12
JAKE
Why can’t I get a grip on my emotions? I realize how rude I was to Kiera yesterday.
Why did I have to bring up the past?
I owe her an apology. I just hope she is willing to listen this time. I just got Kiera back in my life. I don’t want to lose her again.
When I get downstairs for breakfast, she’s already waiting for me.
“Good morning,” she greets me outside the dining room.
“Good morning,” I say, walking toward the dining table when I realize that it’s empty, and I come back out, checking my watch.
“I apologize. Breakfast isn’t served yet. It’s never this late, and I made sure—”
“Jake, Jake, hold on,”
I frown. “What?”
“I told them to serve it outside.”
I blink. “You did what?”
“I saw the housekeeping staff bring the food to the table, but it’s such a pretty day outside that it would be a shame to stay indoors the entire day.”
“I have a client meeting in the evening, but I understand what you’re saying.”
"Actually, I'd like to tag along. If you don't mind, of course."
Her willingness to spend more time together catches me off guard. “You really want to come with me?”
“Yes.”
“Even when I’m telling you that you can take the day off.”
“Yes.”
"Sure, why not?” Maybe this means that she is at least willing to spend time with me.
The breakfast spread is grand—marmalade, toast with avocado and strawberry jam. And there’s a jug with the most splendid coffee I’ve ever had.
“Food in France tastes different,” Kiera says, nibbling on a pear. “Especially the fruits.”
I watch her through the rim of my cup. I can never get enough of her.
The sun is shining above us, but it’s not harsh. Kiera’s hair has been transformed into a pale halo. She looks just like an angel in the yellow sun dress she’s wearing, her cheeks tinged a subtle pink.
Fuck! I have to remind myself that she’s my employee, and I can’t be having such thoughts about her.
I clear my throat. “So, does the city live up to your expectations?”
She nods. “I’ve already found the most amazing theater to see.”
“Which play? I’m just curious. I wasn’t inviting myself.”
“It’s an adaption of Taming of the Shrewd, played at a theater Shakespeare himself has been said to perform at. Isn’t that wonderful?”
“Hmmm.”
“I can get you a ticket if you want.”
“If my schedule allows, sure, but I can’t guarantee anything right now.”
“Right.” She almost sounds disappointed.
I don’t understand her. Is she extending the olive branch? But why now?
Do you still hate me, Kiera?
She can’t. If she did, she would have never accepted the job offer. And I console myself with the thought.
It takes us an hour to find our way to the client’s house. It’s sprawling, with the kind of opulence that gives you no option but to look at it. Honestly, it’s a little too much for me. But the owner is the CEO of an international shipping and export company, so I’m not surprised.
But he’s also incredibly picky.
“So, has he seen the catalogue already?” Kiera asks. “Does he like anything?”
“I’m not here to make a sale, just to make preliminary acquaintance.”
“Really? Where’s the wine?” she asks.
“There’s no good wine I can offer this man that he doesn’t already have,” I say. “It’ll just come off as condescending.”
“I guess,” Kiera says.
We’re ushered into the foyer by the staff and asked to wait there. The foyer is filled with paintings.
I walk over to one and examine it. I don’t know the artist
“This place is heaven,” Kiera says. She looks like she’s about to start vibrating.
“Slow down, kid.”
“This place is like a museum,” she says. “Are you sure we’re not in an actual museum right now?”
“Unless I was given the wrong address—no,” I say. “Mr. Richards is just that rich.”
“Well, he definitely has impeccable taste,” she says as she spins on her heel, taking it all in. “And to think you almost didn’t bring me with you.”
“I just thought—”
She makes a sound from the back of her throat.
“What?”
Her eyes light up as she spots a particular artwork, and she practically sprints toward it, her excitement palpable.
"Jake, you've got to see this! It's a Brugghen – a genuine one," she exclaims, her voice a mix of awe and excitement.
“It’s great.”
"Not just great. Look at the brushwork, the use of color—it's incredible!" she says. “It must have cost him half a hand.”
“Not my hand, but I’m definitely short a few million,” says a voice.
We turn around to see that an older gentleman has joined us. His silver hair, neatly combed, frames a face adorned with a well-groomed beard.
“Mr. Richards,” I greet. “We were just—"
"Ah, 'The Concert’," he remarks, a twinkle in his eye, totally ignoring me. "It's my favorite too. Seems like I'm not the only one who appreciates it."
Kiera, momentarily taken aback, recovers with a warm smile. "It's a masterpiece, truly. Brugghen's technique and use of light are simply extraordinary."
Mr. Richard nods, his monocle catching the light. "Well said, my dear. You've got an eye for art. Not many in the younger generation appreciate the classics these days."
“It would be a shame to ignore Brugghen’s brilliance. He was a misunderstood artist, well before his time.”
“Aren’t most artists cursed to be the same?” Richards asks, to which Kiera gives a pensive nod.
“It’s a tragedy.”
“A shame really.”
I extend a hand toward Mr. Richards, offering a polite introduction. "I'm Jacob, the owner of Bennett Art Restoration. Pleasure to meet you."
He eyes me skeptically. "Art restoration, you say? There are plenty of those these days. What makes yours stand out?"
I’m at a loss for words.
“I had an appointment with you today,” I say. “I was told to drop by.”
“My secretary must have made the appointment,” he says.
I frown. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”
At that moment, Kiera jumps in. “Do you have any more Brugghen? I’ve never actually seen one in person before.”
She turns to me with a glare.
I stare back at her. I’m not the problem here, he is.
