Page 20 of The Charmer

His reaction to the beautiful artist was definitely a problem, a major one.

He had no qualms about her focussing on the business side of the deal he proposed but the million dollar question was, could he?

Chapter Fourteen

Ariel snuggled into the comfy armchair, loving the homely ambience of The Cypress Tree. The new owners had done wonders with the place and she wasn’t surprised to see it packed on a Friday night.

“What’ll you have?”

“I’ll have a decaf skinny soy turmeric latte, please.”

Cooper stared at her in disbelief. “You’re kidding, right? Tell me that’s not a real drink.”

Ariel chuckled. “To a boring, strong black, caffeine-swilling coffee hick like you, I guess not.”

Shaking his head, Cooper placed their order with a waitress sporting a magenta Mohawk and enough facial piercings to keep the local silversmiths in business for the next decade. Though the punk hairstyle didn’t do much for her, Ariel admired the teenager’s gold lame hot-pants and wanted to ask her which boutique she frequented.

“At the risk of sounding like the hick you just accused me of, is it fancy dress night at this place?”

Ariel grinned, knowing exactly what he meant, but wanting to tease him a little. “Why would you say that?”

Cooper’s gaze traversed the cosy café, his eyes growing wider by the minute. “For starters, there’s a guy over there wearing cow-print leather pants and a red vest with nothing underneath. Then there’s another guy wearing orange leather chaps over denim shorts. Throw in the overabundance of black spandex, gold sequins, and silver metallic objects protruding from every body part imaginable, do you blame me for asking?”

Ariel shrugged, saddened by the huge gulf between them. They really were from opposite ends of the planet in every way: their tastes, their occupations, their thinking.

Yet she still found him attractive. Go figure?

Damn hormones.

“I don’t blame you for asking. I’m not surprised a big shot like you wouldn’t know about a cultural hub like Brunswick Street. Take another look around.”

She swept her hand wide in an all-encompassing gesture. “This place is where it’s at. Hip, funky, and brimming with life. If you took a walk up the street and actually looked into the buildings rather than dreaming about tearing them down, you’d see a hundred places like this. Jazz bars, tapas bars, Latin American clubs, comedy clubs, and restaurants from all around the world. It’s a metropolis of incredible contrasts and I love it.”

“You really think I’m some sort of ruthless cretin, don’t you?”

He spoke softly and she had to lean forward to hear him over the din of chattering patrons and Spanish guitar music.

Thankfully, the waitress arrived at that moment and deposited two, enormous steaming mugs in front of them, giving her time to phrase her answer carefully. She wanted to be honest, but something about his watchful, brooding expression told her now wasn’t the time to be too brutal.

“Look, I have this habit of being blunt. You know, honesty is the best policy and all that. Guess I just realised exactly how different we are.”

Ariel picked up her latte and took a huge sip, scalding or not. There was honesty and there was honesty and from what she’d just said, he might assume she was interested in him. If she burned her tongue on the hot coffee, it mightn’t be a bad thing. She might actually shut up for two seconds.

“You got that right,” he said, a speculative gleam in his eyes.

Great. The guy wasn’t stupid and he’d picked up on her interest just as she’d suspected.

“One more session should see us done,” she said, gratefully hiding behind her latte mug.

“Make that two sessions.”

“Pardon?”

“One for you, one for me. My business proposal, remember? That one tiny detail you seem to have forgotten?”

“Oh, that. You’re right, minor details.” She smiled, showing she intended no malice. “Maybe I’ll be too exhausted after finishing the portrait to hear what you’ve got to say.”

“And maybe I’ll spread nasty rumours about the artist getting up close and personal with her model.”

---