Mistress to the Tycoon

by Nicola Marsh

  ‘Any questions?’

  Cooper met his father’s gaze directly.

  He settled for keeping the peace just as he had every day for the last ten months since he’d graduated and signed on the dotted line with his father’s company. He’d been full of ideals, full of enthusiasm and his father’s attitude had whittled it away to this: a ridiculous trade so he could back out of his legally binding contract.

  ‘The plans look good. 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 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 where Cooper knew he’d swap shop talk with his cronies over a bourbon or two.

  Not for him.

  He had more important things to do with his time, such as getting Ariel to listen to his pitch.

  If he were a betting man, he’d place a hundred on the nose that she wouldn’t open her door to him again, let alone hear what he had to say.

  Well, he planned to change all that.

  Starting now.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ‘YOU despicable low-life!’

  Ariel slashed at the canvas with her brush, streaking across the blank expanse while glaring 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 lime and tangerine candles for concentration, 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 which usually worked wonders if her imagination clogged.

  The result?

  Nothing.

  And to make matters worse, Sofia had rung, gushing about some fancy charity do at her sister’s place where everyone who was anyone would see the portrait and inundate her with work—she wished—and imploring her to finish it a week early.

  Which gave her exactly six days to get the portrait finished.

  Would’ve been a cinch if she’d had a normal model and not some delusional businessman happy to whip off his clothes to get what he wanted, the lunatic.

  Staring at the sketches of Cooper, she could’ve happily drawn devil’s horns and pointy fangs all over 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…magnificent…

  The wind chimes over the front door tinkled and her eyes flew open. To her annoyance, a stupid little smile had snuck up on her and she wiped it, along with her too real—and too hot—images of Cooper’s amazing body out of her mind.

  ‘Can I help you…?’ The rest of her words trailed into insignificance as the object of her vivid imagination a second earlier 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?

  That was right, 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 as she could muster.

  ‘No can do.’

  He stopped exactly opposite and Ariel suddenly wished the too-thin glass-topped counter were wider.

  He was too close, too masculine, too everything.

  ‘I have a proposal for you.’

  ‘After two nights? Gee, you must be really desperate to get this place but, sorry, I wouldn’t marry you if you gargled a litre of turpentine and painted the street red.’

  He gave her an arrogant smile that screamed ‘bring it on’.

  ‘You know 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.

  She was too angry with him: angry he’d lied, angry he’d ruined a project so vital to the viability of the gallery, but most of all, angry with herself for the slight, inane leap of joy she’d experienced when she’d walked through the beaded curtain and seen he’d come back.

  He ignored her petulant outburst. ‘This will only take five minutes of your time. Believe me, it’s important.’

  She wouldn’t believe him if he were the last man on earth. Still, something about his steady gaze and intense expression had her shrugging her shoulders and leading him out the back.

  ‘Five minutes,’ she said, propping herself on her ergonomic stool, not caring if he stood or sat. He wouldn’t be around that long if she had anything to do with it.

  ‘What’s that on your head?’

  Hmm…not exactly what Cooper had in mind as a stunning opening to his pitch, but he couldn’t talk sense to a woman wearing a Christmas wreath on her head, even if she wore it with the aplomb of a queen sporting a priceless tiara.

  Ariel frowned and patted her head, the frown disappearing when she touched the weird crown.

  ‘This is my lucky garland. I often paint in it.’

  ‘It looks like a Christmas tree gone wrong.’

  Rather than taking it off her head in embarrassment as he expected, she adjusted the angle till it sat like a crazy halo perched at odds with her curls.

  ‘I made it years ago during my first Christmas with Aunt Barb.’

  Cooper wished he hadn’t seen the vulnerability behind her eyes.

  He was here on business. To present a clear plan to benefit them both. He didn’t want to hear about this woman Barb whom Ariel held in such high esteem or feel the slightest twinge of guilt that in following his own dreams he’d probably have to tear hers down.

  She was young. She’d get over it. Take the money, start a new gallery somewhere else.

  ‘Your five minutes started about thirty seconds ago so whatever you have to say, make it snappy.’ Ariel’s expression had hardened, her green eyes flinty, her mouth compressed in a thin line.

  Squaring his shoulders, confident a softer approach would work rather than railroading her as he usually did the rest of his clients, Cooper met her cool gaze head on. ‘Firstly, I’d like to apologise for not telling you the truth earlier. You were right, I had plenty of opportunity and could’ve let you in on my identity sooner.’

  ‘Why didn’t you?’

  ‘Honestly? You intrigued me. I had my spiel all worked out when I first walked in here, but before I knew what was happening you’d bustled me out the back and told me to take off my clothes. Guess the Neanderthal male in me took over and I kind of liked it. The whole situation was extraordinary and once we started talking, I couldn’t leave.’