“Ah, a connoisseur who appreciates variety. Follow me, young lady. I do have another Brugghen piece that might capture your interest."
To my surprise, Kiera leans in and says, “Come on. What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?”
She just shakes her head and doesn’t say anything.
He leads us upstairs, and this time, Kiera says, “See, we’re getting somewhere.”
“Maybe you are,” I mutter.
We stop in front of another painting. I recognize this one almost immediately, even though the name eludes me.
"It's remarkable how Brugghen captures emotions so subtly," she remarks, obviously enjoying the conversation, not merely pretending.
Meanwhile, I’ve been cast aside. Both of them ignore me. I lean against the banister and observe them.
Mr. Richards, clearly pleased with Kiera's discerning eye, responds, "Indeed, my dear. 'The Flute Player' here is a testament to Brugghen's mastery. The intricate details of how he brings life to his subjects— it's a feast for the eyes."
I make a sound at the back of my throat.
Kiera throws me a dirty look.
“Don’t you appreciate Brugghen, Mr. Bennett?” Mr. Richards asks.
“I do, but Kiera has the expertise when it comes to classical artists,” I say honestly.
“Perhaps you haven’t studied this particular time period,” he says. “Say, did you study art in college?”
“I majored in business, but I come from a family of artists.”
“Then perhaps you should learn to appreciate them more,” Mr. Richards shoots back.
What is his problem exactly?
“Your wife has such an appreciation for art. You've got a good one there,” Mr. Richards says.
I'm momentarily caught off guard by the assumption.
Kiera has turned a shade of beet red.
Clearing my throat, I correct the misunderstanding. "She's not my wife, Mr. Richards. Kiera is a valued associate, a colleague with an exceptional eye for art."
"Well, Jacob, you certainly know how to pick associates. Keep her close, and maybe one day she'll convince you to appreciate 'The Concert' as much as I do."
“Certainly, sir,” I say.
Mr. Richards, glancing at his watch, interjects, "It seems time has a way of slipping through our fingers. How about we continue our discussion over dinner tomorrow evening? I'd love to hear more of your insights, young lady."
What the fuck? He’s actually asking her out to dinner now?
Kiera nods. “I would love that. But let me just check in with Jake.”
"Unfortunately, we have prior commitments tomorrow, but I'll have my secretary arrange a meeting. Perhaps we can discuss further then?"
Mr. Richards, seemingly unfazed, agrees with a nod. "Of course, Jacob. I'll be expecting your call."
“The name’s Jake,” I say under my breath.
As we step out of Mr. Richard's residence, Kiera shoots me an incredulous look. "What was that back there? You acted like a total ass."
I adopt a nonchalant demeanor, feigning innocence. "I have no idea what you're talking about.”
Her irritation deepens, and she crosses her arms, clearly unconvinced. "Don't play dumb, Jake. You practically dismissed the dinner invitation and acted like scheduling a meeting was beneath you."
I shrug, maintaining my composed fa?ade. "Well, we do have a busy schedule. I had to prioritize."
"You could have been a bit more diplomatic. It's not like we're swimming in dinner invitations from wealthy art collectors."
I meet her gaze, the unspoken tension simmering between us. "Sometimes, directness is appreciated in our line of work."
Her eyes narrow, and she mutters under her breath, "Directness or arrogance?"
I start walking over to the car.
“Where do you think you’re going? We’re not done yet.”
“I think I am.” I slide inside the car.
“I don’t get it.” She shakes her head. “Why are you behaving like this?”
“I still have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I thought we were here to make connections, not rudely walk out on prospective clients.”
“Well, he was definitely not interested in buying from us, that’s for sure.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“How many times did he call you dear? I lost track after the thirtieth time.”
“Jesus, is that what you’re annoyed about?” She rolls her eyes. “He wasn’t hitting on me. He’s practically ancient.”
“Well, he was not interested in making a deal with me.” I scowl as I stare ahead. “So, there was no reason for me to stick around.”
“Jake, you’re overreacting. I don’t know what’s gotten into you.”
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. Maybe I overestimated our ability to work together, keeping old grudges aside. I know I can be professional, but I don’t think you can.”
She starts to walk away.
I start the engine and slowly roll the car up to her side. “Where do you think you’re going? Get into the car.”
“I don’t think I want to be anywhere near you or your stupid car.”
“Don’t be childish. You can’t walk all the way back.”
She flips her hair. “Watch me.”
I rub my hand over my face. What a disaster this day is shaping up to be. This is not what I anticipated.
“I’m sorry, okay? I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”
Actually, that is a lie. But I can’t exactly tell her that the only reason I’m cranky is because I’m sexually frustrated.
“Now get inside the car,” I say. “Please, Kiera.”
She finally looks at me before opening the door and slamming it shut behind her.
The drive back to the mansion is punctuated by an icy silence, and I can feel her seething anger beside me.
Once we reach home, Kiera practically storms out of the car and heads straight for the entrance without sparing me a single glance. The door to her suite slams shut with a force that echoes down the corridor.
I run my hand through my hair in frustration. What a mess I’ve made of things, and only because I was thinking with my dick.
I pace around my room, thinking about the events of tonight.
Kiera is right. I acted like a total dick, and I blew up a great opportunity because I couldn’t think straight. Because I was jealous of an older man, for Christ’s sake.
I need to make things right, or the situation is just going to escalate.
After giving her some time to cool off, I decide to make amends. I head to a nearby boulangerie to pick up some food, hoping a gesture of peace might thaw the frost between us.
I know she can’t say no to some Parisian baguettes.