No text appeared on the screen.
Shit.
He shot a look at his watch. 11:53 p.m. Too late to head to her house and deliver the instruction personally. He may be a selfish prick—the old James definitely was, the man focused on revenge—but now…
He scooped up his mobile and tapped out another message to the woman he’d employed as Mason Xavier’s personal assistant. “Call me immediately when you read this message.”
Chest tight, he tossed his phone onto the kitchen counter and paced the floor, rubbing at the back of his neck.
As long as Clarinda shut it down tomorrow morning, Sienna would be oblivious of his intended fate for her. The public humiliation and ridicule, the professional degradation. The ruthless character assassination played out in all forms of media until she became a laughing stock in the country, the punch line in a mocking joke.
With his plans killed, she’d never know.
Sometime after breakfast with her, he’d send her a message as Mason Xavier, informing her he’d spoken to Australia’s most influential art dealers about her work, and to expect more than one to contact her soon. He’d always planned to do so, but his original follow-through—their utter and scathing rejection of her—would never occur. He’d spent a lot of time and money over the last few months making certain the movers and shakers of the art world knew of his disdain for Sienna Roberts, but starting tomorrow, he’d rectify that situation.
Not only because she stirred in him emotions deeper and more important, more…profound than any other person in his life, but because she was genuinely a talented artist the world needed to discover.
His would facilitate that global discovery. Would introduce her to the world. Maybe then the cold guilt taking great bites out of him now would eventually fade away.
“You can fix this.” He stared at the floor, his throat tight, and buried his fingers in his hair. “You—”
The buzz of an incoming message punched at his nerves.
He snatched up his phone, his blood roaring in his ears, and read the message.
“Fuck.”
“Thomas and I went to Sienna Roberts’s home tonight. She wasn’t there. Care to share your plans for her yet with me? You both seemed very chummy at the gallery. To be honest, I’ve never seen you look so relaxed. If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you’d fallen for her. But I DO know you better, so what gives? Call me when you get this. I want an explanation. XO”
He read the message again. And then a third time.
An explanation. Lindsey wanted an explanation. Did he have one? One she would be satisfied with?
Head roaring, he tapped out a reply.
“We were wrong about her. That’s all you’re getting for tonight. I’m going to bed. I will not answer your call or the door, so don’t try. Talk later.”
He hit send, waited for the delivered tone, and then turned his mobile off.
He was going to bed. He had a breakfast date tomorrow morning and he wasn’t going to be tired for it. Tomorrow he was convincing Sienna and her half brother he was the perfect man for her. He couldn’t do that if Lindsey kept him up all night.
Chapter Twelve
Ice cold water splashed his face, jolting him awake.
“What the hell?” Coughing and spluttering, skin rippling with goose bumps, he scrambled onto his elbows.
Lindsey grinned down at him, an empty glass in her hand. “That’s what you get for turning your phone off last night.”
He bit back a growl, flung off the sheet, and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
“Oh my God, James.” She staggered back, slapping her other hand over her eyes. “A little warning would be nice.”
He laughed, straightening to his feet. “That’s what you get for letting yourself into my home and throwing cold water on me.”
“Do you really sleep in those?” Disbelief filled her voice.
“Only when I suspect my sister is going to do something annoying.” He shot his Batman boxer shorts a frown. “What’s wrong with them?”
Lindsey shook her head, hand still plastered to her eyes. “Wanker. Tell me when you’re dressed so I can drill you about Sienna Roberts.”
She pivoted on her heel—how that was even possible, given she wore her customary five-inch stilettos—and hurried from his bedroom.