CHAPTER ELEVEN
NATHAN
“Yeah, make sure the stage lights are all of good quality and the chairs too. People are going to be sitting here for three hours or less to watch a show, the chairs have to be comfortable,” I inform one of the decorators for the center.
It’s been two weeks since construction officially ended. Two weeks spent trying to get the place in order. The clean-up crew got to work first, clearing out all the rubble and the debris. Then we got the place painted. And now we’re working on furniture, chairs, basically turning the rooms into what they were envisioned to be.
I’m standing at the top of the 500 hundred seater room, trying not to be bothered by all the activity going on around me. Usually I wouldn’t be spending so much time on site. I’m not a fan of relating to people unnecessarily. But Carson convinced me to try a more hands on approach with the center. So I’ve been showing up here every day, to supervise.
Frankly, I’m only doing it because if I don’t, he will and the guy deserves a break every once in a while.
“Sir, apparently there’s someone at the front desk asking to see you,” Josh says, walking up to me.
“Who?” I question.
“Anika Cameron.”
So she finally decided to show up. Technically I only gave her a day to make a decision and it’s been two days since. But I can be patient and I figured she was probably taking longer in order to spite me. For some reason, I’m great at getting inside her head. I understand her better than I thought I would.
Josh follows me towards the entrance into the building. I spot Anika first. She’s standing in the middle of the room, and she’s looking upward at the ceiling. I stare at her feet, starting at her three inch heels she’s wearing before letting my eyes trail up long slender legs to baggy jeans topped off with a short black top.
It’s short enough to expose a bit of her stomach, pierced belly button on show. She has on black Gucci shades propped up on her nose and her dark hair is wild and wavy around her shoulders. It frames her delicate face like dancing flames. She’s so fucking gorgeous it almost hurts to look at her.
I take slow steps towards her and when she finally looks down I’m standing right in front of her.
“See something interesting up there?” I question.
“I hate high ceilings,” she says on a frown. “They make me feel… what’s the opposite of claustrophobic?”
My eyebrows rise, “I never know what’s going to come out of that mouth of yours.”
She smirks, “You spend a lot of time thinking about my mouth, Mr. Billionaire?”
Way too much time. But she doesn’t need to know that.
Her chocolate brown eyes regard mine keenly, our gazes connecting in a way that makes something in my chest flutter. I’m not sure how long we stare at each other like that. Until a throat clearing has me jolting back to the present.
“Sorry to interrupt whatever this is,” Josh says, the smile in his voice clear as day.
“It’s nothing,” I bite out. “Hello, Ms. Cameron. You sure took your time getting back to me.”
“I have to keep you on your toes,” she says on a shrug.
“But you’re here now. Which means you accept my offer?”
“We have to talk about my job description first. And how much you’ll be paying me. My rates aren’t cheap,” she states.
“Of course. You and Josh can discuss the terms of your employment,” I inform her, gesturing at my assistant whose eyes are moving between us with barely concealed interest.
He steps towards Anika with his hands outstretched.
“Hi. Nice to meet you. I’m Josh Fields, Mr. Wolfe’s assistant.”
“Anika Cameron,” she replies, shaking his hand. “Nice to meet you too.”
She offers him a bright smile she’s never given me before. I feel a spark of irritation at the sight. A part of me wants all of her smiles for myself. But that would be insane.
“We’re really grateful for your help, Miss Cameron,” Josh states. “I’m sure it can’t have been an easy decision to make regarding Mr. Simmons. Selling one of your paintings again-”
Fuck!
“Shut up, Joshua,” I grit out, clamping a hand on the back of his neck to stop him.
But the damage is already done. Anika’s brows furrow.
“Wait, what’s he talking about? Who’s Mr. Simmons and what do you mean selling one of my paintings?” she questions.
I sigh, looking upwards in a bid to calm myself down. I let go of Josh whose blue eyes are as wide as saucers, an apology in their depths.
“I’m sorry. I had no idea you hadn’t informed her yet.”
My jaw clenches, “I was going to as soon as she agreed to work with us. Specifically in writing.”
I’m aware of how manipulative that sounds. But I know her. Getting her to agree to act as a consultant for the exhibition was hard enough. And now I’ve got to figure out how to convince her to put herself out there, while hoping that she’s maybe got a painting in reserve she’d be willing to sell. It’s a lot and placing all my cards on the table at once would have only scared her off.
