My Dashing Billionaire: A Clean Billionaire Romance (My Billionaire A-Z Book 4)

by Katie Evergreen

  “About my print, you mean?” Everly replied so loudly that the whole room stopped to listen.

  “Um… yes?” Edward said, looking at the floor. A lock of hair dropped over his forehead, covering those wonderful eyes. The air was thick with anticipation, and Everly hoped she was the only one who could feel it. She hadn’t meant to blurt it out. Of course he meant the painting. She already knew he was going to ignore their almost kiss, just like he had done on Friday night. Though the thought made her soul ache, she knew she was doing the right thing. There could be no future for her and the young Duke.

  With a heavy heart, she followed Edward out into the corridor.

  10

  Great, Edward, you foolish…

  He didn’t have time to think of an appropriate insult for himself. He and Everly walked halfway down the corridor outside the studio, then turned to face each other. Unlike the rest of the year, when the studio was buzzing with artists, the top floor of the museum was practically empty. Edward always made sure the museum gave its full attention to the winners when they were here, and it was unnervingly quiet.

  The thought of being alone with Everly should have had his heart racing, but he just felt awkward. They’d shared something special on Friday, and he’d completely ignored it—for the whole weekend. He hadn’t meant to. He’d been so worried about the smashed glass, and the reason for the smashed glass, that he had tried to forget about almost kissing her. And then he hadn’t known what to do. It wasn’t like he was very good at speaking with women on the best of days. He felt totally out of his depth here.

  Everly’s full lips were just as inviting now as they had done on Friday. She looked divine, as wonderful as her portrait, and once again he looked at her as if she was a piece of living art. Her dark hair was wrapped up at the top of her head with what looked like an artist’s paint brush sticking out, her skin free of make-up and positively luminous. Her dungarees made her look every bit the artist, and almost unbearably cute.

  And now all Edward could think was that she didn’t want to talk about what had happened. That she wanted to forget their almost kiss. She’d made that perfectly clear to him back in the studio, when she had taken so long to even acknowledge him. He looked down at her, confounded about what he was actually going to say to her. He couldn’t tell her his worries about the print, he didn’t want to scare her. But she didn’t want him to talk about their obvious feelings for one another.

  What am I going to talk about? he questioned himself, but the more he tried to think, the harder it was to formulate words in his head—especially when the only words in his head were I still want to kiss you.

  “Uh…” he started, floundering.

  Everly raised her eyebrows at him. The gesture totally emptied his brain of anything at all helpful.

  “Was there something you wanted to say to me?” she replied. There was that look again, the one he’d caught a glimpse of in the studio. She looked like she wanted to poke him in the eye with a paintbrush.

  “Sorry, yes, I just wanted to check you were okay after, you know, your print… and everything.”

  He shifted his weight between his feet, knowing he looked like a blundering fool.

  “Fine thank you,” she said, her sparkling blue eyes not missing a beat. “Is that all? We’ve got a new brief, I need to start work on it.”

  Edward felt like she’d ripped his heart out and replaced it with an icy cold fist. He nodded.

  “Of course, sorry.”

  She turned on her heels and walked swiftly back to the studio.

  “It was amazing to see you again,” he said to the door when it had closed behind her.

  Everly opened the studio door with such force it nearly smacked Jennifer in the face. The other woman flew back, giving Everly a look that could freeze over the bottle of organic, natural, vitamin-enhanced water she carried in her hand.

  “Watch what you’re doing, Evie, you could have broken my nose.”

  Everly heard Rory snicker at the back of the room.

  “It’s Everly,” she replied. “And I didn’t see you there. Maybe don’t hang around listening behind closed doors. It’s rude.”

  Jennifer looked like she had actually been hit by the door.

  “Excuse me! I was just getting something to drink.” She held up the bottle. Everly couldn’t be bothered to argue, heading back to her desk. There was a lead weight in her stomach and she didn’t know exactly why. How could something so exciting, and special, have turned into something so unpleasant?

