My Secret Master (A Dark Billionaire Romance)

by Flite, Nora

  His eyes were serious. I knew he wasn't joking.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  His smile went sideways, like I'd said something funny. “You're not from around here, I take it.” Before I could respond, my neck heating in a moment of insulted anger, he lifted a palm. “I'm Seth Hart, and you are?”

  “Naomi Starling,” I said warily.

  “Starling,” he mused. “I like that. Well, Ms. Starling, let me just clarify this. You don't want me here, because you are not open yet. However, you'll be done with your work tomorrow, when I am allowed to come by and purchase your art?”

  “...Yes.”

  He ran his fingers through his short hair. “Perhaps I can make that work. Have a good evening, Ms. Starling.” For a moment, I thought he might bow. I was relieved when he only turned on a polished heel, exiting out the door.

  Staring after him, I rubbed at my dirty cheek in wonderment.

  Who the hell was that? Was I supposed to know him, like he implied?

  I'd encountered some 'characters' in Los Angeles during my time, eccentric people didn't surprise me. But there was something especially odd about such a handsome, well dressed man complimenting me out of the blue.

  And on top of that, offering to buy my art without asking the price?

  Maybe he was super rich, I mused. Cracking my back, I sighed deeply, surveying my canvas. Will he really come back and buy it?

  Smiling at the idea, I reached down and grabbed a paper tag. Taping it to the wall, I scribbled with a pen in my messy way, marking the unfinished canvas. It read: five thousand dollars.

  It was childish to mark it so high, but it was a small bit of revenge for putting me on the spot like he had. It was crazy to think the piece would sell for that much, I wasn't stupid; I had plenty of other art to sell. I wasn't shooting myself in the foot, not really.

  Leaning back, I eyed my work in progress. Worst case, he doesn't buy it, no one buys it, and I drop the price the next day to something realistic.

  Still...

  What if he really did buy it?

  “No,” I told myself, laughing. “Impossible.”

  Grabbing the paintbrush, I went back to work.

  ****

  The morning of the gallery opening came suddenly.

  To me, anyway.

  Groggy after a late night of painting, I stumbled through my shower and cup of coffee before the reality finally hit me.

  Tonight is my show. My show, mine!

  Holy hell.

  Dressing in the nicest gown I had—a long thing of perfectly smooth black that dipped low and showed off my shoulders and more—I did my makeup as best as I could with my shaking hands.

  I was ready in a flash, spending the next few hours fidgeting around my apartment.

  Finally, with a deep inhale of air, I gathered my purse and hurried to the gallery space.

  The evening was warm, though I couldn't tell how much of that was from my nervous sweating. As I approached the gallery, I saw that the large front window was... different.

  Within a few feet, I was able to tell what had changed.

  There, in scrolling, curly letters, someone had painted the words, 'Gallery of Wings' and then below, 'the Art of Naomi Starling.'

  Seeing this, my grin spread wide. Through the glass, the place was lit up like an orange sky, the red walls adding to the effect.

  Pushing my way in, I saw Veronica bent over a table. The tall woman was busily setting up stacks of cards. She turned at the sound of me entering, and we flashed each other excited looks.

  “Do you like it?” Veronica gushed, her hands clasping together.

  I didn't need to ask what she was referring to, I just stepped forward and wrapped the woman in a tight hug. “Veronica, this is amazing! Did you set this all up by yourself?”

  “Psh.” She laughed, disengaging so she could finish adjusting things on the table. “It was nothing! You did all the real work, the art looks fantastic.”

  “Do you think I'll sell anything?” I didn't want to ask so bluntly, to reveal my fears, but in the moment it had simply slipped out. Biting my lip, I studied the woman's face for any hint of judgment. I only found her crooked smile.

  “Naomi, honestly. You're worrying too much. I'm sure you'll sell something on your first night. Now, help me with these registration cards. We need them so people can bid on the art.”

  Hunkering down, I helped her finish setting up.

  We were just in time.

