My Daddy Valentine (Be My Fake Valentine)

3. Simon

3

Simon

I try not to let my gaze linger on Ella too long. I have enough distractions in my life. The last thing I need is to be captivated by an intern who’s fresh out of art school and full of idealistic notions about the world. But damn it, every time I look at her, my brain short-circuits.

I’ve never been one to lose focus. I’m the guy who does the job, who delivers, who doesn’t get caught up in emotions or distractions. But when I saw her standing in Margo’s office this morning, her bright eyes wide with enthusiasm, I knew she was going to be a problem.

I try to keep my face neutral as I walk down the hall, leading her through the gallery. It’s a routine I know well—showing interns around, explaining the daily grind of this place. Art shows. Gallery installations. Client meetings. But with Ella, there’s something different. She’s young , so much younger than me. And she’s got this thing about her—this energy, this radiance. It’s the kind of beauty that would make any man pause. Her long, blonde hair, her bright, curious eyes, the way she seems to breathe life into the air around her.

I take a breath, forcing myself to focus on the task at hand.

This isn’t my first time working with interns. Hell, I’ve mentored dozens of them. But there’s something about Ella that doesn’t fit the usual mold. She’s eager, yes, but also too much of a dreamer for this place. Margo’s right—she’s here to learn, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to hold her hand. She needs to get real. This business is tough, and the art world is no place for na?ve idealism.

But still, her presence keeps rattling my thoughts. I want to stay professional. I want to get her up to speed so I can get back to dealing with the more pressing matters—the gallery’s upcoming exhibitions, the artists we’re working with, the fact that a competing gallery is making a play for one of our biggest clients. That should be the priority right now, not her.

And yet, here I am, remembering the encounter with her yesterday.

I was rushing through the hallway of my building after an intense phone call with one of the gallery’s most important buyers, and the last thing I was thinking about was some stranger. But then I bumped into her—Ella—and I swear to God, time slowed for a second. I felt the box slip from her hands, heard the soft gasp as she stumbled back. And when I saw her crouch down to gather her things, all I could think was how beautiful she looked, how her blue eyes shimmered even in the dim lighting of the hallway.

I had every intention of apologizing, but then I saw the way her face flushed when she looked up at me. And that’s when I knew—if I said a word, if I even looked at her too long, I’d be lost.

So, I did what I always do when I feel out of control—I buried it. I shut it down. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t even offer to help her pick up the damn box. I couldn’t. Because if I did, I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about her.

It’s been a long time since I felt that . Since I felt anything other than the need to keep my life in perfect order, to keep my focus where it belongs.

But Ella is a wild card.

I shouldn’t have agreed to mentor her.

I walk past her desk, trying to keep my stride steady, but I can feel her eyes on me. I’m sure I’m imagining it—hell, I hope I am—but I feel it. That pull. That attention. It’s not just because I’m the senior curator and she’s the intern. There’s something else in the air.

I force myself to focus.

I have a client coming in later today, and the competition is getting fierce. The other gallery is trying to poach one of our top buyers, and if they succeed, it’ll be a blow to everything I’ve worked to build here. The last thing I need is to let a pretty face distract me from the bigger picture.

Ella’s sitting at her desk now, her brow furrowed as she flips through the paperwork I gave her. She doesn’t even seem to notice how much time is passing. And that’s good, I remind myself. She’s here to learn. But I can’t help but notice how her blonde hair falls over her shoulder as she concentrates, how her lips press together when she’s deep in thought. There’s something so damn captivating about her.

I turn away quickly, walking down the hall toward my office, forcing my mind to focus on the tasks at hand. But as I pass by her desk, I hear her voice.

“Simon?”

I stop, even though every part of me wants to keep walking. I shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be talking to her. But I have to.

I turn slowly, meeting her gaze. Her eyes are big, wide with curiosity, and there’s an earnestness there that makes my chest tighten.

“Do you have a second?” she asks, her voice soft but determined.

“Sure,” I say, even though my mind is screaming at me to keep walking.

She gestures toward the papers on her desk. “I was just wondering—do you have any advice for me? I mean, about the work. About what to expect here.”

I stand there for a moment, looking at her. The intensity in her eyes is disarming, and for a second, I feel like I’m standing on the edge of something. But I can’t let myself be pulled into whatever this is. Whatever she is.

“Work here is fast-paced,” I say, keeping my voice as neutral as possible. “You’ll need to keep your head down and focus. We have deadlines, we have clients to please, and we have artists to manage. This isn’t some art school project. This is business.”

Her face falls for just a moment, the spark of excitement dimming. But then she nods, a smile tugging at her lips.

“I get it,” she says. “It’s just... this is everything I’ve dreamed of, you know?”

Her words are like a punch to the gut. Of course she’s excited. She’s fresh, eager, full of optimism. And that’s exactly why I can’t let myself get caught up in it. In her .

I nod, keeping my expression unreadable. “That’s good. Just don’t let it blind you to the reality of things.”

I turn to walk away, but before I can take another step, I hear her voice again.

“Simon?”

I stop again, annoyed that I can’t escape this conversation. But when I turn to face her, I find her looking at me with something more than just curiosity. There’s a vulnerability in her eyes that catches me off guard. It turns me the fuck on.

“I... I hope we can work well together,” she says, her voice quieter now.

I nod stiffly. “We’ll make it work.”

I turn and walk away, trying to ignore the heat in my chest. But as I pass by her desk again, I can’t help but glance at her once more. Her focus is entirely on the papers in front of her now, but the way her head tilts slightly as she works—there’s something about it that makes my pulse race.

I shove my hands into my pockets and try to steady my breathing.

I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep letting her get under my skin.

Ella is here to learn. She’s an intern, and I’m her mentor. That’s all this is.

And no matter how beautiful she is, no matter how much she rattles my thoughts, I can’t lose my focus.

I can’t let her be a distraction.

I’ve got work to do.

And right now, that’s all I can think about.