Chapter 4
CHAPTER
FOUR
Mason
The city lights of Oakwood twinkle below as I pace back and forth across my penthouse, each step fueled by frustration and longing. Harper's face haunts me, her eyes filled with skepticism as she abruptly left the coffee shop. I replay our encounter for the thousandth time, analyzing every word, every gesture.
"Damn it," I mutter, running a hand through my hair. I've called her countless times, but she never picks up. The silence is maddening.
I stop at the floor-to-ceiling windows, pressing my forehead against the cool glass. My reflection stares back at me, accusation in its eyes. I moved too fast, came on too strong. Of course she ran.
But God, I need to see her again. To explain, to make her understand.
My phone feels heavy in my hand as I debate calling her once more. No. I have to respect her space, give her time. But every fiber of my being aches to be near her.
With a growl of frustration, I stalk to my desk and open my laptop. Before I realize what I'm doing, I'm scrolling through Harper's Instagram, drinking in every photo. Her petite frame, those soulful eyes, the hint of vulnerability behind her quippy captions.
Heat pools in my groin as I imagine running my hands over her curves, tasting her soft skin. In my mind, I pin her against the wall, her breathy moans urging me on as I?—
"Enough," I snarl, slamming the laptop shut. This torment has to end. I can't take it anymore.
I grab my keys, my resolve hardening with each step toward the elevator.
The streets of Oakwood blur past as I navigate my Aston Martin through the autumn night. My knuckles are white on the steering wheel, adrenaline surging through my veins. The scent of fallen leaves and woodsmoke drifts through the cracked window, but I barely notice.
I pull up to Harper's modest apartment building, its weathered brick a stark contrast to my penthouse. For a moment, I hesitate. Is this too much? Am I acting like an unhinged madman?
But then I remember her eyes, the way they lit up when we discussed her art. The electric spark when our hands touched. I can't let that slip away.
With a deep breath, I stride to her door. My heart pounds as I raise my fist and knock, the sound echoing in the quiet hallway.
Seconds stretch into eternity. Then, the door creaks open.
Harper stands there, her eyes widening in surprise. She's in paint-splattered overalls, a paintbrush tucked behind her ear. Fucking beautiful.
"Mason?" she breathes, confusion and something else—desire?—flashing across her face.
I step forward, my gaze locked on hers. "Harper, I?—"
She backs up instinctively, and I follow, closing the door behind me. The small apartment seems to shrink, charged with unspoken tension.
"What are you doing here?" she asks, her voice a mix of wariness and curiosity.
I swallow hard, searching for the right words. "I couldn't stay away. I needed to see you, to explain."
Her eyebrow arches skeptically, but I see a flicker of interest in her eyes. "Explain what, exactly?"
I take a deep breath, trying to steady my racing thoughts. "I know I came on too strong before. But Harper, I can't stop thinking about you, and I’m not lying when I say I do believe in your talent, and I want to help you succeed. But I also want you ."
Harper's fingers twitch at her sides, her body language guarded. "I don't need your charity, Mason. I can make it on my own."
"It's not charity," I insist, taking a step closer. The scent of turpentine and something uniquely Harper fills my senses. "It's an investment. In you, in your art. And I swear to God, as much as I want you, you aren’t beholden to me in any way for helping you. I’m not asking you to prostitute yourself out in exchange for my support."
She shakes her head, but I notice her resolve wavering. "You barely know me. Why would you do that?"
I struggle to find the right words, to express the inexplicable pull I feel towards her without scaring her off. "Because I see something special in you, Harper. Something rare and beautiful."
Her cheeks flush, and for a moment, I think I've overstepped. But then she speaks, her voice soft. "And I don’t have to do anything…um…sexual?"
The question hangs in the air between us, and I sigh. “I’m not going to lie, Harper, I want you more than I’ve ever wanting anyone.” Her eyes widen at my honesty, and I pause, then add quietly, "But just being close to you, just helping you will be more than enough."
Harper's eyes widen, and I see the internal struggle play out across her face. She wants this, I can tell, but her pride is holding her back.
"I...I don't know, Mason," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's a lot to take in."
I take another step closer, close enough now that I can see the flecks of gold in her hazel eyes. "Just think about it. Please. Let me help you create the art you've always dreamed of."
For a long moment, Harper is silent. Then, almost imperceptibly, she nods. "Okay," she breathes.
I can't stop the smile that spreads across my face. Harper's agreement, tentative as it is, feels like a victory. My heart races, and I have to resist the urge to pull her into my arms.
"Thank you," I say, my voice husky with emotion. "You won't regret this, Harper. I promise."
