Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-Three

C ooper strode up Brunswick Street in desperate need of a caffeine fix, entering the first café at the end of the block, The Red Rocket .

Was there anything about this suburb that wasn't unique or designed to throw him into a spin?

From the minute he'd first set foot on this street he'd been slightly off-kilter and out of his depth, both foreign feelings that didn't sit well with him. He liked control, order, planning, and forward thinking. Instead, since he'd set his sights on acquiring Ariel's gallery, nothing had gone according to plan, particularly the conscience he'd suddenly grown.

The same conscience that now screamed he'd let Ariel down somehow, that he'd driven an irreversible wedge between them.

It hadn't been intentional. The proposal was business and he'd hoped that once the deal was behind them, she might be interested in catching up on a social level again.

Fat chance.

He could handle her teasing, her loaded barbs, and her occasional put down, but tears? No way.

The sound of her choked up voice and the glistening moisture on her cheeks had kicked him in the gut and sent him running out of the gallery, torn between wanting to comfort her and strangle her for making this deal more complicated than it had to be.

"What will you have?"

Cooper tried not to stare at the young guy taking his order but it was hard not to considering he sported enough metal studded through his face to construct a bridge and had a white stripe through his gothic black hair.

"Strong espresso, please."

"No worries. Coming right up."

He watched the guy saunter away, slashes in his denim jeans, a less-than-white cloth hanging out of his back pocket, and a black T-shirt featuring the café's logo, feeling way older than his thirty years.

He'd never considered himself overly conservative but spending time in this suburb made him feel ancient. Though this place wasn't too bad in the displacement stakes: brown vinyl booths, chrome modern chairs, plain wooden tables. The only eye-catching things in the café were the fire engine red menus and the metal-favouring staff.

"Here you go."

The waiter returned in record time and placed a tall, steaming espresso in front of Cooper. He inhaled, needing a jolt of caffeine steam to hot-wire his brain into coming up with a solution to the Ariel problem.

"Thanks," Cooper said, stirring two sugars into his coffee for added oomph and wondering why the waiter hadn't moved. "Is there something else?"

The waiter appeared nervous, the metal rod in his nose twitching. "Actually, there is. You look like a guy who'd appreciate art. Here, take a look at this."

He pulled a flyer from his back pocket—the opposite pocket to the one containing the dirty rag, thank goodness, and slapped it on the table. "This artist is awesome. She's having her first showing tomorrow and you should go. Tell all your friends."

Cooper glanced at the flyer as he took his first, welcome sip of coffee, almost snorting it out when he saw where the exhibition would be held.

‘Colour by Dreams, featuring Chelsea Lynch'.

The artist's name rang a bell but he couldn't quite place it immediately.

"It would be cool if you brought a heap of people. The artist really needs support."

"And who are you? Her PR manager?"

Cooper admired the young guy's push, wondering if he was a friend of Ariel's rather than the artist. It wouldn't surprise him in the least if she had a whole string of guys like this ready to promote and support her.

Look how she had him feeling.

The guy grinned, sheepish. "No, I'm Monty, her boyfriend. Chelsea is the best and I said I'd help her out by passing out some flyers to customers. Hope you don't mind?"

"After you brought me a coffee this good? No problem."

"You're cool for a business dude," Monty said, giving him some weird hand sign involving his index and little fingers pointing up with the rest of his fingers down, before slouching away to try his sales pitch on the next customer.

Cooper picked up the flyer and studied Chelsea Lynch's short bio: local girl who had grown up in Fitzroy, won a scholarship to study art, first showing sponsored by Colour by Dreams .

The last fact interested Cooper more than the rest. Why would Ariel sponsor another artist? Weren't gallery showings as rare as the last piece of prime developing land in this street?

From what he'd read, it took most artists years of hard slog and self promotion to obtain a showing, yet here was a young artist starting out being sponsored by a gallery?

Cooper drained the rest of his coffee, folded the flyer, and tucked it into his jacket pocket, hoping the old adage ‘out of sight, out of mind' might work. For some inexplicable reason, he felt like a big, bad bully for pushing the gallery deal and in the process, ruining the dreams of people like this new artist.

Not to mention ruining the dreams of another artist.

He had his own agendas, his own goals, but what if Ariel's dreams were just as important as his?

This is business…

No matter how many times he told himself it was only business, seeing Ariel's vulnerability had delivered a kick in the guts to his cool, aloof act he'd donned for the presentation.

She'd found a chink in his impenetrable armour and he didn't like it. Business was one thing, caring about the opposition another, and unfortunately, he'd grown to like the fiery artist with the zany dress sense.

Enough to forfeit your dream?

Shaking his head and wishing for a clear-cut solution to this new problematic development in his quest for success, he left payment for the coffee along with a hefty tip and headed for the door.

He didn't make it.

Ariel burst through the door and made a bee-line straight for him, and by her murderous expression it looked like her tears were a thing of the past and she'd rather skewer someone's head.

His.