t remember you that way,” he said.

“What?” Kristine was confused. Did he mean as a rodeo rider? “What way?”

“Insecure.” He shook his head to emphasize the point. “You always knew who you were. I admired that. Being insecure is different from doubting yourself.”

His words warmed her more than she would have expected. “Thanks. But don’t make me sound more mature than I was.” Unsticking her tongue from the roof of her mouth, she said, “Look, Sean, before you leave I want to discuss something with you—

But he cut her off. “Show me the back room,” he said with a casual smile. “Just to make sure there are no issues for Friday.”

Hmm. Did he want this to be strictly business? Yet he had brought up the past. Though it had been a casual enough comment. Maybe it was better if they concentrated on the matter at hand for the moment. “Sure,” she said, forcing herself to sound breezy, and strode away. He followed her and she made a point to pause and speak to the catering manager. “Allison, I’ll need a list of the servers who will be here opening night. What time do you think you’ll be finished setting up?”

Allison nodded with a smile. “Sure, no problem. Actually, we’ll be done in about ten minutes.”

“You can go out the back then, and I’ll call you tomorrow if I want any changes done. Thanks.” There, that sounded professional. Like she knew what she was doing. Which she did, in theory.

Once in the storage area, she turned and gestured with both hands. “Here it is. Just the one exit.”

His shuttered gaze took in the small room. There were art pieces from the previous exhibit under drop cloths, a desk for the curator and a small coffee-break area with a bistro table and a mini fridge. There was also an employee restroom, metal shelving for lighting and mounting hardware and leftover paint remnants. The gallery’s staff was small, and Kristine had been hired to do essentially whatever was needed on a weekly basis, including PR and ordering supplies.

“What’s in there?” he asked, pointing to a door.

“It’s a closet.”

He started toward it.

“Is this really necessary?” she asked. “The gallery has done these types of events monthly for years without any issues.”

“Ian Bainbridge has a morality organization threatening to disrupt the party. They’ve been known to deface art they find offensive and attack the artist himself. Plus, he has a documented stalker. This is my job, Kristine. Nothing is going to happen while my team is here. That is a guarantee I provide.”

Except that the morality organization was run by Kristine’s own mother, and she was pretty sure it was a committee of one. Sean obviously didn’t know that, and she was not about to enlighten him.

No one needed to know that, least of all her ex.