7. Chapter Aria
W hat did I get myself into?
That's my first thought as I walk into my new place of employment—The Romano Gallery. Ugh . The guy is so obsessed with himself that he even named it after his last name. Has a nice ring to it, very Italian , but still.
Walking into the gallery, I take a moment to appreciate the space. The gallery has off-white painted walls so the collections can stand out. With high ceiling windows that offer natural light, giving the space a sense of peace and comfort.
Walking all the way to the back, there's a set of stairs leading to the office space. As I climb the stairs and reach the second floor, Isabella welcomes me with a bright smile. “Good morning, Ms. Petrov.”
“Please, call me Aria. I have a feeling we will become the best of friends,” I say, winking as I place a coffee in front of her. “I didn't know how you take your coffee, so I brought you a vanilla latte. Hope you like it,” I add with a smile.
Isabella laughs. “Vanilla latte is fine. I prefer it with extra caramel drizzle because I'm a sugar addict.”
“That's exactly how I take mine!” I point out. Chit-chatting with Isabella, an annoying presence approaches my peripheral vision. Turning to see where it's coming from, Damian emerges from his office.
Figures .
I suddenly feel hot, that man has a talent of bringing the temperature in a room up a few degrees with his presence.
“No coffee for me?” he asks, leaning against his office door frame, arms crossed.
There’s something about a guy leaning against a door frame that just makes me have not-so-innocent thoughts. But Damian? With his tall, commanding presence? It’s something out of this world.
Feeling flustered at the sight of him, I decide to ignore him. Just because we work together doesn't mean I have to engage with the good-looking asshole.
Seriously, Aria. Is it really necessary to always add the good-looking part?
He continues with his taunting. “I like my coffee black, one sugar. You know, for future reference, darling.”
I swear, he enjoys riling me up.
“Gee, how surprising. Your coffee order is as dry as your personality. Congratulations,” I retort.
He has this professional ability to make me lose my cool around him, and I’ve become even better at witty comebacks. Our dynamic is odd, but it works in a strange, fucked up way.
Turning to Isabella, I say, “Listen, my best friend Sophia and I are going out next weekend. You should totally come!”
Isabella's eyes gleam as she responds, “Maybe. Thanks for the invite.”
I nod as my attention is drawn back to him and his impeccable put together looks, which is nothing out of the ordinary. Today, he is wearing a black button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
He looks good . With his muscular arms, tanned skin that I would just love to lick and— No. Move on. He’s your boss. What the hell is the matter with you?
I observe him up and down, unable to resist a sardonic comment. “I see we ditched the three-piece suit today.”
With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he replies, “Impressive attention to detail, noticing my choice of attire. ”
I raise an eyebrow at Damian's response, unable to resist yet another witty comeback. “Didn't know you were so observant about my observations,” I quip.
With a teasing smile playing on his lips he says, “Touché.”
I lock my gaze on his in a silent challenge and take a sip of my coffee, savoring the delicious caramelized goodness.
He continues with a smile, shrugging nonchalantly, “I don't have any meetings today. I cleared my schedule just for you, darling.”
There he goes again with that stupid fucking nickname.
Damian has a smile that can bring any woman to their knees. I wonder how often they fall for his trap? With that bright smile and those emerald eyes that seem to pierce your soul, any woman would be done for. It’s extremely frustrating. He’s one of the city’s top bachelors for a reason, because the man is strikingly beautiful in a raw uncensored way. The worst part about this is that I’m no different from those women, because he makes me feel a weird attraction I rather not entertain. How can this single man annoy me and make me attracted to him at the same time? That’s some impressive talent.
Ignoring the flutter in my chest, I reply sarcastically, “Oh, how lucky am I to have your undivided attention for the day, Mr. Romano.”
“Call me Damian.” He winks .
“I’d rather not,” I retort. I curse internally, because he definitely won this round with his natural talent of getting under my skin.
Isabella, looking flustered, mumbles, “God help me.” She stands up and says, “Aria, how about I walk you to your office?”
“That'd be per—”
“No need, I'll take her,” Damian interrupts, walking toward me. “Shall we?” He tilts his head in the direction of what I assume is my new office.
“Sure,” I respond dryly, fully aware that it's going to be a very long day.
As Damian walks in front of me, my eyes linger, admiring his physique. He has broad shoulders, and the shirt hugs his toned back muscles. Also—I can’t believe I’m going to say this—but he has a fucking nice ass too. He’s too hot for his own good, and on top of it, he has a nice ass? Pft . It’s outrageous.
Entering my office, it's a simple and spacious room with large windows that provide a view of Lake Michigan with an L-shaped white desk, and a gray office chair. At the center of the desk, there’s a brand new tablet, box unopened, and an arrangement of wildflowers. The place is cute and simple.
Damian turns to me and says, “Hope you like it.”
