Page 17 of The Charmer

“I’d love a coffee,” he said, dwarfing everything in the tiny kitchenette of her studio.

“Herbal tea is better for you,” Ariel said.

“I’ll stick with coffee, thanks.”

“Suit yourself,” she said, bustling around the kitchen and prepping their drinks before handing him a steaming mug of decaf he’d requested, knowing he’d find it lacking. He looked like a double espresso hold-the-milk-and-sugar type of guy to her. “Speaking of which, you’re looking a lot more uptight in that suit than the other night. What were you trying to do then, con the crazy artist in your slumming clothes?”

His mouth twitched. “I happen to live in jeans and T-shirts outside the office.”

“And?”

“And I thought you wouldn’t be as intimidated if I turned up dressed casual.”

Ariel grinned. The guy was sneaky. And sexy, way too sexy.

“You better be careful, Mr.Big Shot. That’s the second time in half an hour you’ve sounded honest. Didn’t think your type had it in you.”

“If you’re trying to bait me, forget it. I’ve got a thick skin.” His laconic grin did crazy things to her pulse. “Comes with taking off my clothes for perverted women posing as artists.”

So he had a sense of humour. She refused to be charmed. Besides, he’d need to see the funny side when she knocked his business proposal for the gallery on its head.

“The human body is a work of art,” she said. “I can’t help it if your head is filled with taking over buildings and ruining people’s lives rather than appreciating the finer things in life like I do.”

She kept her tone light, enjoying trading banter with someone who could match her even though her quip held a barb of truth. She would never understand how he could barge into businesses and turn them upside down with scant regard for the little people. Sure, he probably justified his actions with money, but that’s all a successful guy like him understood.

“Have you ever considered I improve people’s lives rather than ruin them?” He took a sip of coffee and grimaced, hiding his distaste behind a discreet cough.

“Whatever lets you sleep at night.”

She drained her cup of peppermint tea and peered into the bottom, a silly old habit considering she’d switched to bags and didn’t use loose leaves any more. Too bad, considering she could use a bit of forecasting right now: like how the portrait would turn out, would she keep the gallery, would she be able to keep her interest in the model purely professional.

“Would you like a refill before we get down to business and establish a few ground rules?”

“No thanks.”

He beat a hasty path to the sink where he rinsed his mug in record time as Ariel followed, chuckling softly. He thought she’d assume he was being super helpful but she knew better; she’d seen his three-quarters full mug and what better way to surreptitiously tip the whole lot down the sink than pretend to wash? As suspected, he wasn’t a decaf guy.

“What’s this about ground rules?”

She waited until he moved away from the sink before rinsing her mug. She’d jokingly called him a big shot but Cooper was just that, big in every way. It was more than a size thing though, something about his supreme confidence, his imposing aura, the way he carried himself.

Usually, guys like him intimidated her but Cooper had an innate kindness she sensed, an indefinable quality that drew him to her even if she kicked and screamed all the way.

Drying her hands on a tea towel, she resisted the urge to flick it at his butt as he turned away and walked out of the kitchenette. Jeez, what was it about this guy that brought out her impish side?

The funny thing was, now they’d established where things were going and she’d get her way with the portrait, she couldn’t stop teasing him and trying to get him to loosen up.

“Would you like to take a seat and we can discuss this?”

He shook his head and glanced at his watch. “Can we make this snappy? I’ve already been here longer than anticipated.”

So much for teasing and lightening up.

“Fine. I just wanted to make sure we both understand the time involved in our trade. I probably need you to sit for another four sessions, about an hour each. How long will your pitch take?”

“Around two, but that’s fine. When I make a deal, I stick to it.”

He folded his arms, the fingers on his right hand drumming against his left bicep. If he started tapping his feet, whistling and staring at the ceiling in impatience, she wouldn’t have been surprised. The guy switched from light banter to cold indifference in a flash. The decaf must’ve really irked.

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