  “You’d have done her a favor if you’d broken her nose,” Rory said, snorting a laugh into the gloopy substance he was working with. “She might learn that looks aren’t the be all and end all. Everything okay? You look like thunder.”

  Everly softened a little and went over to see what he was up to. Curious about what he was working on, she peered over his shoulder. It looked like someone had sneezed into a pile of paper.

  “What on earth are you doing?”

  Rory raised an eyebrow.

  “Call yourself an artist?”

  “No, really, what is that? It looks disgusting.”

  “It’s art in its simplest form. I’m surprised you didn’t use this wonderful stuff in primary school.”

  Everly frowned.

  “Is that like Kindergarten?”

  Rory nodded and lifted his hands from the gloop.

  “It’s papier mâché.”

  He didn’t elaborate any further, and Everly didn’t want to bother him. She had her own ideas to come up with and she needed to come up with them fast. Looking around, everyone was busying themselves with work already. Alison wasn’t even in the room anymore, she must have been off gathering bits and pieces and getting down to research. Everly tried to shake off her anger at Edward, pulling a stack of sketching paper and some thick leaded pencils from the cupboard. She sat on the stool and let her hands do the talking, smoothing the pencil over the page in long sweeps, not thinking about where it was going or what she was drawing. There was certainly no focus on the beauty in the mundane, the brief in question.

  Lost in her own thoughts, Everly drew, only stopping when her right hand started to cramp. She refocused her eyes on the room around her, the sun beating through the large windows and illuminating each of the benches there. Alison had returned, her bright red hair flopping around her face as she leant over her work. Jennifer was as upright as ever, doing something with a paintbrush. Everly looked down at her picture and gasped. She flipped the paper upside down so no-one would see what she had drawn. She glanced to the side, relieved to see that Rory was busily sticking bits of snot-colored paper into an intricate design that looked like a baby. Maybe that was Rory’s forte. Whatever it was, at least it had kept his attention away from Everly’s drawing. He would never let her live it down if he’d seen the picture.

  She hadn’t known why she’d drawn it. She hadn’t even been aware that she’d been drawing it. Sometimes her hands had a mind of their own. Leaving it at the bottom of the pile of sketch paper, she tried to start again, this time focusing on the brief they had been given. But there was no time for her to begin as Tiffany burst back into the studio, this time bundled up in her winter gear—a bright yellow hat and large fur coat. Everly hoped it wasn’t real fur, but it looked like it may have at one point been a bunny as bouncy as Everly’s own heart had been today.

  “Right, folks,” Tiffany sang into the room. All eyes were already on her, as she had made quite the entrance. “Time to stop working. We’re off on a trip.”

  Alison made a little squeal.

  “Honestly!” Jennifer spat, as she pulled on her leather gloves and matching hat. “Anyone would think we were going to see the queen.”

  “Who are we going to see?” Everly asked a blushing Alison.

  She pulled on what winter clothes she had, which everyone already knew weren’t up to scratch. She’d packed an extra layer at least, and had thrown an old scarf in her bag as she left.
She’d found it behind the door of her bedroom and thought would be okay to borrow. Wrapping it around herself now, she wished she had left it where it had been hanging. The spicy smell drew her straight back to Friday, Edward’s warm body pressed against hers as he leant in…

  “It’s not the Queen.” Alison’s voice drew her back to the here and now. “But it may as well be. The Mason is one of the most renowned art galleries in London, in the world. Owned by Valeria Baudelaire, one of the best curators of this century. She’s more like royalty than our own royalty.”

  Alison spoke quietly now, but Everly still looked around in embarrassment in case Edward had overheard the remark. Not that he would have done, seeing as he wasn’t even in the room.

  “Oh, right, thank you,” she whispered back.

  Everly grabbed her bag and shoved a notepad and pencil in, just in case. They gathered at the studio door, ready to leave—all except for Rory, who was still trying to wash the snotty paper from his hands.

  “Sorry gang,” he shouted, splashing water all over the floor in his panic. “Just need a sec.”

