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lifted a hand to shield her eyes. The windows across the street from hers were treated with a tint that kept the sun out and kept her from seeing in. She didn’t need to. There wasn’t anything on the other side of the glass worth her wasting this much of her day.
    A cute guy was a cute guy, and in Miami a dime a dozen. If this one didn’t want her business, it wouldn’t take but a phone call to find one who would. And, yeah, that contradicted everything she’d told herself earlier about chemistry.
    But, really. When had she ever made a business decision based on things ethereal or indefinable? That would be never. It wasn’t how she operated, or the method she’d used to establish herself, to become the success that she had over the last few years.
    So why was she thinking of starting now? Was the idea of having this man looking at her, following her, capturing her actions digitally so appealing that she was willing to throw away what she knew?
    She couldn’t say, and that was the worst part of this attraction. Because it was an attraction. One that was purely physical, but one she sensed might be the most interesting one she’d experienced in a very long time.

Five
    H aving always enjoyed the coolly sophisticated ambience of the frosted glass, onyx, and stainless-steel interior of Downtown Blue, and the extension of the decor into the art gallery’s offices, Jodi Fontaine could not figure why, all of a sudden, her work space left her cold.
    The private showing of the Noir Purrfection exhibit was three nights away. Invitations had gone out. RSVPs had come in. The caterer had been hired, and a final consultation held this afternoon, followed by another with the agency providing the waitstaff, and a third with the floral designer. There was absolutely nothing left for Jodi to do.
    And that was exactly what she was doing. Nothing. Not a goddamn thing—except trying to decide where she’d gone so wrong with Roland Green, and what that personal failure had to do with her hating every minute she spent in the office these days.
    She knew he was straight, as hetero as a man came. It wasn’t her gaydar rocked off kilter. It was her. Something was wrong with her. And she knew that was the core of her current dissatisfaction with what felt like everything in her life.
    She didn’t have man trouble. Ever. If she wanted a man to take her to bed, she told him so and he did. She’d been comfortable knowing that, living that. Enjoying that. As comfortable as she’d been spending her days in the gallery, which was a work of art in itself.
    Working for Dustin Parks was a dream. Her degree was in simple business administration; her talent organization; her memory a match for any chip. He’d hired her on the spot three years ago, when she’d arrived in Miami, having left Atlanta and a persistent ex.
    She’d needed the space, wanted a fresh start, and craved the sun. Life had been perfect, the parties, drink, and men endless. And then, a month ago, she’d met Roland Green.
    It had been the highlight of one of the best weeks of her life, that day she’d gone with Dustin to Splash & Flambé. He shopped there regularly because he was a good friend to Olivia Hammond, and because the items she stocked, showcased really, fit his personality and his fashion sense. Most of the time, he shopped alone, but that day he’d asked Jodi to come along.
    She hadn’t wanted to go. Correction. She hadn’t felt either one of them could afford the time away. They’d been deep in the planning for Noir Purrfection, and she’d seen no need to interrupt the flow of ideas for a shopping trip.
    Dustin had insisted. They could continue their exchange on the way. Besides, he’d said, the outing would be the perfect time to get her input on a photography exhibit that was currently no more than a germ in the soil of his infinitely fertile mind.
    She’d agreed to accompany him, thought his concept of catching an exhibitionist in action