Page 7 of Christmas With A Billionaire

The gesture shouldn’t have made my stomach flip, but it did. When was the last time someone had given me their undivided attention without business or friendship getting in the way?

Our food arrived on a large platter lined with injera bread. Marcus showed me how to tear off pieces and scoop up the various stews and vegetables.

“The key is to use your right hand,” he demonstrated. “Like this.”

“My mother would be horrified.” I mimicked his technique. “She spent years drilling proper table manners into me.”

“Diana Williams and her etiquette lessons.” At my surprised look, he smiled. “Small world. She helped organize that charity auction I worked on last spring.”

“The one for youth arts programs?”

“Exactly. Now I know where you get your passion for art education.”

“Tell me about this young artist you helped,” I said, reaching for my wine. “The intellectual property case.”

“Denise Jordan. Eighteen years old, painting murals that’ll take your breath away.” Marcus set down his fork, passion lighting his face. “She created this series about growing up on the South Side - raw, powerful pieces. Then a corporation used her work in advertising without permission or credit.”

“What did you do?”

“Filed a cease and desist, negotiated fair compensation. But that wasn’t the best part. I helped her draft her first licensing agreement. Now she’s got murals commissioned all over Chicago, making real money from her art.”

“I’d love to see her work.”

“She’s got a piece over on 63rd Street. I could show you sometime.” His eyes met mine. “What about you? Tell me about your first exhibition.”

“I was fresh out of college and convinced I knew everything.” I laughed at the memory. “I wanted to showcase artists who’d never been in galleries before. My mother thought I was crazy.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I picked five artists who worked in unconventional mediums. One created sculptures from demolished building materials. Another made installations using old vinyl records and cassette tapes.”

“How’d it turn out?”

“On opening night, nobody showed up for the first hour. I stood there in my new dress, trying not to cry.” I shook my head.“Then this group of art students came in. They started talking about the pieces and asking questions. By the end of the night, we’d sold three major works.”

“That must have felt amazing.”

“It taught me to trust my instincts. That sometimes the best art comes from unexpected places.” I took another bite of food. “Like this restaurant - I would have never found it on my own.”

“My grandmother introduced me to Ethiopian food.” His expression softened. “She raised me after my parents died. She used to say food was the best way to understand other cultures.”

“She sounds wise.”

“She was. She taught third grade for forty years and believed education could change the world.” A server refilled my water glass, then bustled away. “That’s why I do the pro bono work. Art, education, community development - it all connects.”

“Is that what made you choose law?”

“Originally? I wanted to make money.” His honesty surprised me. “I grew up without much and thought success meant a big salary and a corner office.”

“What changed?”

“My first year at the firm, I took this case pro bono - an arts program fighting eviction from their building. Watching those kids perform in their saved space,” he shook his head. “It made me realize money is good, but purpose is better.”

“That’s beautiful, Marcus.”

“Yeah?” His smile turned playful. “Most women find corporate law pretty boring.”

“Most women haven’t spent their lives fighting for arts funding.” I raised my glass. “To purpose over profit.”

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