  Everly tried not to laugh. She noticed Jennifer looking haughtily at her watch and bit her tongue, wondering again why she had been eavesdropping on her and Edward.

  A sudden flash of panic hit Everly right between the eyes. She hurried back to her workbench and lifted the pile of paper with the sketch she’d drawn earlier. There was no way she wanted anyone seeing it, ever. As she passed the waste paper basket on the way back to the door, where everyone was now waiting, she dropped the sketch in. Satisfied that no-one was any the wiser, she joined her group and they all bundled down the stairs and out into the crisp January air where a minivan was waiting to whisk them away.

  Back in the studio, Edward’s sketched face stared up at the ceiling, his eyes drawn to perfection. He looked thoughtful, as though wondering why he’d ended up in the trash.

  11

  Edward paced back and forth, carving out a trench in the gallery floor. Part of him wanted to punch a hole in the wall, and part of him wanted to lie down and cry. Why couldn’t he have just said what he had wanted to say? Why did he find it so hard to open up to people?

  “You will wear out your shoes if you’re not careful.” The soft, French accent of Madame Baudelaire echoed through the room that he’d thought he was alone in. “Or my parquet floor. And I know which one I’d rather it was.”

  She strode over to him and embraced him with her long, slender arms.

  “Mon petit chéri, whatever is the matter? Your beautiful face looks sad.”

  “Oh, it’s nothing, really Valeria.” He pulled back from her embrace and kissed her on both cheeks. “Nothing that I can’t sort out without a bit of careful thought.”

  Edward looked around the room. It was smaller than the gallery he was patron of, but the artwork was worth about five times as much. It was exquisite. Paintings, sculptures, and prints filled the gallery space and it was lovely to be able to visit on a day when he wasn’t fighting the tourists. Madame Baudelaire had closed the gallery so that his students could see where they would be exhibited at the end of the competition—if they won—and the last thing he needed to do to was repay her kindness by spilling his feelings.

  “Bon, bon,” she said flicking her waist length grey hair as she sashayed away from him. “Now they’re on their way, anything I should know? I hope you’ve got a good bunch for me this year, Eddie, I won’t display any old garbage.”

  Edward smiled, his eyes twinkling.

  “They’re a superb bunch, Valeria, really talented.”

  He wanted to carry on gushing about Everly and her wonderful portrait, but he didn’t want to single her out or bias the gallery owner—who would eventually be judging who she would exhibit.

  “Have you got anything planned for the launch, or are we just exhibiting this year?” Edward asked. He thought back to last year, and how Valeria had decided to throw an impromptu party for the winner. He was hoping the same would happen this year—any excuse to spend time with Everly, even if it wasn’t just the two of them.

  “You never know,” she said, waving her arm as if shooing away an annoying fly.

  The door of the gallery burst open and Jennifer strode in, her blonde curls bouncing behind her as she whipped off her hat.

  “Valeria, darling, how are you?”

  She strode over to Madame Baudelaire and gathered her up in a huge hug. Edward watched Valeria flinch ever so slightly, but the old lady held her poise and returned the embrace.

  “Jenny,” she said, patting her back so lightly she barely touched her faux fur coat.

  “My family have known the Baudelaire’s for years, we’re very close friends,” Jennifer boasted to anyone who would listen.

  “Who do we have here then,” Madame Baudelaire said. She pushed past Jennifer and walked to the rest of the group, who were huddled nervously by the door. “Please, Eddie, do me the honor.”

  Edward started the introductions as the glamorous older lady worked her way around the group.

  “This is Alison, specialist in paper-work and paper-cutting. Rory, bronze sculptor. James, landscape artist. Jennifer, you know, the cartoonist.”

  Jennifer tried to protest that she was actually a storyboarder, but Edward ignored her.

  “And this is Everly, our very own portrait artist.”

  Madame Baudelaire’s gaze flitted between Edward and Everly, a knowing smile growing on her face. Even though he ordered them not to, Edward felt his cheeks blaze. He couldn’t meet Everly’s eyes—or Valeria’s, for that matter.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you all,” said Madame Baudelaire. “Please do have a wander about and discover what it is we do here at the Mason. I want the piece of work to be able to fit in seamlessly, as though it was painted by one of our own.”

