Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 79438 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79438 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
I’ll die if the friend turns out to be my boss. I better not let it slip which gallery I work at.
“So you like art?” I ask.
Callan nods. “I own a couple of pieces.” He picks up his glass and takes a sip of water.
As if caught in a trance, I watch his throat move as he swallows.
Wow. That’s hot.
His attention is one hundred percent focused on me as he asks, “Do you only restore art, or do you work on your own pieces as well?”
It feels weird talking about myself when I answer, “I’m currently working on a collection. I hope to have an exhibition one day.”
With his eyes locked on me as if nothing can tear his attention away from me, he says, “Tell me about your collection.”
Damn, this man is good. He really knows how to make his date feel special.
My nerves ease a little. “I like to think of it as expressive art. I use a combination of plaster and oil paints to create pieces showing the negative side of life.” Not wanting to come across as a depressive person, I add, “After I’m done with this collection, I’ll work on one showing the joys of life. Kinda like Yin and Yang.”
“I’d love to see your work.”
Like a mother with a newborn baby, I dig my phone out of my bag and open the gallery. “I have photos.”
Callan stands up and moves his chair to my left. Leaning closer, he says, “Show me.”
A whiff of his aftershave hits me. The scent is spicy but not overwhelming. It’s just enough to catch your attention, and it suits him.
I turn the device so he can see the screen and explain, “This one is of an old woman walking between tombstones, showing how lonely it is when everyone you know has passed away.”
Callan is quiet for a moment as he stares at one of my precious pieces, then his eyes flick to mine. A loaded silence hums between us before he murmurs, “You’re really talented, Lillian. The painting speaks volumes.”
He swipes to the next photo, and this time, I feel more comfortable as I say, “The man sitting on a heap of people, is to convey what it took for him to get to the top.”
I continue to show my paintings to Callan, and only when the server brings our appetizers do I realize he’s the first person ever to see my work.
A wave of emotion hits me square in my chest, and my hands start to tremble.
Callan immediately picks up on the emotional moment I’m having and places his hand on top of mine. “I take it you don’t get to talk about your art often?”
Feeling self-conscious, I nod while my eyes flick from the shrimp to Callan and back to my meal. “You’re actually the first person who’s seen my collection.”
His touch is warm and comforting as he gives my hand a squeeze before letting go.
“I’m honored, Lillian.” He pours us each a glass of wine, then asks, “How many pieces will be in the collection?”
“Twelve. I’m almost done.” I take a much-needed sip of the wine.
“I’m sure you'll sell every piece when you have your exhibition. Your paintings are extraordinary,” he compliments me, his tone filled with confidence.
My eyes flit to his. “You really think so?”
“Yes. I’ve seen my fair share of art but never anything like yours.”
A wide smile spreads over my face as happiness and pride burst in my chest. “Thank you.”
Chapter 9
Callan
I wasn’t lying to Lillian to stroke her ego. The woman is fucking talented. I’d love to see the actual paintings.
With my eyes glued to her, I once again take in her beauty, and after spending some time with her, there’s a flicker of instant attraction, which I ignore.
Unlike at the Starbucks, her hair is loose with the ends curled, and she’s wearing makeup.
But it’s not her physical features that grabbed my attention. It’s her extraordinary talent, and the fact that she’s brave enough to come to dinner even though it’s clearly out of her comfort zone.
After the emotional moment hit her, she seems to relax a little, which I’m taking as a win. I only have two goals tonight: to make her feel comfortable and to ensure she enjoys my company.
We’re enjoying our appetizers when she suddenly asks, “If you’re the company's CEO, why do you accept appointments?”
I pat the corners of my mouth with the napkin before answering, “When the client seems sensitive, I tend to step in.”
Her cheeks flush red again. “Sensitive?”
Damn, the blush on her cheeks only makes her look more beautiful.
Her shyness brings out a protective feeling in me.
Keeping my tone gentle, I ask, “You’re an introvert, right?”
She nods, then points out, “But I didn’t say that in my application.”
“I picked up on it at Starbucks,” I explain. “And earlier on the call with Harper, you sounded very nervous.”