Page 6 of The CEO's Obsession

My grip tightens on the strap of my bag, knuckles turning white. Why did I agree to this? A flutter of anticipation battles with the skepticism churning in my gut. I take a deep breath, willing my racing heart to slow. It's just a meeting, I remind myself. Nothing more.

But as I step further into the café, I can't help but notice how Mason commands attention without even trying. He's sitting in the corner, leaning back in his chair with an ease that makes it seem like he owns the place. Even in a simple henley and jeans, he exudes an air of authority that's impossible to ignore.

My steps falter for a moment, and I have to force myself to keep moving forward.Stay calm, Harper. He's just a guy.My heart, however, doesn't seem to get the message. It pounds harder with every step, a staccato rhythm that matches the tension creeping into my stride.

I lift my chin, determined not to let him see how much he affects me. As I approach his table, I can't help but notice how his intense gaze follows my every move. It's unnerving, like being caught in the crosshairs of a predator.

"Harper," he says, his voice a smooth rumble that sends an involuntary shiver down my spine. "I'm glad you could make it."

I slide into the seat across from him, forcing a polite smile onto my face. "Let's skip the pleasantries, shall we? Why did you really want to meet?"

My words come out sharper than I intended, but I don't regret them. I meet his gaze head-on, daring him to cut through the BS and get to the point.

A smirk plays at the corners of his mouth, and I have to resist the urge to roll my eyes. "Direct," he comments, leaning forward slightly. "It's one of the things I admire about you."

I arch an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Mason. What's this about?"

He pauses, studying me with those piercing eyes that seem to see right through me. The tension between us thickens, and I find myself holding my breath, waiting for his response.

"My proposition still stands," he finally says, his tone measured and deliberate.

My curiosity piques despite my better judgment, and I lean in slightly. "And what exactly does your proposition entail?" I ask, trying to sound nonchalant. Could I really take him up on his offer? I looked him up last night when I went home. The man definitely has power and influence. He could certainly put me and my art on the map.

But at what cost?

I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms as I process Mason's words. The Rustic Bean hums with quiet conversation around us, but it feels like we're in our own bubble, the air thick with possibility and tension.

Mason's eyes gleam with something I can't quite decipher. "I want to invest in your art, Harper. Give you the resources and connections to take your career to the next level."

My heart races at the thought, but I force myself to remain outwardly calm. "And what's in it for you?" I ask, because there's always a catch with men like Mason Blackwood.

He leans forward, his voice dropping to a low, intimate tone that sends an involuntary shiver down my spine. "Let's just say I have a vested interest in seeing you succeed."

I scoff, even as a part of me thrills at his words. "Right. Because billionaires are known for their philanthropy towards struggling artists."

"You're not just any artist," Mason counters, his gaze intense. "You have real talent, Harper. I want to see it recognized."

I bite my lip, torn between desire and suspicion. The offer is tempting—God, is it tempting—but I can't shake the feeling that there's more to this than Mason is letting on.

"And why would you do this?" I ask, my voice steadier than I feel.

Mason's eyes lock onto mine, and for a moment, I see something vulnerable flicker behind his confident facade. "Let's just say I have my reasons," he says softly.

I open my mouth to press further, but the words die on my lips as the implications of his offer truly sink in. This could change everything—my career, my life.

A faint smile plays at the corners of Mason's mouth as he leans back, his posture relaxed but his eyes never leaving mine. "Think of it as a partnership," he says, his voice smooth as silk.

I can't help the short, humorless laugh that escapes me. My fingers trace the worn edge of the table, a nervous habit I can't seem to shake. "Partnerships require trust, and we're not exactly there, are we? I barely even know you," I keep my tone cool, wrapping my words around me like armor. But beneath the surface, curiosity gnaws at me, persistent and undeniable.

What's his game? The question echoes in my mind as I study Mason's face, searching for any hint of deception. His eyes are unreadable, dark pools that seem to pull me in despite my best efforts to resist.

“Ah, so you want to get to know me?” He teases, and my face colors.

"That's not what I meant," I snap, but the heat rising in my cheeks betrays me. "I'm just saying, this whole thing seems too good to be true."

Mason leans in, his voice dropping to a low murmur that sends shivers down my spine. "Maybe it is. Or maybe you're just not used to good things happening to you."

I narrow my eyes, anger flaring in my chest. "Don't pretend you know anything about me or my life."

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