  He opted for honesty, hoping the truth would convince her he was on the up and up now. By her unchanging expression, it didn’t look as if it had worked.

  ‘More like you didn’t want to leave because you thought you could weasel inside info out of me before homing in for the kill.’

  ‘That too. Pretty despicable but I was going to tell you the truth even if that girl hadn’t outed me.’

  She rolled her eyes before tapping her watch. ‘Three minutes left.’

  ‘Okay, my idea is this. I have a business proposal to present to you. It will probably take a few hours all up to do it justice and I was hoping you’d give me the time.’ ‘No.’

  Short and
sharp, without the slightest hint of thawing towards him in sight, and he pushed on, hoping she understood how things worked in the business world and wouldn’t be offended by his next offer.

  ‘I’ll pay you for your time.’

  ‘What?’

  If her eyebrows shot any higher, they’d tangle in the wreath still perched on her wayward curls.

  ‘In the world I come from, everyone charges by the hour, from lawyers to architects. I see your time as being no different and I’m willing to compensate you for the few hours it takes to deliver my pitch.’

  ‘You’re willing to compensate me…how generous.’

  By her strange, high-pitched fake voice and the clenched hands twisting the cuffs of her crushed velvet shorts, he knew she didn’t think his offer was that generous.

  ‘The point I’m trying to make is that this place is your business, your time is just as valuable as everyone else’s and I want to recognise that.’

  Better, much better, and by the softening of her ramrod-straight posture, she thought so too.

  ‘I don’t want your money.’

  ‘You’ll still listen to my pitch?’

  He held his breath, wishing this bohemian beauty didn’t hold his future in the palm of her paint-stained hand.

  She had to listen to his pitch and she had to go for it.

  He couldn’t contemplate any other outcome.

  Starting out on his own after a lengthy legal battle to escape the contract would drive an irreversible wedge between him and his father.

  Suddenly, Ariel’s face cleared. Her brow smoothed, her lips tilted up at the corners and her green eyes sparkled with excitement.

  Oh-oh. This couldn’t be good.

  He’d seen that same look when she’d all but pushed him into her studio the first night and told him to get his gear off.

  ‘I won’t accept your money but how about we do a fair trade for time?’

  ‘Sounds feasible,’ he said, not liking the smug expression spreading across her beautiful, unmade-up face.

  He liked the tense, uncertain Ariel a lot more than her cheeky counterpart who made him want to drop his business ideals at the door and get creative with her in a variety of imaginative ways.

  ‘What did you have in mind?’

  To his surprise, Ariel slid off her stool and crossed the space between them, placing a finger under his chin and tilting his head this way and that.

  ‘Yes, yes, yes!’

  She dropped her hand and stepped back, continuing to study him like a prized masterpiece.

  ‘This is perfect!’

  She clapped her hands and smiled at him, the type of mega watt smile that could melt a guy’s hardened heart if he wasn’t careful. ‘You pose for me till I finish the portrait and I’ll listen to your boring proposal. How’s that for fair trade? A few hours’ modelling for a few hours of hearing you run off at the mouth?’

  Cooper stared at her, unwillingly admiring her glowing eyes, her wide, confident smile. He bit back his first gut response of ‘no way’ knowing that a smart businessman would take every opportunity that came his way and turn it into something big.

  In this case, it might be the only chance he got.

  She’d let him in the door, she’d heard him out and she’d agreed to listen to his plans for this place.

  Sitting in the near-buff, albeit on a damn hard stool, for a few hours would be nothing if he pulled this off.

  ‘You’ve got a deal.’

  He held out his hand, managing a genuine smile when she placed her tiny hand in his despite the jolt physical contact brought.

  By the slight widening of her eyes, she felt it too but pulled away before he could analyse it further.

  Not that he wanted to. She wasn’t his type.

  He preferred cool, aloof women who were happy with the occasional date and had no expectations.

  A warm, vibrant, creative woman like Ariel would be nothing but trouble for a level-headed guy like him and he’d make sure he concentrated on business around her.

  He didn’t have room in his life for anything else.

  ‘Herbal tea is better for you,’ Ariel said, trying to subdue her triumphant grin and failing as she bustled about the tiny kitchen off her studio.

  Twisting Cooper’s proposal to suit her own ends had come to her in a flash of brilliance and the way she saw it, she had it made. She’d get to finish the portrait and collect the much needed money for it and, in exchange, she’d spend a few boring hours listen to him prattle on about his plans for her gallery, plans that would never see the light of day if she had anything to do with it.

  Easy.

  ‘I’ll stick with coffee, thanks.’