  As the evening turned the outside sky into a navy bruise, the warmth of the gallery seemed to draw people in. They lined up, and they didn't stop. Quickly, the place was full.

  People strolled around, drinking wine and chattering about what they saw. I was too nervous to listen in, so I hovered by a corner. Someone—maybe Veronica—must have told someone I was the artist on display, though.

  Before long, I was smothered in a wave of questions from pure strangers.

  “How long did this take you?”

  “Have you painted for a long time?”

  “What school do you go to?”

  “Do you plan to have another showing in the future?”

  “What was your inspiration?”

  By the end of the first hour, I was dizzy. I swam through the crowd, looking for Veronica. The tall woman was caught in her own sea of people, juggling paper sheets and answering questions.

  Ducking my head, I wormed towards a far wall, trying to become invisible. Glancing around, I noticed the little cards on some of my canvases had been filled out with bids. My heart throbbed with the excitement of knowing people were buying my work.

  My brain tingled, the memory of the night before tugging at me.

  I wonder if that guy, Seth, will come by and purchase the big piece he liked.

  I was tempted to go look, to see if it had any bids. Oddly, the sheer chance that it didn't kept me from looking.

  The chance that he hadn't...

  Stop, don't be weird. You don't even know the guy. Rubbing my neck, feeling the dampness from the heat of such a crammed space, I sighed. This was no time to ponder if I'd see that handsome stranger again. Already, people were swarming me once more, demanding my attention, making me feel claustrophobic.

  And then, just like that, it was all over.

  Waving farewell to the last stragglers leaving the gallery, I marveled that I had made it through in one piece. “Bye! Have a good night!” I called out. Locking the door, I promptly sat on the floor. “Oh my goodness. That was insane.”

  “Right?” Veronica laughed, flopping across the long table. Her eyes twinkled on me. “But it was fun, wasn't it? How did you like it, be honest.”

  I covered my eyes with an arm as the lights above blinded me. “It was amazing.” Sitting up, I gripped the edge of the table. My nose was close to Veronica's, the willowy woman smirking at the clear anticipation on my face. “Please tell me I sold some stuff.”

  “Actually,” Veronica started, her expression twitching. It was strange, seeing such delight morph to concern. “There was one person who was a buyer tonight.”

  “Oh.” My belly clenched with dread. “Just one?”

  After everything, to sell so little...

  Veronica frowned, her fingers gliding over a stack of papers. “I don't know how to say this. Um, you might have an obsessed fan, or something.”

  Knotting my brow, I settled onto my knees. “Me, a fan? Besides you?”

  “I like your work, don't get me wrong, but this is... different. Here, just look.” With an expression that bordered on dubiousness, Veronica slid a piece of paper across the table.

  Grabbing it, I lifted it close and read the form. “I don't understand. This is just a sheet listing all of my artwork.”

  “No, Naomi. It's a list of all your work that sold tonight.”

  We stared at each other, the clarity sinking in like a heavy stone. “You're telling me one person bought everything? One person, they bought it all?”


  Veronica didn't give an answer, but she didn't need to. This was strange, we both knew it, and it marred what should have been amazing news.

  Tentatively, I rolled my eyes down that paper, terrified to read the signature at the bottom. But I had to know, I needed to see the name of the person who would have the money, the desire, to purchase my entire collection.

  The name was scrawled beautifully, the practiced penmanship of someone who knew their signature would be read over and over.

  It was a name that made my skin prickle.

  Seth Hart.

  - Chapter Three -

  Naomi

  I stared into my glass of wine, sitting on the floor of the gallery with a bottle between me and Veronica. She had insisted we celebrate, and I had little in the way of resistance. Veronica didn't seem to care that I was exhausted, she just poured me another drink, stating I deserved it.

  Watching me closely, she asked the question that had been burning between us. “You really don't know who he is, Naomi?”

  “You're saying that like I should. No, I don't have a clue. Why?”

  “Well.” She tilted her head back, that mop of hair waving like there was a breeze in the room. “Here's the thing. I actually do recognize his name.”

