by Juniper Hart
“What do you mean?” she questioned, not at all understanding what he was hinting at.
“I want you to do another project for me,” he explained. “This collection is going to go in my office. However, I need something else for another room in my house.”
Charlotte didn’t know how to feel about his request. The man had already spent so much money on her collection. Could she really take more of his money? Well, Charlotte wasn’t taking it; he was purchasing her work from her. A few minutes ago, she didn’t even know him, so the amount he spent on her work was unrelated to her personally. Did she really have a reason to say no to such an offer? Especially with knowing how much he was willing to spend.
“Well…umm… What kind of project did you have in mind?” Charlotte asked softly, wanting to know all of the information before she made a decision.
Killian sighed, “To be completely honestly with you, I’m not sure. I know where I want the art to go, but not what it should be. Something that suits the space.” He looked down at her to see her eyes glazed over a bit, clearly unsure as what to say with how little information he had given her to build on. “I know that must sound vague. Why don’t you come back to my house after this event to see the space? Maybe you can get a feel for the room to help spark an idea for the subject matter.”
Go back to his house? Charlotte was in awe that he had asked her, even for professional purposes. Killian looked and sounded like a dream. She was tempted to pinch herself just to be sure that she wasn’t, but she had to be in a dream. Everything else that day had been painstakingly real, and she couldn’t even blame it on the alcohol; she hadn’t drank anything. “I can’t think of a reason why not.” Charlotte said weakly back at him.
“Fantastic.” His hand brushed against her arm. His fingertips grazed against the scars the mountain lion had left behind, which were hidden just barely by her short sleeves. Something ignited in his smoldering green eyes, but Charlotte didn’t see it, as she was looking down at his hand as his touch glided across her soft skin. Already he hated seeing her perfect flesh marred like that. She radiated such an innocent spirit, one that shouldn’t know what pain felt like. Clearing his throat, he pulled his hand away, “Well, I won’t take up any more of your time. I’ll see you later tonight.” He straightened his tie, turned on his heel, and walked away from her.
She was left swooning like the schoolgirl she was trying her best not to be. Charlotte gave herself a pass though. After all, it wasn’t every day that she was approached by a deliciously handsome man with the most enchanting Irish accent, who had happened to pay six times her asking price. Handsome, charming, rich… Charlotte wondered why he was giving her the time of day. If he had twenty-four grand to shell out on some pictures, she was certain that he could have hired someone to shop for him. And why wasn’t a wife keeping him in arm’s reach? It was all beyond Charlotte’s comprehension.
The event went on, and Charlotte hung around her own display for a while to talk to people who approached her about the project before she wandered around the gallery to take a look at everything else. It was always bittersweet to look at other photographers’ work. She loved looking at all of the different styles and perspectives and drawing inspiration from it all, but being in the field professionally, she couldn’t help but compare each one to her own. It always filled her with thoughts such as, ‘Why didn’t I think of that?’ and ‘Wow, that makes mine look like hot garbage.’ And that gallery was no different. So many photographers showed off such raw talent, polished into beautiful gems that were displayed before her. Even though she hated comparing herself to others, she had a lovely time taking in all of the art. Some of it was so intricate, adding elements of different mediums to bring their stills to life. It really made her want to get creative with her own art, perhaps move away from her traditional form of photography.
When the evening was winding down to a close, a gentle hand touched the small of Charlotte’s back. Her chin turned up to find Killian peering down at her with gentle eyes. “Would you like to join me for dinner before we head back to my house?” he asked her.
“Sure,” Charlotte answered right away. As if she could tell him no. Even though she knew she shouldn’t feel that way, after he spent such an exuberant amount on her art, she felt like the least she could do was go to dinner with him. Not that she wanted to say no, but she wasn’t ready to admit to herself that she was already smitten with a man she had just met. Charlotte knew nothing about him; she told herself that her feelings couldn’t be anything more than infatuation.
“Wonderful,” Killian smirked, keeping his hand on her back as he guided her from the gallery. “Don’t worry about your car. I’ll get you home tonight and arrange for your car to be dropped off at your residence,” he told her calmly as he paced over to a cobalt blue imported sports car. She didn’t know why she had expected anything less from a man so wealthy. Killian moved to the passenger door and opened it for her. Once Charlotte climbed inside, he gently shut the door behind her. Her eyes immediately surveyed the inside of the car. The black interior was free of any slight blemish, and still smelled new. The dash display was high tech and sleek. Killian then slid into the driver seat and buckled up before taking off down the boulevard. “And don’t you even think about getting your wallet out, dove. This is my treat, all right?” he called over to her.
“Well, considering you just paid me more than twenty thousand dollars, wouldn’t it be like you paying anyways?” Charlotte joked.
A husky laugh sounded from the man. “Aye, you got me there.” Once his mesmerizing laughter died out, Killian shook his head, “I mean it, though, Miss Jones. And I don’t want you thinking about how I bought your pictures. It’s irrelevant for the night. Deal?”
Charlotte studied him for a long moment, appreciating that he didn’t want to use the fact he had purchased her artwork to have power over her. It was rather admirable. A lot of guys would have used it to their advantage to get as far as they could physically. A smile spread across her lips. “As long as you call me Charlotte instead of Miss Jones.”