I smile as I reply, “Better than what I had at The Institute for sure. ”
“Wow, you are capable of smiling. I really thought it was impossible,” he jokes.
As I look around the office, I quip, “Only with you.” Walking toward the desk, I slightly bend and smell the flowers. They have a slight citrus smell, mixed with rose. They smell delicious. I love wildflowers. They are so colorful and carefree. Sometimes I wish I was one. “Thanks for the flowers. They are beautiful.”
Damian pats his chest twice dramatically, rubbing his hand in circles over his heart. “And here I was, already thinking I could get used to seeing that beautiful smile more often,” he says with a wink, and my cheeks heat at the compliment.
I’m just thankful he can’t see my face right now because I can positively say I look like a bright, red tomato. I throw a fake cough, suddenly becoming extremely interested in the lake before me.
“And the flowers, well, I just thought of you when I saw them at the market the other day.”
I turn around, raising my eyebrows. His eyes linger on mine for a beat before he breaks eye contact and looks the other way, almost like he’s… flustered.
No. It can’t be.
I don’t even know how to unpack what he just said. The fact that he casually went to the market and that he thought of me when he saw some flowers just makes something stir within me. No one has ever bought me flowers just because they thought of me. Well, I don’t think anyone has ever bought me flowers, like ever.
He’s just being nice. You’re reading too much into it.
Maybe I am being delusional. He’s trying to make this arrangement work, that’s all. But he just does something to me, the way his eyes linger when he thinks I don’t notice, or the way he calls me darling with that hearty voice of his. The man’s smooth.
That man is your boss. Get it together.
“You just casually go to the market?”
“I’m a man full of surprises.”
I hum. “I’ve noticed.”
He lets out a soft chuckle as he walks to the door. “I'll let you get situated before I give you a tour of the gallery.”
I lean against the desk, crossing my arms. “Honestly, you don't need to give me a tour. I can figure it out on my own. I'm a professional, after all,” I retort.
He shrugs before opening the door and says, “I don't care. Just meet me downstairs,” as he walks out.
Accepting the fact that I won’t be able to shake Damian off unless I do what he says, I decide to go along with it and head downstairs. Stepping off the last stair, I see him standing in front of a painting, seemingly lost in thought. I approach him, taking in the beautiful artwork in front of us.
The painting is simple but striking. It features earthy tones mixed with shades of gray, black, and white. There are two hands portrayed, one unmistakably belonging to a man and the other to a woman. They are on the verge of touching but not quite there as if some invisible barrier holds them back. The painting exudes a sense of longing, where both hands seem eager to connect but remain separated.
Truly beautiful.
As I read the sign, I murmur the name, “Impossible Touch,” and move closer to the painting. “The name is a perfect fit,” I remark.
Damian closes the distance between us, his woody soft scent enveloping my senses and nods in agreement. “Yeah, it's my favorite painting in our collection. It devotes so much…”
“Longing,” I say, finishing his sentence.
He looks at me with a bright, boyish smile as he nods again. That smile just does something to me, tugging at my chest, making my stomach flutter at the sight of it.
His thoughtful expression makes him look painfully handsome, as he appreciates the simplicity of the canvas and the story it conveys. Despite Damian’s ability to annoy me with his cockiness and remarks, this is the one time he looks genuinely happy by a simple—yet complex—work of art.
“Whoever your curator was before me did a great job choosing this particular painting,” I say, looking at him for a moment before my eyes trace back to the painting. It’s mesmerizing. I could look at it forever.
“I’ve carefully chosen everything that’s here. I travel a lot for various reasons, so I always make it a point to visit local artists and other galleries worldwide to collect paintings.” He gestures to the entire gallery. “All of this... it all tells a story. Art speaks to me, and I'm a very good listener,” he whispers.
His words touch me, resonating with my own connection to art. Art speaks to me too. Not only that, but it’s also my safe space. For as long as I can remember, art has helped me get through extremely difficult times. My childhood, college years, my anxiety. I don’t know where I would be without it.
I nod in understanding. “Who knew you had a human side?” I tilt my head, offering a playful smile.
With his gaze fixed on me and sincerity in his eyes, he confides, “This is my first and only love, Aria. Art. It’s the only thing that can bring this side of me.”
Huh. Interesting.
This sliver of information he’s confessing, it’s almost like an olive branch, but not only that, it just tugs at my resolve to dissect the mystery the renowned businessman Damian Romano, and what he’s truly like. There are layers to this man, that much I’m sure of.
We walk the rest of the gallery as he shows me some of the special pieces he has collected over the years. The way he animatedly talks about art—how his eyes fill with pride and the way a boyish smile escapes his lips every time he tells me an important fact about the piece—makes my heart flutter . It’s also the moment I realize that Damian and I have one thing in common.
Our passion for art.