  “What?” I almost spilled my wine as I leaned forward. “Why didn't you say anything before?”

  Shrugging, Veronica drained the last of her glass and pursed her lips. “I assumed you knew. Most folks around here do. Listen, it's sort of like... You know, you assume people know some names by default.”

  Unless she was talking about Santa Clause, then no, I didn't know many names by 'default.' “Spill it. Who is he?”

  Pouring out the last of the bottle, Veronica tapped the rim of her drink in thought. “He's majorly rich, but that's not how I know of him. Seth Hart is one of the biggest financial contributors to CCFA, and I work with a lot of people from there in this industry.”

  “CCFA.” My heart skipped. “The California College of Fine Arts!?”

  “Yeah, that's right. Why do you look so pale?”

  Touching my cheek, I tried to slow down my brain. My thoughts were buzzing. “That's—that's the college I've been trying to get into.”

  Veronica gaped at me. “I'm trying to be relaxed here, for your sake. But that's an insane coincidence, Naomi. Like, extremely insane.”

  Hanging my head, I breathed out loudly. The scent of the alcohol was bothering me, making my stomach ripple with sourness. “I know it is.”

  Is this just a coincidence? Fate?

  What does it mean?

  “No,” Veronica said. “You don't. Here, this is the part I was waiting to give up.” Digging into her pocket, she pulled out a crinkled card, offering it like it might bite. I reached for it just as reluctantly.

  Turning it over, I realized it was a business card.

  “Why did he give you this?” I asked.

  “He wanted me to tell you to call him, he... he wanted to know if you took commissions.” Veronica hesitated, biting her lip. “I said I wasn't sure. He insisted I give you that, so you could reach him.”

  I had a strong urge to throw the card away, but part of me was intrigued. “How long did you guys talk for?”

  “Not long. I was busy, and he pretty much just handed me the bidding form and a blank check.” She laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. “You understand how much money you made tonight, right?” Veronica searched my dazed eyes, her tone softer. “You don't need to take his personal commission for more cash, is my point.”

  I was still staring at the card. “Money aside, this guy might be my in. He'd be able to help me get past admissions at the college, if he has as much pull as it sounds.”

  What would he want from me, though, in exchange?

  Is this really about my art?

  Veronica grabbed the empty bottle, standing with a groan as she cracked her back. “Well, this gallery is going to be done, now. Your stuff will stay up for the month, but you don't need to come here, since it's all sold. I can cut you your share, and then.” The wine bottle crashed loudly into the trash. “Then, I guess you can do whatever you like.”

  Tucking the business card into my pocket, I stood as well, lost in my own head.

  “Naomi.”

  “Yeah?” I looked up to find the worried face of my new friend. How fast, but yes, we did become friends.

  “Just remember, you don't need to call him. You don't need to do anything, alright?”

  Can I really just do nothing? I wondered.

  Frowning, I took one more look around the room, finally ending on the large piece, the one Seth had walked in on me painting last night.

  My mind was a blur, considering all my options. There was potential in this venture for the one thing I really wanted.

  It's another chance. How many of those did life give us?

  With a forced smile, I faced Veronica, holding out a hand. “Thank you, I'll keep in touch.”

  When we shook, I noticed how hard Veronica was gripping me. Suddenly, it turned into a fierce hug, leaving us both breathless.

  “Don't do anything dumb,” Veronica mumbled into my ear.

  I wish I could have told her I wouldn't.

  In the end, I said nothing.

  ****

  For the third time, I lifted my cell phone, finger hovering over the buttons. Seth's card lay on the bed beside me, but I didn't need to look at it. By now, I'd managed to unintentionally ingrain his phone number into my mind.

  Sighing, I lowered my cellphone, staring at the screen. It displayed the time, reminding me it was after ten at night. It gave me an easy out. He's probably asleep. Also, who makes a business call this late?

  My whole body and brain were vibrating; anxious, unable to relax. Veronica's warning, as if I could call it anything else, rumbled in my subconscious.

