Page 34 of The Charmer

He didn’t return her smile. In fact, he didn’t do much of anything. His face appeared carved out of granite, his blue eyes cold and flat like Port Phillip Bay on a frigid winter’s day.

She’d known he had this side to him. This was probably the real Cooper and the nice side he’d been showing her had been part of his elaborate plan to loosen her up in preparation for this day.

She’d been a fool.

But then again, what had she lost apart from a few nights’ sleep while dreaming the most amazing, erotic dreams of her life over a model with a body to die for and an artist who’d turned to sculpting and had her hands all over him?

“So you want the basics?” He asked, his expression grim.

“Uh-huh.”

“Okay.” He laid down his hefty sheaf of papers on the coffee table in front of them and turned to face her, those chilly, lifeless eyes scaring her more than the pitch she didn’t want to hear.

“This gallery is on land that is leased and that lease is coming up for renewal shortly. Apparently, Barbara Vann, who signed the original lease, signed it for twenty-five years and in doing so, effectively gave you control after she passed away.”

He took a quick breath and continued. “You have refused previous offers to vacate the property but it will be in your best interest to consider accepting the offer I’ve set out in the documentation. Otherwise, once the lease runs out, you may find you have no option but to leave with nothing, as the council can re-lease or sell to anyone they please.”

Ariel stared at Cooper in growing horror, hearing every cold, callous word he uttered, wishing she didn’t understand. However, she did, all too well.

She’d known about the lease being up for renewal shortly but she’d assumed the council would be happy to renegotiate with her. After all, she was a good tenant. She paid her rent on time—mostly. She didn’t cause trouble—apart from that one, tiny fire in the storeroom that technically wasn’t her fault.

Besides, the council always supported local ventures, encouraging the alternative, hip vibe that made Brunswick Street unique. Big Shot Cooper was just trying to scare her into giving him what he wanted and she wouldn’t budge.

She would continue to make Colour by Dreams one of Melbourne’s most prominent galleries—if she scraped up enough money over the next few months to pay her skyrocketing overheads—and face the lease renewal when it came up.

“By that horrified look on your face, I’m guessing you’re not too keen on the idea.”

Ariel tucked her legs tighter and folded her arms, inadequate defence mechanisms against the onslaught of trouble she faced. “Your powers of deduction are amazing. I’m not surprised you’re such a shark.”

“Don’t.” Cooper stood abruptly and strode to a window, his gaze fixed on some faraway spot, though what he found so intriguing about the run-down fence, the back neighbour’s rusted chimney flue, or the pile of old easels, she’d never know.

“Don’t what? Call it how it is? Throw in a little sarcasm to lighten the mood?” She unfolded her legs in one, smooth movement and stood, joining him at the window to gaze out at the tiny, square patch of backyard, the same patch she’d curled up in eighteen years earlier on that freezing winter’s night when she’d been so famished, so light-headed, she hadn’t been able to take another step. “Come on, you’ve had your fun, let me have mine.”

“This is a business proposal. It’s not personal,” he said, not turning to acknowledge her, not moving a muscle.

Not personal? She could happily punch him in the nose for that. Everything about this low deal was personal.

Taking away her home? Personal.

Ruining her dreams? Personal.

Making her break a promise to the one woman who had taken a chance on her? Personal.

Destroying her plans to continue Barb’s work in fostering local talent and helping street kids like she’d once been? Personal, personal, personal.

Whirling to face him, she grabbed hold of his arm, forcing him to look at her. “You don’t get it, do you? Look around. Tell me what you see.”

She finally got a reaction out of him, a tiny frown indenting his forehead.

“Do it,” she said, tugging on his arm when he didn’t move. “Go on, describe what you see.”

After a long pause, he turned to face the studio and she released his arm, determinedly ignoring the heat scorching her palm.

“I see a large room. Polished floorboards. Two red sofas. Sparkly cushions. Heaps of art stuff. Curtains made of a fancy material.”

His flat, deadpan voice suited his flat, deadpan description perfectly and her heart sank further.

She’d known they were worlds apart with little common ground, but she’d hoped he might have developed some aesthetic sense over the last few weeks, some idea of what how she felt about this place.

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