“I mean, why do you spend so much time in the car? I thought a high-profile movie guy like you would spend a lot of time in the office.” I tried to act like I knew what I was talking about, but I had no clue.
“I spend more time than I would like in the office, but on the weekends, I drive out to Connecticut. My brother lives out there, and I see him every week. I have specific tastes and your average roadside gas station market usually doesn’t carry the types of foods I prefer.”
I gave him a point for maintaining his amicable demeanor.
“No seared salmon and caviar at the quick mart?” I teased.
He grinned. “Sadly, no.”
We went a few moments without speaking, which increased the tension and was making me crazy. I wasn’t sure if it was intentional on his part, as he was supposed to be such a schmoozer, but he might have been afraid of saying something that would have me jumping out on the expressway. Or punching him in the nose.
“You don’t have to buy all of my art, you know? In fact, you don’t have to buy any of it. I’m serious, I can’t be bought. I don’t work like that. If you want to talk to me, I’m here.”
“I actually love your art. I’m getting a bargain,” he said casually, again looking at me with those eyes that understood my very being.
If I was going to feel good about myself and how I handled this situation, then I shouldn’t act like a wilting flower one moment and a kick-ass Ninja the next. I had to get real with him. I had to get some answers.
“Why? Why me? Why my art? Did you make a bet with someone? Are you trying to see if you can My Fair Lady me into something I’m not? What’s the point of this crazy… whatever this is?” I was so ready for answers.
He stared at me for a beat as the car pulled into the parking lot of the most expensive restaurant in New Haven.
“I don’t really know, Caitlyn. Everything that comes out of my mouth sounds wrong, so I’ll be as honest as I can. When I saw you at the diner that night, I thought you were gorgeous and I wanted to do anything I could to entice you to come home with me. And yes, have sex with me. Since that obviously isn’t working out the way I planned, I wanted to get to know you better.”
I felt the need to interrupt him there. “You mean you stalked me.” I smiled and gave him a sneer at the same time.
He held up his palms. “How else would I be able to get to know you? You keep walking out on me. It’s the age of technology, stalking is so easy these days. You left me no choice.”
“Who said I wanted to get to know you?” I smiled to show I was mildly teasing.
“I’m famous.” He said it in a meekly playful way.
Okay. I had to laugh, that was ridiculous.
“Ah good, I got a laugh.” He did a fist pump, which seemed so totally out of character for him that I laughed again. “Score one for KP.”
The restaurant was amazing, as expected. We were seated, selected items from the menu, and I was at a loss for what to say next. I was relieved when he started.
“I love how you see the world. I’ve had a chance to look over your work, and while you have some technical refining to do, your instinct and natural talent are remarkable. Your paintings are worth what I’d pay for them if you allow me the opportunity.”
I started to interrupt, but he held up a finger. I snapped my mouth closed and nodded for him to continue.
“I want you to have the chance to paint without working at a place with sticky tables and grumbling coworkers. As for my donation to the center, I must thank you for that as well. I had no idea that so many children were being served by this community. Children are the future and most people just abandon the ones who are broken or who don’t meet society’s strict standards of perfection. This place gives children hope, encouragement, and a future. I didn’t really understand how important that was until I stalked you. Actually, I went so far as to read one of your graduated student’s Facebook pages and it was quite glowing and complimentary.”
It was my turn to hold up a finger and look him dead in the eye. “You know the stalking thing is a turn off, right?”
“Do you know who I am?” he asked softly.
“I don’t care who you are,” I barked.
“I didn’t ask if you cared, I asked if you knew,” he corrected.
“You’re Kembrough Preston, the famous movie whatever guy. Most people call you KP which I think is… never mind.”
He laughed. “See, you stalked me too.”
I bristled. “I didn’t stalk you. Everyone knows who you are. I actually didn’t know anything about you, but everyone else sure does,” I fired back.
“See, even you had a better chance of dating me than I did of dating you, because at least you knew who I was. I had to resort to stalking… you should feel sorry for me,” he fake pouted.
He got me again, and I laughed.
I forced myself to be serious again. “I still won’t have sex with you even though you donated money to the center and bought all my paintings, and I expect you’ll pay for this meal. Even with all of that, I’ll walk away with my virtue. Sex is completely off the table.”
“Well, if you take my offer to buy your paintings, I might expect you to pay for this meal.” He leaned forward, his eyes sweeping over my face. “I absolutely want to have sex with you, badly, but you’ve said no, so I’m obliged to honor your decision. I’m not into forcing women, nor am I into anything that involves whips and chains. If you think I’m fifty shades of anything, it’s simply selfish. I’m used to getting what I want.”
My lips parted and his eyes dropped to them. “Oh.”
“I’ve invited you to lunch for another reason,” he added, sounding like a businessman.
I cocked my head. “And that is?”
“I hope the gallery mentioned that I wanted to commission a painting.” He was still businesslike, but softened some.
I stiffened, still feeling skeptical. “Yes. And…”
He took a deep breath. He seemed off-center. It was weird to see this commanding and cocky billionaire look unhinged.
“You see, I have a younger brother. Our family has a lot of money. Actually, an unfathomable amount of money. We have these pretentious portraits in our great room and they are quite, um… impressive, I guess. We have one for every family member going back generations. Typical haunted mansion stuff.”
I smiled. “I’d heard that families of distinction actually do get portraits with their dogs and golf clubs and things of this nature. The painting is meant to be a reflection of the person and their interests.”
He nodded. “Right. It’s an unwritten law of sorts that each member of a moneyed family have a portrait prominently featured. Every one of my family members has had one or more portraits made, but him. I want his painted.”
“That’s weird. Why doesn’t he have a portrait?” I asked innocently.
“We’ll need to discuss that sometime in the future, if you don’t mind.” Oh, I hit a hot spot. Must remember that for the future: family drama.
“Why won’t the painter you’ve used in the past do it?” I asked.
“I want someone with your eye, your sensitivity, and honestly, I want my brother to meet you.”