  She's wrong, I DO need to do this. It's such an opportunity to get an upper hand, to get into that school.

  Plus... I'd get to see Seth again.

  That man had left an impression on me, even if I didn't want to admit it. He was crisp on the edges, a coolness with something far more wild beneath the surface of his cocky smirk.

  The slow burn of intrigue in my belly had me clenching my thighs.

  Once more, I lifted the phone.

  The worse that happens, is he doesn't answer, and I leave a message.

  I debated if maybe, just maybe, the worse that could happen was actually making the phone call at all.

  No, he didn't seem dangerous. He bought all of my art, I have enough money now to stay out here for some time.

  Is it crazy to want to find out how much he'd offer for a commission, and if he'd agree to assist me into CCFA?

  Biting my lower lip, I typed out his number. Pressing the phone to my ear, I listened to the metallic ringing, preparing myself for what I would say to the machine.

  On the second ring, the line 'clicked' and someone began speaking.

  “Seth Hart, who's calling, please?”

  The voice wasn't the familiar, rich baritone of the man I'd met so briefly. This was someone else, calm and almost flat—and not an answering machine. Confused, I cleared my throat. “Uh, hello, I'm looking for Seth.”

  “Of course, but may I ask who's calling?”

  Had I imagined the tart edge to that reply? “Sorry, this is Naomi Starling, he left me a message to—”

  “Oh!” The person suddenly became very pleasant. “Yes, of course, one moment, I'll transfer you to his main line.”

  A spark of indignation flared. With the effort Seth had made, buying everything and leaving his card, I thought he had given me his main phone number.

  Veronica said he was pretty important. I guess he doesn't really know me, so filtering calls makes sense.

  Was it fair of me to be insulted?

  The line was silent, to the point that I wondered if I had been disconnected. Seriously? Did I just get the cold shoulder? Perhaps Seth wasn't as intereste
d in my art as he had seemed. Had Veronica misunderstood?

  I was too tired to deal with being given the runaround. My hand moved, ready to end the call.

  “Hello, Ms. Starling?” When he spoke, it created a familiar thrill down my spine.

  That's him! Seth was on the line.

  “Yes,” I said, tugging my hair nervously. “I mean, yes, it's me.”

  “So you got my message.”

  “Ah, yeah, Veronica gave it to me after the show.”

  “It was a lovely gallery, your work was beautiful.” He made a sound, I couldn't tell if it was him breathing out or chuckling. “But, on topic, she told you about my offer?”

  I shifted the phone to my other ear, reaching out to pick up his business card. Even with the crinkles in it from Veronica's pocket, the printed ink was sharp, immaculate. “She sort of did. According to her, you want a commission, but...”

  “But?”

  “But, you... did you really buy all of my art, for just yourself?” The words rushed free in a whirl as the shock finally caught up to me. “All of it? I have the check from Veronica. If this isn't a joke, I just... why do you want, or need, any more from me?”

  There was a heavy silence. I opened my mouth, ready to apologize for my abrupt questions. Seth halted me with a low, throaty laugh that couldn't be confused for anything else. “Ms. Starling, slow down. Yes, I bought everything you had. Is it so wrong if I would enjoy more from you?”

  His emphasis on the word 'more' made my tongue very dry. I realized I'd started crushing the business card in my hand. Dropping it, I wiped my palm on my leg, wondering what to say. What does he really want from me, why does he like my work so much?

  “Ms. Starling,” he said.

  “Y—yes?”

  “I can tell you're a little nervous. Please, just hear me out. I'm only offering you some work, after all, nothing more.”

  “Nothing more?” I asked warily.

  “What else could I offer?” I swore I could hear him smirk over the phone.

  Swallowing, I began again. “There is something else you could offer me.”

  His silence was uncomfortable, it turned my arm hairs into sharp prickles. Seconds later, he whispered, “What would you like from me, Ms. Starling?”

  Dammit. Why was his voice so sexy?