Chapter 5
CHAPTER
FIVE
Harper
I glide my brush across the canvas, a contented smile on my face. The vibrant colors blend together, bringing my vision to life stroke by stroke. This piece feels different—more alive, more raw. Maybe it's the newfound confidence coursing through my veins, or maybe it's just the caffeine from my third cup of coffee. Either way, I'm riding this creative high for all it's worth.
A knock at the door breaks my concentration. I set down my brush with a sigh, wiping my paint-stained hands on my already ruined jeans as I cross the tiny studio apartment.
"Coming!" I call out, fumbling with the stubborn lock.
The door swings open to reveal Ben, his shaggy hair windswept and a lopsided grin on his face. "Hey, Harper. Brought you some supplies from the gallery." He holds up a paper bag that clinks promisingly.
"My hero," I say dramatically, ushering him inside. "Please tell me there are new brushes in there. Mine are on their last legs."
Ben's eyes drift to my easel, his expression shifting subtly. "Wow. That's...intense. New direction for you?"
I follow his gaze, suddenly self-conscious about the raw emotion splashed across the canvas. "Yeah, I guess. Just experimenting, you know?"
He nods, but I catch the flicker of something in his eyes. Admiration? Concern? Before I can decipher it, my phone buzzes insistently.
Mason's name flashes on the screen, and my stomach does a little flip.
I hesitate, torn between answering and focusing on Ben. The phone keeps ringing, an insistent reminder of the complications that have invaded my carefully constructed world.
Even though Mason says his support comes with no strings I can’t help but feel somehow beholden to him for all he’s doing for me.
So, I answer the phone.
"Hello?" I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.
"Harper," Mason's deep voice rumbles through the speaker. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything important."
I glance at Ben, who's busying himself with unpacking the art supplies, pointedly not looking in my direction. "No, it's fine. What's up?"
"I’ve got an opportunity for you."
My heart skips a beat. "What kind of opportunity?"
"A showing in Paris.”
“Paris,” I repeat dumbly.
“Paris,” he comfirms.
"Oh," I say, not sure how to feel about this. "That's...great?"
"It is," Mason says firmly. "This is a huge opportunity for you, Harper. Your work deserves to be seen by the right people."
I bite my lip, torn between excitement and anxiety. "When do I have to go?"
"We leave tomorrow," he says, a hint of anticipation creeping into his voice.
“Tomorrow? We? You’re going too?” I sputter.
"Of course," Mason replies, his tone a mix of amusement and determination. "I'm not about to send you off to a foreign country all alone, especially not for your first international showing. We'll take my private jet."
"Your private jet," I echo, my mind reeling. Of course he has a private jet. Why wouldn't he? I lean against the wall, suddenly feeling lightheaded. The paintbrush I'd been holding clatters to the floor, leaving a bright blue streak on the worn hardwood.
"Harper? Are you alright?" Mason's voice carries a hint of concern.
"Yeah, I'm just...processing," I manage, aware of Ben's eyes on me. "It's a lot to take in."
"I understand," Mason says, his voice softening. "But trust me, this is an incredible opportunity. The Galerie d'Art Moderne is one of the most prestigious in Paris. Their curator saw your portfolio and was impressed. This could be your big break."
I close my eyes, trying to imagine my paintings hanging in a Parisian gallery. It seems surreal, like something out of a dream. "How long would we be there?"
"A week," Mason replies. "Enough time for the opening, some networking events, and a bit of sightseeing. I've already arranged for a suite at the Ritz."
The Ritz. Of course. I glance around my tiny, paint-splattered apartment, feeling the stark contrast between my world and Mason's. "I...I don't know what to say."
"Say yes," Mason urges, a hint of excitement creeping into his voice. "Say you'll come to Paris with me and show the art world what you're capable of."
I catch Ben's eye, seeing a mix of emotions play across his face. Concern, pride, and something else I can't quite name. I take a deep breath, feeling like I'm standing on the edge of a cliff. "Okay," I hear myself say. "Yes. I'll go."
"Excellent," Mason says, and I can practically hear his satisfied smile through the phone. "I'll have a car pick you up tomorrow morning at 9. Pack for a week, and don't worry about bringing any formal wear. I'll take care of that in Paris."
As I hang up the phone, my head spinning, I turn to Ben. He's standing there, holding a set of new brushes, his expression unreadable.
"So," he says, attempting a smile. "Paris, huh?"
I nod, still in shock. "Yeah. Paris."