Page 14 of The Charmer
“The plans look good,” Cooper said, his tone well-modulated despite the anger coursing through him courtesy of his father belittling him as usual. “I’m just as eager to get this deal done as all of you, so perhaps we can reconvene next week?”
That should give him enough time to talk sense into the bohemian harridan who’d tossed him out of her gallery like yesterday’s garbage. He’d make sure of it.
“Fine. Meeting adjourned.” Eric headed straight for the built-in bar in the corner of the conference room and Cooper knew he’d swap shop talk with his cronies over a bourbon or two, boasting about his latest acquisitions and his plans for the future.
Schmoozing wasn’t for Cooper. He had more important things to do with his time, like getting Ariel to listen to his pitch.
He assumed she wouldn’t open her door to him again let alone hear what he had to say, but he planned to change all that.
Starting now.
Chapter Ten
“You despicable low-life.”
Ariel slashed at the canvas with her brush, streaking across the blank expanse while glaring daggers at the sketch of Cooper propped next to it.
She’d been trying to capture his likeness on canvas all morning and had tense shoulders, a tight neck, and three ruined canvases—all recycled, thank goodness—for her trouble.
Her muse had deserted her.
Unfortunately, she had a sneaking suspicion her muse had hitched a ride on the despicable low-life’s broad shoulders and cruised straight out the door.
She’d tried everything: burning her favourite lime and tangerine candles, dabbing neroli—her favourite scent—on her pulse points for inspiration and to calm her mind, wearing her lucky holly garland on her head, and a five minute meditation that usually worked wonders if her imagination clogged.
The result? Nothing helped. And to make matters worse, Sofia had called, gushing about some fancy charity event at her sister’s place where everyone who was anyone would see the portrait and inundate Ariel with work—she wished—and imploring her to finish it a week early.
Which gave her exactly six days to get the portrait finished.
It would’ve been a cinch if she had a normal model and not some delusional businessman happy to whip off his clothes to get what he wanted.
Staring at the sketches of Cooper, she could’ve happily drawn devil’s horns and pointy fangs on his smug face, but they were all she had…and that wasn’t much.
Sighing, she closed her eyes, trying to conjure up the memory of his form, hoping to translate it to canvas. Deep blue eyes, too long dark hair, strong jaw, broad chest, great pecs, tapered waist, long legs…
To her annoyance, she recalled images of Cooper’s amazing body too readily. Excellent for finishing the portrait; disastrous for her peace of mind.
The wind chimes over the front door tinkled and her eyes opened.
“Can I help you…” she trailed off as the object of her vivid recollection a second ago strutted into the gallery, the epitome of the slick businessman she now knew him to be: fancy suit, white shirt, duck-egg blue tie that matched his striking eyes. He looked amazing but she preferred him in jeans and T-shirt.
Are you insane?
She didn’t prefer him at all. Or was that in nothing at all?
“Go away,” she said, planting both hands on the counter and glaring at him with as much disdain she could muster.
“No can do.”
He stopped on the opposite side of the counter and Ariel wished it was wider. He was too close, too masculine, too everything.
“I have a proposal for you.”
“After two nights? Wow, you must be really desperate to get your grubby hands on this place, but sorry, I wouldn’t marry you if you gargled a litre of turpentine and painted the street red.”
He grinned, a cocky smile that screamed ‘bring it on.’ “I’m not here with a marriage proposal. You strike me as a smart woman and in the interests of your business I thought you should hear me out.”
“You thought wrong,” she blurted, not ready to hear anything he had to say.