  ‘Suit yourself,’ she said, handing him the steaming mug of decaf he’d requested, knowing he’d find it lacking. He looked like a double espresso hold-the-milk-and-sugar type of guy to her. ‘Speaking of which, you’re looking a lot more uptight in that get-up than the other night. What were you trying to do then—con the crazy artist in your slumming clothes?’

  His mouth twitched. ‘I happen to live in jeans and T-shirts outside the office.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And I thought you wouldn’t be as intimidated if I turned up dressed casual.’

  Ariel smiled. The guy was sneaky. And sexy, way too sexy.

  ‘Wow, you better be careful, Mr Big-Shot. That’s the second time in half an hour you’ve sounded honest. Didn’t think your type had it in you.’

  ‘If you’re trying to bait me, forget it. I’ve got a thick skin. Comes with taking off my clothes for twisted women posing as artists.’

  Okay, so the guy had a sense of humour. Lucky for him. He’d need it when she knocked his business proposal for the gallery on its head.

  ‘The human body is a work of art. I can’t help it if your head’s filled with taking over buildings and ruining people’s lives rather than appreciating the finer things in life in the way I do.’

  She kept her tone light, enjoying trading banter with someone who could match her, even though her quip had a barb of truth to it.

  She would never understand how he could barge into people’s lives and turn them upside down with scant regard for the little people. Sure, he probably justified his actions with money but then that was all a successful guy like him understood.

  ‘Have you ever considered I improve people’s lives rather than ruin them?’

  He took a sip of coffee and grimaced, hiding his distaste behind a discreet cough.

  ‘Whatever lets you sleep at night.’

  She drained her cup of peppermint tea and peered into the bottom, a silly old habit considering she’d switched to bags and didn’t use loose leaves any more. Too bad—she could use a bit of forecasting right about now: such as how the portrait would turn out, would she keep the gallery, would she be able to keep her interest in the model purely professional?

  ‘Would you like a refill before we get down to the nitty gritties and establish a few ground rules?’

  ‘No, thanks.’

  He beat a hasty path to the kitchen where he rinsed his mug in record time as Ariel followed at a slower pace, chuckling softly. He thought she’d assume he was being super helpful but she knew better; she’d seen his three-quarters-full mug and what better way to surreptitiously tip the whole lot down the sink than pretend to wash?

  ‘What’s this about ground rules?’

  He dwarfed her kitchenette and she waited till he moved away from the sink before rinsing her own mug. She’d jokingly called him Mr Big-Shot but Cooper was just that, big in every way. It was more than a size thing, though; it was something about his supreme confidence, his imposing aura, the way he carried himself.

  Usually, guys like him intimidated her, but Cooper had an innate kindness she sensed, an indefinable quality that drew her to him even if she kicked and screamed all the way.

  Drying her hands on a tea towel, she resisted the urge to flick it at him as he turned away and walked out
of the kitchenette. What was it about this guy that brought out her impish side?

  The funny thing was, now they’d established where things were going and she’d got her way with the portrait, she couldn’t stop teasing him and trying to get him to loosen up.

  ‘Would you like to take a seat and we can discuss this?’

  He shook his head and glanced at his watch. ‘Can we make this snappy? I’ve already been here longer than anticipated.’

  So much for teasing and lightening up.

  ‘Fine. I just wanted to make sure we both understand the time involved in our trade. I probably need you to sit for another four sessions, about an hour each. How long will your pitch take?’

  ‘Around two, but that’s fine. When I make a deal, I stick to it.’

  He folded his arms, the fingers on his right hand drumming ever so slightly against his left bicep. If he’d started tapping his feet, whistling and staring at the ceiling in impatience, she wouldn’t have been surprised.

  Talk about Jekyll and Hyde. The guy switched from light banter to cold indifference in a flash. The decaf must’ve really irked.

  ‘Good. As for the posing part, you know it’s a life portrait?’

  She couldn’t resist pushing his buttons.

  ‘So you’ve told me.’

  He didn’t obviously look embarrassed, but a faint pink definitely stained his tanned cheeks.

  ‘Just to put your mind at ease, you won’t have to get completely naked. What you’ve been doing so far is great, with your leg covering, uh…’

  Great, now it was her turn to blush. ‘Anyway, I just have to do the bottom half, then get some really detailed sketches of your hands, feet and face and transfer the whole lot onto canvas. Once I’ve finished, I’ll hear your pitch.’ And see the back of you, literally. ‘You okay with all that?’

  ‘Fine. Can we get started tonight?’

  He hadn’t lost his antsy look. If anything, it had intensified. Boy, he must really want her to hear his proposal.

  ‘See you back here at seven.’

  ‘Good. See you then.’

  With a mock half-salute, he all but ran out of the studio, through the gallery and towards the front door.