  “That goes without saying,” Jennifer interrupted her. “I’m a storyboard artist, not a cartoonist, although you do know that already.”

  Valeria gave her a look that could have stripped away her fake eyelashes.

  “As I was saying,” she continued. “I won’t exhibit the winning piece if I do not feel it worthy of my wall space. Make sure you try your very hardest to make it fit. You may not like the idea of working to such a tight brief but look around, there are plenty of options to work with here. Use the time you have wisely. Bon chance!”

  Edward felt Valeria take his arm and lead him out of the room.

  “She is beautiful,” she said to him as they stood together in the corridor. “But you know you cannot just sort it out? Your parents would never allow it. Unless she’s a hidden princess under all that gorgeous, glossy, American hair?”

  Edward felt a stab of annoyance.

  “No, she’s a family girl from Kansas. No breeding whatsoever.” The words came out with more anger than he’d intended. Valeria was an old family friend, he didn’t want to upset her. He took her hand. “Sorry. I know it would be frowned upon, not only because of her background but also because I’m her mentor. These rules need updating. They’re as ancient as the person who wrote them.”

  Valeria squeezed his hand and stopped him speaking ill of those he knew he shouldn’t. Her eyes were full of kindness, as always, but there was worry in them too.

  “I’d better get back,” he said.

  “Be careful, Eddie,” she replied softly.

  Edward nodded, and opened the door to the gallery.

  He looked sad.

  Everly watched as Edward walked back into the room. He had lost the spark in his eyes, as though it had been smothered by the stifling heat of the gallery. She peeled off her gloves, and the scarf she had tried to hide under her jacket collar so Edward wouldn’t notice she’d borrowed it. The gallery was intense, the artwork was so refined. Everly was having second thoughts at her own bite at the cherry. There was no way she could paint something this good. Each piece had its own brass uplighter, illuminating the sublime peaks and troughs of the oil work. Everly stood bac
k and took in painting after painting, her confidence dampening a little more with each one.

  “You can do this.”

  Everly spun around to see a beaming Rory beside her.

  “How can you be so positive?” she said. She pointed to a landscape in front of her, raising an eyebrow at the glorious depiction of a solitary oak tree after a storm. “Look at this stuff, it’s incredible. And she exhibits Anderley paintings, he’s the epitome of perfection.”

  “Everyone knows that Anderley is the best of the best,” Rory said nodding. “But I’ve also seen your work, remember. Out of all of us, this is your gig. You can rock this. Your work is old fashioned and traditional…” His eyes widened. “Um, you know, in the nicest sense of the words, I mean.”

  Everly giggled.

  “I know what you mean and thank you for putting me up there with these other artists who are out of this world. I’m surprised you think I’m traditional, I always thought I was a little off the straight and narrow. In a work sense, of course.”

  Rory nudged her

  “I know you’d like to stray a little off course though, hey?”

  Everly couldn’t think of anything she’d rather not be. In real life she hated stepping out of line, crossing boundaries, for fear it would annoy or hurt people. But how had she acted here? Almost kissing her mentor? She hadn’t just stepped out of line, she’d obliterated it.

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to embarrass you. Just, you know, go for it. This is your chance to shine. You think she’s going to exhibit my work?” A snort escaped Rory’s nose. “I’m sticking bits of paper into a funny shape, that would not sit well here.”

  Everly shook her head. She wished she could disagree more fervently, because his work was wonderful—but he was right, this wasn’t exactly Kindergarten. Still, there was no way she was winning this competition, she simply wasn’t good enough.

  “You saw Jennifer,” she said to Rory. She nodded in the direction of the blonde, who had her arm once again through James’ and was pointing out all the artists she’d personally dined with. “She practically squeezed poor Madame Baudelaire’s breakfast right back up. They’re friends. There’s no way anyone other than her is going to win this.”