“What’s going on?” Anika asks, crossing her arms over her chest, gaze expectant.
“Come on,” I mutter. “I’ll talk to you in my office. Josh, get back to the auditorium. Make sure nothing goes wrong.”
“Right. Sorry, sir. It was nice to meet you, Miss Cameron.”
He walks away in a hurry leaving the two of us alone. Anika smiles as she watches him leave.
“I like him. He’s cute.”
Cute?
My eyes roll, “Sure. And a pain in my ass.”
“He’s an odd choice for your assistant though. I thought you’d hire someone more serious,” Anika points out. “You know, boring, grumpy, like yourself.”
“I’m not boring, nor grumpy,” I mutter.
“Agree to disagree. So what’s going on? Are you playing me or something?”
“Let’s talk in my office,” I repeat, starting to walk.
I hear her following behind me, the heels at her feet clacking against the floors of the building.
“This place looks amazing,” she murmurs behind me as we head towards one of the doors in a hallway that has my name engraved on a plaque.
Nathan Wolfe. Co-Founder.
Since Carson and I are both responsible for how this place has turned out, I figured it was only right that we share the title. It’ll be called the Wolfe-Cameron Community center as well. His office is directly opposite mine.
“Is my brother in?” Anika asks.
“No, I haven’t seen him all morning,” I reply.
We both walk into my office that’s already been painted, decorated with all the furniture I require provided for as well. I hear her suck in a small breath as she walks in and when I turn, her eyes are on the painting mounted on the wall.
“That’s mine,” she says softly, stepping towards it to get a closer look.
I lean against my desk, taking in the small smile on her angelic face and the way her eyes study her own creation. With wonder in them, like she can’t believe she painted it. It’s a painting of sunlight streaming over a park. The sun almost always makes a feature in Anika’s paintings. In this one it almost seems like there’s a small outdoor festival going on, with people in the scene who aren’t drawn in too much detail but clearly enjoying themselves. The whole picture feels alive and happy, as if the artist wanted to capture that carefree, joyful moment when everything feels possible.
I wonder when she lost that. The obvious hope and joy that each one of her paintings seem to have.
“Sunlit Rhapsody,” I state, mentioning the title of the painting and drawing her attention. “It’s beautiful.”
“That’s my family,” she says warmly, pointing at the four people. “This is actually one of my first professional works. I made this when I was 18. How did you find this?”
I shrug, “With the right price, I can find anything.”
“Must be nice,” she murmurs before looking away from the painting, almost like it pains her to see it. “So what’s it doing here? Is that an attempt to butter me up?”
She lowers herself down onto the couch, crossing her legs before her eyes meet mine.
“Yes, actually,” I answer honestly. “I need your help.”
“With Mr. Simmons right? Who is he?”
“A fanatic art collector in his late sixties,” I inform her. “He’s also in possession of the Phantom House.”
“So what’s the issue?”
“He’s not willing to sell. And it’s imperative I get all 11 paintings in time for the exhibition.”
Anika raises an eyebrow, “I’m still not sure what you’d like me to do here. I’m well versed in art yes but I don’t usually partake in the buying and selling of artworks. I thought you hired me to be a consultant.”
“Yes, I did. But I also found out that Mr. Simmons is also a fan of your works as well.”
She takes that in for a second, “I’m grateful that he is but I still don’t see what the issue is.”
“He wants to meet you.”
That causes her to stiffen, “Artists don’t usually do fan signing events. I’ve never even had an exhibition for my works.”
That’s mostly because she prioritized profit in the beginning of her career. She made a name for herself by attaching her works to other big names in the industry. She’d have a painting or two in huge exhibitions or at auctions. Maybe an appearance or two but she’s never had a grand event or a debut with only her name attached.
“Simmons is only interested in meeting you. He’s a lonely old man that’s looking for some meaning in his life again. You can help with that.”
“It almost sounds like you’re guilt tripping me,” she murmurs.
“I’ll do whatever it takes to get you there. He lives in a small town that’s about a three hour drive from here.”
“Okay,” she nods. “I’m in. But I have a feeling that’s not all.”
Smart girl.
“I want to buy one of your paintings. Mr. Simmons has requested it.”
Brown eyes look toward me in confusion. She points at the painting on the wall.
“Give him that one then,” she states.
“I would. But he wants one that’s never been released to the public or sold.”
“Oh. Unfortunately I don’t sell paintings anymore,” she tells me point blank.
