She blushed a deep red and shook her head. “Nope.”
“Uh huh.”
She rolled her eyes. “There's someone I wouldn't mind dating, but I think he just sees me as an extension of Bastian.” I frowned and she immediately held up her hands. “No, it's okay. I'm so busy right now that I don't have time to see anyone anyway.”
I was about to say something uplifting, but Charlotte's phone started to ring. She set down the statue and mouthed a sorry before answering. “This is Charlotte Page, how may I help you?”
I moved to a painting, trying my best not to listen to her phone conversation, but her voice echoed through the big foyer.
“Oh, hi Leo... yes... okay, I can do that... Give me just one second.” Charlotte touched my arm, and pointed to her phone with an apologetic face.
“Go, go,” I whispered. “Thank you for helping me. I'll see you at seven.”
Charlotte grinned and then hurried up the stairs, talking into the phone with Leo.
I smiled after her, feeling lighter than I had in weeks. I had only been here for a couple of days but I already felt comfortable here. I even had a friend. It felt good. Without worrying about seeing Chad all the time, having to remind him that he betrayed me and that no, we weren't getting back together, I felt like me again.
I held up the camera to take another picture, shifting slightly to adjust for the light. I looked up to check my light source, only to see Bastian's walking back into his study. My cheeks turned hot enough to start a wildfire and I hoped that he hadn't been listening to Charlotte and my conversation.
It was embarrassing admitting that I had been so stupid with Chad. I wanted Bastian to think I was more than what I was at home. When he looked at me with those beautiful eyes, I didn't want him to see that I was someone else's left-overs. If I wasn't good enough for Chad, then there was no way I would be good enough for someone like Bastian. That made him the last person in the world that I wanted to know about Chad.
Chapter 11
Despite the myriad of rooms in the mansion, I sat in the first room I had started the appraisal. I liked this one, as it had the most comfortable couch I had found and the Morisot painting. After running around the house taking hundreds of photographs and reporting to Dad, I had taken the room over as my office. Now that daylight was fading, I had retreated to the couch to upload all the images to get them ready for my father to organize and edit.
I stood up to stretch as my ancient laptop processed another batch, wandering over to the Morisot picture. The natural light was fading, but the picture was still vibrant. I stared into it, absorbing each brush stroke and imagining myself sitting at a dock along the Seine.
“And I find you looking at that picture again,” a voice said from behind me. I spun startled to see Bastian leaning against the door frame. He was still wearing a full button-up dress shirt and slacks, but at least the top button on the shirt was undone. His eyes, blue-gray and fathomless were fixed on me.
I smiled, glancing back at the painting. “There's something about it that makes me think of Paris.”
He nodded thoughtfully before walking over and pointing to the painting further down the wall. “That one reminds me more of Paris. Yours makes me think of Cannes.”
“You've been to France?” I asked, looking at the other painting. It was a cityscape and I had to agree that it fit more with the image of the city of Paris than a boat did.
“Several times this year already,” he said, moving to stand beside me.“It's a growing market for our website.”
“Oh.” If I dropped my hand to my side, I would brush his with mine, so I held my hands carefully in my lap instead.
He turned his head to look at me, his gray eyes sharp and keen. “What about you? When was the last time you were in France?”
I shrugged, wrapping my arms around my middle like there was an empty pit in my soul. “I've never been.”
“No?” His eyes widened slightly. “But your specialty is French artwork. I thought I saw something in your resume about it.”
“I was accepted into an internship at the Louvre, but my mom got sick, so I didn't go.” I shifted my weight, and hugged myself a little tighter.
“I'm sorry,” he said quietly, sounding very much like Charlotte. “Was she in appraisals as well?”
“No, my mom was an artist. Her impressionist work was as good as the masters. She taught me how to see every brush stroke as important and to look for all the details in a piece.” I smiled fondly, diving into a memory. “We used to sit and talk in the mornings, and then during her chemo treatments, about going to Paris together. We had museums and tours all figured out. All the art we could take in.”
“And you didn't go?” Bastian's voice was low and soft.
“She died before we ever got a chance.” I shook my head, freeing myself from the memory. “I got a different internship and then things have just been so busy that I haven't found the time.”
I thought of adding, “or the funds,” but I doubted a billionaire would understand that part of my problem.
Bastian studied me for a moment, his gray eyes going over me like a painting, taking in every nuance of my face. I looked up at him, enjoying having his company all to myself for a moment. It reminded me of our sunrise out on the beach.
My heart skipped a beat as I realized how close he was. If I just leaned forward by only an inch or two, I would be nearly kissing him. His warmth radiated off him and I could smell the faintest hint of his aftershave and it was difficult not to inhale hard for more.
He glanced back at the painting for a moment before smiling back at me. “You'd like Paris. It's full of beautiful things. You'd fit in there.”
I blushed at the accidental compliment, biting my bottom lip in a bashful smile as I fiddled with a strand of hair. The thought of kissing him slipped into my mind again, and I nearly did before remembering who he was. I couldn't just kiss a billionaire because he said something nice to me.
“I looked up her work,” he said, turning to look at the painting again.
“Who?” I stammered, my brain spinning and sliding on the smell of his cologne. I took a step back in surprise and promptly lost my balance.
He caught me, wrapping me up in one of his arms before I even realized I was in danger of falling. His arm was steel muscle and I couldn't stop thinking about what it would be like to have it wrapped around me in an entirely different room. I pressed my thighs together, struggling to keep the image of his arms on either side of me, his chest bare and strong above me, his hair falling into his eyes with exertion...