Killian’s lips tugged into a big grin, “Aye, deal, Charlotte,” he cooed. The way he pronounced her name left Charlotte longing to hear it again. Every syllable was uttered so perfectly, it was almost intoxicating. Like a siren’s call. The soft ch- and elongated arl- followed by a curt pronunciation of the ending sound... She found herself wondering again just how she had been so lucky to have cross paths with Killian Walsh.
Soon enough, his car was pulling up to the curb outside a landmark bistro. Charlotte stared at the building in surprise. The restaurant had been featured in countless shows, several magazines, the city’s tourist pamphlet every year, etc. The place, from what Charlotte had heard, was booked out six months in advance. Her eyes shifted to Killian in skepticism. She understood the power of money, but it wasn’t like he could just pay someone to get up and leave their table, right? It didn’t work like that. Killian only offered a wink before getting out of the car. A valet opened Charlotte’s door, extending his hand to help her out. Killian walked around the car and took his place next to Charlotte, placing his hand on her hip before giving the valet his keys. Charlotte did the best to hide the color rising to her cheeks, but it was useless; she didn’t have long enough hair to completely curtain her face.
The tall Irishman guided her into the building, keeping her close to his side. Looking up from staring at the ground, Charlotte was instantly in awe of the interior of the restaurant. It looked even more impressive than it did on television. The enormous bistro was brought to life with gorgeous cherry wood and warm golden lighting. Perfect square tables with luxurious maroon table cloths filled the dining room, a large light fixture hanging over the center of the dining room which gave the cozy bistro a modern edge. It was a unique piece with tiny light bulbs on dozens and dozens of thin wire arms that were twisted and curved all about. It was a breathtaking sight in itself.
“Good evening, Mr. Walsh! Ju
st two this evening?” the host asked in a polite tone.
“Aye, just two.” Killian nodded at the man.
Much to Charlotte’s surprise, they were guided directly back into the dining area. How in the world? The host, whose name Charlotte didn’t catch, led them upstairs to a secluded dining room, where the only sounds were hushed chatter and the classic music that played throughout the building. The host pulled out Charlotte’s chair as Killian sat down across from her. The shock must have still been evident on her face.
Killian felt the need to explain and opened his mouth to speak before snapping it closed, as though he had to rethink his statement. “My father was an investor when the owner first opened the restaurant, so I get a bit of special treatment,” Killian admitted.
“That explains a lot,” Charlotte giggled softly, his statement being the answer to all of the questions that had been buzzing around in her head since she saw the building. “So what do you do for a living?” she asked.
He gave a modest shrug. “I oversee the Walsh Medical Research Company.”
She could have snorted at his cavalier attitude. Killian spoke like he had just said he was a manager at a sporting goods store or something. WMRC was the largest pharmaceutical company in the world. One couldn’t open a newspaper without reading about either the research they were conducting, the competitive but affordable pricing, the rising stocks, or one of the numerous charitable foundations it supported. The first time Charlotte learned about the company, she read about a massive endeavor WMRC spearheaded to provide women’s health services in underdeveloped countries. WMRC had donated millions of dollars of birth control alone. The company was worth billions. And the man across from her owned it? What else could it mean when he said he oversaw it and had the last name Walsh? She couldn’t wrap her brain around the importance of his position.
“You’re kidding… right?” she questioned, thinking maybe it was just a joke he told because of his last name.
“Not at all,” Killian assured. He gave another shrug. “Everyone has a job, right? I was just fortunate enough to have inherited a company my family started. Doesn’t mean it changes me as a person.”
Charlotte felt embarrassed. “I didn’t mean for it t-to sound like… like I was—”
Killian raised a hand, “Charlotte, please, relax. I know you didn’t mean anything from the question. It’s hard for most people to believe as I try to stay out of the public eye.” The server finally arrived and had a bottle of white wine in hand. “White all right with you? They have a lovely house blend that I always get.”
Charlotte gave a meek nod.
After they both ordered their food, the server walked off, and Killian’s insanely green eyes returned to Charlotte. “Tell me about yourself. I want to know more about the woman behind the camera,” he leaned in, as if not to miss a word.
The weakness in Charlotte’s knees might have been from the wine, but his dashing smile and flawless features were more likely the culprits. The tips of her ears burned with her cheeks as she was put on the spot to talk about herself. Charlotte wasn’t an introvert, but she was a bit of a loner and felt uncomfortable sharing information about her life. “Well, I moved here four-and-a-half years ago when I started school. Photography was my major. I graduated in May, and since then I’ve just kind of been drifting along, trying to make my splash in the world. I suppose I successfully did that tonight with your help. Well, maybe not a splash, but I definitely got my toes wet!”
“Aye, I’d definitely say you made a splash, but you didn’t need my help. I paid the amount you deserved, rather than let some other bloke take you for granted,” he mused, swirling his wine around in his glass. Killian raised the glass towards his lips, saying before he took a sip, “So, now that you have made your splash, what’s next for Charlotte Jones?” Curiosity burned in his eyes.