“That doesn’t mean you haven’t kept some of your works.”
“I don’t have some,” she corrects. “I have two. And they’re not for sale.”
My lips fall into a thin line. I push off the desk, walking over to take a seat on the couch close to her.
“What can I do to change your mind? I’m ready to pay any amount,” I state.
“It’s not about money,” she says on a sigh. “Those paintings are all I have left of a time I don’t think I’ll be able to return to.”
I feel my heart twist in my chest. That’s the most vulnerable thing she’s ever said to me and the soft look in her eyes make it clear just how much it means to her.
“Okay,” I say gently. “It’s fine. I’ll figure something else out.”
She looks toward me, eyes widening in surprise.
“What?” I murmur.
“That was too easy. I think you just did something nice. And human,” she says.
“Don’t get used to it, sweetheart.”
She smiles and everything feels okay for a moment. Like the entire world falls away and my whole being is at peace. I didn’t know a smile could do that.
“What happens if Mr. Simmons doesn’t get my painting?” she asks.
I shrug, “He’ll insist on not selling Phantom House to me, I guess. But it’s fine. I’ll figure it out.”
She doesn’t speak for a long moment, her expression contemplative. I wait, wondering what’s going on behind those stunning brown eyes. Her lips roll together in the most distracting way right before she speaks.
“Fine, let’s give it to him.”
“Excuse me?” I question in surprise.
“I want the exhibition to succeed as well. If I need to let go of one of my paintings to make it work out then-”
“I can’t let you do that,” I say cutting her off.
She was just telling me how important it is to her.
Her eyes narrow, “Too bad. It’s not your choice, Mr. Billionaire. I can live without one more reminder of past achievements that’ll follow me all my life.”
“Hey, look at me,” I prompt, shifting closer to her on the couch. Brown eyes meet mine, the connection electric. And somehow it feels like we’re the only two people in existence. “You’re going to paint again.”
“And you know that how?”
“I just do. I know everything, sweetheart.”
She laughs, “Yeah, right.”
“Seriously. You’re just in a slump right now. It happens.”
“I haven’t held a paintbrush or an easel in four years,” she tells me.
“Slumps don’t have fixed expiry dates. You have immeasurable talent, Anika. That kind of talent doesn’t just disappear. But you’re allowed to hold on to a reminder of just how far you can go.”
“It’s fine. I don’t need a reminder. I already know. And I also know that the exhibition means a lot to you.”
“So you’re letting it go for me?” I ask unsurely.
“You wish,” she replies quickly, avoiding my eyes. “I’m doing this for the artist. I don’t know who they are, but the world deserves to see just how much talent and beauty they had to give.”
I swallow, caught in the intensity of the moment, the meaning behind her words. I hadn’t been expecting that answer, hadn’t thought I needed to hear those words from someone.
It somehow makes it all worth it. I look into her eyes and I know she understands and my heart aches with the realization.
“You’re pretty damn special, aren’t you, Cameron?” I ask hoarsely.
“Only one of me in the entire world,” she agrees with a soft smile.
I glance down, my eyes resting on her mouth. Her lips are a cherry red color today. Plump, perfect and so fucking inviting. I could be kissing her in less than a second. Just one small inch closer and she’d be in my arms. Maybe I’d act out every carnal thought I’ve had in relation to this woman.
She’s looking at me right now like she can tell what I’m thinking. Like she wants it as well. The column of her throat shifts and her eyes grow heated. Just as I’m about to damn the consequences, there’s a knock on my door. The moment shatters immediately.
I clear my throat before rising to my feet and returning to my earlier position against the desk. When I glance at Anika I catch sight of a hint of redness on her cheeks that makes me smile.
“Come in,” I call for whoever’s on the other side.
Her brother walks into the room talking, “Yo, Wolfe. I was just talking to Emilia and she’s looking into collaborating with a bigger interior decorating firm for…”
He trails off, probably noticing the atmosphere in the room. His eyes meet mine before zeroing in on the woman on the couch.
“What are you doing here, Nika?” he asks his sister.
She gets to her feet, a light smile playing on her lips as she moves to press a kiss on her brother’s cheek.
“Actually, I work here, Bubba,” she informs him.
“What? Since when?”
“Today,” she answers cheerfully.
Carson’s gaze flit over to mine accusingly and I sigh. I told him I wasn’t a fan of the overprotective brother act. It’s not like there’s anything he can do to stop me.
I always get what I want.