She looks up at me, a mix of hope and wariness in her eyes. "Don't make promises you can't keep, Mason."
I chuckle, feeling lighter than I have in days. "I never do."
Harper rolls her eyes, but there's a hint of a smile on her lips. "So, what now?" she asks, crossing her arms.
I take a step back, giving her some space. "Now, we celebrate. How about dinner? I know a great place downtown."
She hesitates, and I can see the wheels turning in her head. "I don't know..."
"Come on," I coax, "it's just dinner.”
Harper's eyes narrow, but I catch a glimmer of interest. "Just dinner? No strings attached?"
I hold up my hands. "Scout's honor. Though I was never actually a scout."
She snorts, some of the tension easing from her shoulders. "Fine. But I'm not changing out of these paint-splattered overalls, so nowhere billionaire fancy-like."
"Wouldn't dream of asking you to," I say, drinking in the sight of her. Even covered in paint, she's the most captivating woman I've ever seen.
We head to my car, and I catch Harper's low whistle as she takes in the sleek lines of my Aston Martin. I open the passenger door for her, savoring her proximity as she slides into the leather seat.
The drive to downtown Oakwood is charged with an electric tension. I'm hyper-aware of Harper's every movement, the way she fidgets with the hem of her overalls, how her eyes dart to me and then away.
I pull up to a low-key bistro, its warm glow spilling onto the cobblestone sidewalk. Harper raises an eyebrow.
"Thought you'd appreciate somewhere a little more laid-back," I explain as we step inside. The scent of garlic and herbs envelops us, and I notice Harper visibly relax.
We're seated at a cozy corner table, candlelight flickering between us. Harper studies the menu intently, her brow furrowed in concentration. I can't take my eyes off her.
“What?” she asks when she catches me staring at her.
I clear my throat, caught off guard. "Nothing. Just...you look beautiful in this light."
Harper rolls her eyes, but I catch the hint of a blush on her cheeks. "Smooth talker," she mutters, hiding behind her menu.
Our waiter arrives, and we order—a rich pasta dish for Harper, steak for me. As we wait for our food, an awkward silence settles between us.
"So," Harper says finally, fiddling with her napkin. "Tell me more about this...investment you want to make in my art."
I lean forward, my eyes lighting up with enthusiasm. "Harper, I want you to focus on what you do best—creating breathtaking art. Imagine waking up every morning and your only concern is what to paint next."
I gesture expansively, painting a picture with my words. "You'll have a studio stocked with the finest supplies—canvases stretched to your exact specifications, brushes that feel like extensions of your hand, and paints in every shade imaginable. When you're running low, you just send a text, and within hours, a fresh shipment arrives at your door."
Harper's eyes widen, a mix of longing and disbelief flickering across her face. I press on, my voice low and intense. "But it's not just about the supplies. I have connections in the art world—gallery owners, critics, collectors. I'll set up exhibits in the most prestigious venues in Oakwood and beyond. Your work will be seen by the right people, people who can truly appreciate your talent."
I reach across the table, my fingers brushing against hers. She doesn't pull away. "You won't have to deal with the business side of things—no haggling over prices, no chasing down payments. I'll handle all of that. You'll be free to pour your heart and soul into your art without worrying about making rent or buying groceries."
Harper's breathing quickens, and I can see the wheels turning in her mind. "It sounds...incredible," she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. "But it also sounds too good to be true. What's the catch?"
I shake my head, my gaze never leaving hers. "No catch, Harper. I believe in your talent, and I want to see it flourish. All I ask is that you give yourself fully to your art. Push your boundaries, explore new techniques, create without fear or hesitation."
She bites her lip, considering. "And...us? What about...this?" She gestures between us, the unspoken attraction crackling in the air.
I take a deep breath, choosing my words carefully. "That's entirely up to you, Harper. My support for your art isn't conditional on anything between us. If all you want is a professional relationship, that's what we'll have. But I won't lie—I'm drawn to you in a way I can't explain. If you feel even a fraction of what I feel..." I sit back and clear my throat, “Well, in any case, I hope you’ll want to have dinner with me every now and then at least.”
I trail off, leaving the possibility hanging in the air between us. Harper's cheeks flush, and she looks down at our still-touching hands. "I...I need time to think about all this," she says finally.
I nod, understanding. "Take all the time you need. I'm not going anywhere."
As our food arrives, the conversation shifts to lighter topics, but the weight of possibility hangs heavy in the air. I watch Harper as she laughs at one of my jokes, her eyes sparkling in the candlelight, and I know I'd do anything to keep that smile on her face.