He covered his face and groaned again. “Oh, God. Stop. You’re killing me.”
“But you’re terrible for me. The worst possible thing.”
“No. I’m not.”
“I need more than fast food, Michael. Like I told you last week on Bow Bridge, I need a true friend. Someone who wants me for me. Just like a french fry, you might be what I crave, but you’re not what I need as a regular diet to stay healthy.”
…
As Michael studied Mia’s sincere face, something in him shifted. This wasn’t a game anymore. She was no longer simply a conquest, and honestly, she hadn’t been for a while. A woman like her was as rare as the antiquities in which he dealt. She was an absolutely open book. No agendas. No dense layers of deception. She wanted him, and admitted it, but knew her limitations.
“You never answered my question,” she said. “What do you want? I mean, from life. Your big goals. As your fiancée, I would know.”
Relaxing back against the soft leather seat, he realized he’d never put much thought to it because his life goal had been so obvious. He’d only wanted one thing for as long as he could remember: to make Anderson Enterprises, specifically its associated auction business, robust, lucrative, and respected worldwide.
From the time his father would take him to the office as a child, it was all he wanted. He’d spent hundreds of hours sitting in his father’s—now his—office, drawing in coloring books while his father negotiated deals. Coloring books turned to model airplanes, to chapter books, to calculus and statistics textbooks. While other kids, including his brothers, were playing sports or having keggers, Michael was learning the business. He’d been groomed for this from birth. And as he looked back, he realized he’d never even had a choice in it.
“How does it feel to be king?” she’d asked earlier. The woman was insightful. His father had made him the anointed one, and he’d never considered what he’d missed out on until now.
Then he realized something else: he’d already done it. It was an odd moment to discover his goal had already been reached. And for the first time in his life, Michael Anderson felt adrift—lost, but oddly lighter. “What do you want?” she’d asked. He had no clue.
She swiveled to face him. “It’s not a trick question.”
But it was. “You first,” he answered. “What do you want, Mia?”
Like sunshine, her smile lit up his mood. “I’m easy. I just want to be happy.”
She was anything but easy. “Too global. You need to be more specific.” And he found himself holding his breath while he waited for her answer, genuinely fascinated by what she’d say.
“Well… I love working with the residents at Heart’s Home. I want to keep doing that forever in some capacity—bringing joy through art.” She stared out the window. “When we’d travel, my parents would leave me in the care of random people during load in and rehearsals. The techies would give me leftover paints and materials to keep me occupied. Art was my best friend… It still is.”
“You studied art in Paris.”
“Well done. I see you finally got around to reading my file.”
More than once. “I did.”
“I learned scenic painting while traveling with my parents and their touring companies. By the time I was seventeen, I knew I wanted more than living on the road or camping out in random acquaintance’s living rooms while waiting for my parents to get cast in the next show. My parents kidded around that I’d defected when I applied for and got the scholarship.”
She stared out the window and light played across her skin, making her look like she glowed. Hell, she did glow. She had a spark inside her that fascinated him. He wanted to touch her and feel it—vicariously enjoy it.
“What I didn’t expect was to end up as nomadic as my parents.” Her eyes met his briefly, then she resumed her study out the window. “Housesitting and pet sitting are the only way I know to be able to afford to do what I love, with art therapy for the elderly.”
“How did you get into that?”