10. Autumn

Chapter 10

Autumn

I was still absorbed in that kiss.

A week had passed, and my lips remembered the pressure of Tyson’s mouth, the heat of his breath against my neck, and the strength of his hands gripping my hips as he lifted me onto Rose’s desk. Every quiet moment brought the memories flooding back - the way he pressed between my thighs, how his fingers had tangled in my hair, the deep groan that rumbled through his chest when I kissed him back.

“Ms. Williams?”

I blinked, focusing on the intern standing in my office doorway. “Yes, Sophie?”

“Mr. Richardson is here for the meeting about Denise Jordan’s work.”

Right. The meeting. I smoothed my silk blouse and checked my reflection on my phone screen. “Please send him in.”

Marcus entered with his usual polished confidence, wearing a perfectly tailored gray suit that emphasized his broad shoulders. Under different circumstances, I might have appreciated how handsome he looked. But now all I could think was that his height didn’t quite match Tyson’s, his smile didn’t make my heart race, and his presence didn’t fill the room the same way.

“Autumn.” He extended a thick folder. “I brought Denise’s portfolio and the contract details.”

“Thank you.” I gestured to the chair across from my desk. “How is she?”

“Excited. Nervous.” He sat, adjusting his tie. “She can’t quite believe her work might be featured in the Benefield.”

When I opened the portfolio, Denise’s raw talent leaped from every page. Her murals captured the South Side with unflinching honesty—children playing amid urban decay, grandmothers tending community gardens, teenagers dancing on broken concrete.

“These are extraordinary,” I said, studying a piece that showed an elderly man teaching chess to neighborhood kids. “The way she uses color...”

“Wait until you see this one.” Marcus leaned forward, flipping to a larger work. “She painted this after winning the copyright case.”

The mural showed a young girl holding a paintbrush like a sword, facing down a wall of corporate logos. Hope and defiance radiated from every brushstroke.

“This is exactly what the Benefield Project needs.” I made notes on my tablet. “Raw truth balanced with optimism.”

“About the project,” Marcus pulled out another folder, “I drafted some preliminary contracts for the student artists.”

Our fingers brushed as he handed me the papers. A week ago, that slight contact might have sparked something. Now, it just reminded me how different it felt when Tyson touched me.

“The terms look good,” I said, scanning the documents. “Very artist friendly.”

“I modeled them after agreements I’ve used for other emerging artists. Full creative control, fair compensation, future rights protection.” He shifted in his chair. “I wanted to ensure they’re protected while still meeting the Benefield’s needs.”

I nodded, making more notes. “Tyson will appreciate that. He’s adamant about treating the artists well.”

“Tyson seems adamant about a lot of things.” Marcus’s tone carried an edge. “Including how the project is managed.”

I looked up, catching his meaning. “He built this empire from nothing. He’s earned the right to have high standards.”

“Of course,” Marcus studied me. “You defend him quickly.”

“I state facts quickly. There’s a difference.”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Fair enough. Though I must admit, I’m curious about something.”

“What’s that?”

“Why haven’t you answered about that second date?”

My pen stilled on the contract. “Marcus...”

“Is it because of him?”

“It’s complicated.”

“It doesn’t have to be.” He sat forward. “I like you, Autumn. I think we could be good together. Simple, straightforward.”

“You’re right - it could be simple,” I met his eyes. “Which is why I need to be honest with you. You’re an incredible man, Marcus. Any woman would be lucky to have you. But my heart isn’t available. So unless you want to be friends, I’m unsure where a second date would take us.”

He nodded slowly. “I suspected as much, but a man can hope, can’t he?” A small smile touched his lips.

“I suppose so. What exactly were you hoping for?”

“Something more than friendship. And I still do. It’s okay if your heart is not available now. Who knows what the future holds?”

I stared at him and tried to figure out how to let him know that my heart would never be available to him. But was that true? Sure, something was going on beyond the scope of friendship between me and Tyson that needed to be addressed. But that certainly didn’t mean my heart would never be available to others. Tyson and I had yet to confirm or deny anything. Maybe I was getting ahead of myself. And with that in mind, I smiled, nodded, and didn’t offer a rebuttal.

Marcus gathered the contracts with careful movements, stood, and adjusted his cuffs. “I’ll have my team revise these contracts and send them over tomorrow. We should still work together on this - the artists deserve our best efforts.”

“I’d like that.” I walked him to the door. “Thank you for understanding.”

After Marcus left, I returned to the pile of work on my desk, but Denise’s artwork kept drawing my attention. Her pieces deserved careful consideration for placement in the Benefield. I checked my watch—it was just past four. I could head over to the building and start mapping out where each piece might go.

My phone buzzed with a text.

Tyson: “I’m working late at the building tonight and need your help with some things. Are you available?”

My pulse quickened as I typed back: “I plan to come by. I need to work on placement for Denise’s pieces.

Tyson: “Great minds. I’ll bring dinner.”

I gathered Denise’s portfolio and my notes, trying to focus on the professional aspects of the evening ahead. But my mind kept drifting to Sunday night, to that kiss, to the way Tyson’s hands had felt on my body.

I told myself tonight would be about work, about the project, and about the artists who counted on us.

But as I packed my bag, I let my hair down from its tight bun and reapplied my lipstick internally, hoping for more.