Fear of Falling. Cindi Myers

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      AFTER LEAVING the dungeon, Sartain went to the orangery on the second floor. He hadn’t even known what this was until he’d spotted it on the plans for the castle. The architect had explained to him that the most ostentatious castles had these indoor solariums where tropical plants and even orange trees flourished year-round. At hideous expense, of course. It was one more way for the lord of the manor to show off his wealth.

      Privately, Sartain had thought it a foolish conceit, but since he was working on establishing himself as a true eccentric, he’d ordered the architect to include every detail of a proper castle, including the orangery.

      Doug found him bouncing a tennis ball off the brick floor and catching it. The mindless rhythm of the activity often stimulated his creativity. “I came to talk to you about the donation for the Young Artists’ Endowment Fund benefit,” Doug said without preamble.

      Sartain caught the ball and held it, then greeted his agent. Doug Tanner had been with him since he was a penniless art student. He was a pain in the ass sometimes, but he’d been a first-rate agent, and those were rare enough in this business for Sartain to put up with Doug’s occasionally overbearing manner.

      “I told them I’d donate something. No problem.”

      “They don’t want one of your own works. They want something from your collection.”

      He scowled. “What do you mean they don’t want something from my own works?”

      “It’s the marketing angle for this year’s auction. Giving the public a glimpse into the artists’ own personal collections or something like that.” Doug folded him arms across his chest. “Besides, your stuff is a little too…edgy for them. After all, this is a Young Artists’ Endowment.”

      “And my paintings are every adolescent male’s fantasies.” He began bouncing the ball again. “Fine. What should we send them?”

      “You decide. Whatever it is, it will be worth a lot of money to them. You’ve built up quite a collection.”

      “Thanks to you.” Doug was a renowned collector in his own right and he’d often advised Sartain on purchases.

      Doug stepped around an arrangement of palm trees and stood beside Sartain. “I passed Natalie in the hall just now. She looked upset.”

      “I don’t know what about.”

      Doug glanced at him. “I thought maybe you’d said something to her. I was hoping you wouldn’t run her off the first day.”

      “She’s not going to leave. She’s too tough for that.”

      “How do you know?”

      “She actually had me apologizing for an outburst this morning.” He held the ball and glared at Doug. “I never apologize.”

      “Then I’m impressed. She might civilize you yet.”

      “I’m more interested in making her a little less civilized. Less uptight, anyway.” He tossed the ball across the room. It landed at the base of a lime tree and sent a rain of leaves to the floor. “How did you happen to pick her for the job? There must be hundreds of business-school graduates you could have hired.”

      “Her mother is an old family friend. I did it to help her, and also because I knew after years of dealing with Gigi, she’d know how to cope with you.”

      “You make it sound like I’m a dog who needs to be trained.”

      Doug smirked. “Your words, not mine.” His expression sobered. “You’re going to behave yourself with her, aren’t you, John? She’s not one of your models or actresses.”

      “What, is she a virgin?” He laughed at Doug’s stern expression. “Natalie is an interesting person. If we’re going to be working together, I intend to get to know her better. How much better is entirely up to her.”

      “She’s led a sheltered life,” Doug said. “She grew up with the performing company. She’s traveled all over the world, but she hasn’t really seen or done anything outside of the show.”

      “All the more reason for me to share my reality with her. It could be a very eye-opening experience.” For both of them.