Page 35 of The Charmer

She’d been wrong.

About everything.

Including her warped feelings that she might actually like this guy, and once she knocked back his stupid business proposal, they might actually have a chance at being more than friends.

Right now, even friends seemed out of the question, and it hurt more than it should.

“What else do you see?” She urged, giving him one last chance to show her he understood where she was coming from, where she was going.

“Tiny kitchenette, elephant lamps, candles, art magazines.” He turned to her, his expectant expression like a pupil expecting praise from a teacher.

Praise? In his case, he’d just scored a big, fat F.

“You would see that,” she muttered, turning away from him and crossing the room so he wouldn’t see the sudden tears filling her eyes.

She never cried, yet the harder she blinked them away, the more tears swelled in her eyes until they overflowed and ran down her cheeks in pitiful rivulets.

“I’m not sure I understand.”

Thankfully, Cooper’s voice came from near the windows indicating he hadn’t moved.

She didn’t want him to see her like this.

She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“I didn’t think you would,” she murmured, holding back the sobs that threatened. “Just go. Leave the proposal. I’ll consider it and get back to you.”

“But I need an answer—”

“I don’t care what you need. Please leave and lock the door behind you.”

Her voice quavered and she bit down on her bottom lip, hating him for making her feel this vulnerable, this weak.

“I’ll call you,” he said, his footsteps echoing on the polished boards as he left the studio, the soft tinkling of the wind chimes an eerie signal to his departure.

“Don’t bother,” she muttered, dashing an angry hand across her eyes only to find the tears falling faster than before.

Furious at Cooper, furious at her useless tears, and furious at her inability to see a clear way out of this mess, she marched into the kitchen and flicked on the kettle.

A cup of chamomile tea might not soothe her seething soul but it would go a long way to erasing the awful chill that had seeped into her bones at the thought she might lose this place.

And that Cooper didn’t give a damn.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Cooper 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.

---