That was a fair question, but Charlotte had no idea how to answer it. “Honestly, I have no idea. I suppose this project of yours will be my focus until I figure out what else I want to do.”
“I like the sound of that. Means you can take your time on the new project I have for you.” A phantom smirk lingered on his lips.
“I suppose so,” Charlotte agreed weakly, trying not to read too much into his excitement over her open schedule. She refused to believe a man like Killian would be flirting with an average girl like her. At any given moment, Charlotte anticipated a man would hop out from under the table and point hidden cameras at her face when the big ruse was revealed. Someone had to be pulling an elaborate prank on her. Despite being rattled with insecurities about the entire situation, Charlotte couldn’t bring herself to question him. Killian had given her no reason to doubt him, and just because something was hard to believe, didn’t mean it wasn’t true. “What about you? Where are you from? Just curious because I thought WMRC was an American company, but you’ve got quite the accent,” Charlotte questioned, trying to mask her interest in the subject matter.
“I’m from right here in Washington. I was homeschooled by my mother and father all throughout my grade school years. My mother was from Ireland. My father had roughly the same upbringing I did, being homeschooled and all, as did my grandfather before him. It’s a family tradition, and just so happened to pass along the accent.”
Something seemed a little off about the way he explained his upbringing. It was so perfectly timed with just the right inflection applied to each word, making it sound rehearsed. He must have been asked that question a lot, and Charlotte felt daft, wishing she had asked a more thought-provoking question.
Killian continued. “You didn’t tell me where you lived before here.”
“Ah, I lived in Georgia before moving here.”
“A southern girl, then?” Killian beamed with amusement.
“If you could consider it that,” Charlotte mumbled, her posture stiffening. Talking about her past always felt awkward.
Killian noticed her unease. “What do you mean?”
Charlotte inhaled deeply, trying to get the courage to speak openly. “I moved around quite a bit in foster care. I was born in Vermont, and moved around to a couple of states before I finished out high school in Georgia.”
An expression of great sadness, and even perhaps a hint of empathy, took over Killian’s face for a brief moment before smoothing his expression into a look of polite concern. “I’m sorry if I made you speak about something you didn’t want to tell me.”
It was clear he was a little embarrassed, wishing he would have been more careful with his wording.
If she didn’t come forth with information on her personal life, he was in no position to grill it out of her. “Don’t be sorry. You didn’t know, and I can’t blame you for asking a normal question. I may be small, Mr. Walsh, but I’m not that delicate,” Charlotte tried to assure him.
Careful with that wording, dove, he thought to himself as his mind wandered to impure places. Killian shook the thoughts. “Aye, you might be the last person in the country who isn’t cursed with armor made of glass,” he joked, meaning she wasn’t easily offended. “I like a girl who can take a little heat,” he said, unable to stop himself from being a little cheeky.
The flustered look that overtook her face had him melting in his seat. Was it possible that she knew the effect she could have on a man? Charlotte seemed blissfully unaware that she was one of the fairest natural beauties Killian had ever seen. By the end of their time together, though, he would be sure she was well aware. “If I were bolder, I would accuse you of flirting with me,” she said in a voice as soft as kitten’s fur and as low as a whisper.
Killian reached across the table, placing his hand over hers. Her gaze jerked from her glass up to his eyes. He stared her down with a challenging look and a lopsided smirk on his lips. “Then be bold, Charlotte.” His deep voice sent a shiver up her spine.
Chapter 2
It was the most exquisite dinner Charlotte ever had. Even though they were traditional dishes, there was a u
nique and delicious spin on each of her items. But even the remarkable food was outshined by the company of Killian Walsh. Each nerve in her body was stimulated from his charm and flirtatious nature. He complimented her peculiarities and ideas, making her feel valued in the conversation. And just when her guard would begin to drop, thinking things had returned to a professional tone, his hand would graze hers or he look intently at her with a kind gaze that would send butterflies soaring through her stomach.
By the time they were walking out of the restaurant, Charlotte was full and a bit tipsy from bottle of wine they finished, but not drunk—just relaxed enough to surrender her inhibitions.
Killian enjoyed the way she leaned into him slightly as they walked outside as he took in her scent: a sensual medley of lavender and vanilla. Opening her car door, Killian helped her into her seat before rounding to the other side.
As soon as he slid into his seat, Charlotte spoke to him. “Are you sure you’re all right to drive? You had more wine than I did.”
“I’ll be fine, dove, don’t you worry. I wouldn’t put you in harm’s way,” Killian assured her.
In any other situation, Charlotte wouldn’t have been so easily persuaded by mere words. If it had been anyone else, she would have wanted proof, made him do the sobriety test where they had to touch the tip of their nose with alternating hands while reciting the alphabet backward. But she didn’t even think about asking him to prove it; she believed him. It was out of character for her to put such trust in a person she hardly knew, but there was a quality about him that made her feel secure. When Killian said he wouldn’t put her in harm’s way, she knew he meant it. Once they were settled and buckled in, the car lurched onto the road.
“It’s a bit of a drive. Think you can stay awake for it?” he questioned her.
