Chapter 6

Chapter Six

C ooper stood outside the gallery, admiring the wide windows, cream rendered walls, and green fretwork. He'd checked out this site many times over the last few months, even though his dad had been handling the acquisition, and each time Cooper had been more intent on assessing the gallery's street position and how the space could be developed than aesthetics.

Colour by Dreams.

Nice name. A name depicting hope and imagination and creativity.

Shame he had to tear it all down.

He'd never had qualms in the business arena before, no point starting now, even if the gallery's owner had piqued his interest.

He pushed through the front door, dodging the ridiculous wind chimes signalling his entry, and hoped Ariel was in a receptive mood. He had to tell her the truth before this farce went any further. Lying didn't sit well with him and he'd always been scrupulously honest in past deals.

Though where had that got him? Bound to his father with the same ironclad contract all Vance employees signed, trying to be the best he could and now chaffing to escape the tyrant's clutches.

"Hi, you're right on time." Ariel strolled into the gallery from the back studio, having little trouble with the silly beads dividing the rooms, and he faltered, staggered by the power of her smile and the cheeky glint in her sparkling eyes.

Tonight, she wore a white ruffled shirt, a plum crushed velvet vest, black pleated shorts, and pink wedges that made her legs look impossibly long. A crazy ensemble that would've appeared ridiculous on any other woman but on Ariel it looked like haute couture. She wore her clothes with aplomb, and he smiled, thinking an eye patch wouldn't have looked out of place with her rakish pirate outfit.

"Something funny?"

"No, just admiring what you're wearing."

She blushed, the hint of pink accentuating the green of her eyes and the rich gold of her hair, which she wore in a high ponytail.

With her straightforward manner and sassy mouth, he didn't think she'd be prone to blushing.

"You like my taste in clothes?" Her eyebrows arched. "I find that hard to believe. Anyway, enough of the chit-chat. Let's get started."

Hell. This was going to be harder than he thought.

He cleared his throat. "Actually, that's what I want to talk to you about."

"Give me a break." She rolled her eyes, perched on a stool behind the counter, and rested her chin in her hands. "Don't you think we moved past the whole virginal act last night?"

Cooper stared at her, torn between wanting to laugh out loud and call her bluff. Every time he tried to tell her the truth, she either interrupted him or shot him down with some smart-ass remark.

He'd give it one more shot. If she wouldn't listen, he'd shelve his good intentions and use tonight as one last opportunity to get some inside info on the opposition before approaching her with his plans for the gallery.

And when the time came, he wouldn't take no for an answer, no matter how cute the word sounded coming out of her sweet mouth.

"I think you should know more about me, listen to what I have to say, then—"

"Nope. Sorry. No can do." She stood quickly, her ponytail bouncing like a jaunty flag amidships. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but I'm not interested in getting to know you. I'm not interested in you period. You're here in a work capacity and that's it. You sit, I paint. End of story."

She flounced past him, the same weird, intoxicating scent of jasmine and oranges as enticing as the rest of her wafting over him, and locked the front door.

End of story, huh?

Fine.

If Miss Bossy-Boots wouldn't give him a chance to explain, he'd take what he could from tonight and try the professional approach in the morning.

"On the contrary, this story is just beginning," he murmured, following her into the studio with an extra spring to his step.