Page 10 of The CEO's Obsession

I chuckle, feeling lighter than I have in days. "I never do."

Harper rolls her eyes, but there's a hint of a smile on her lips. "So, what now?" she asks, crossing her arms.

I take a step back, giving her some space. "Now, we celebrate. How about dinner? I know a great place downtown."

She hesitates, and I can see the wheels turning in her head. "I don't know..."

"Come on," I coax, "it's just dinner.”

Harper's eyes narrow, but I catch a glimmer of interest. "Just dinner? No strings attached?"

I hold up my hands. "Scout's honor. Though I was never actually a scout."

She snorts, some of the tension easing from her shoulders. "Fine. But I'm not changing out of these paint-splattered overalls, so nowhere billionaire fancy-like."

"Wouldn't dream of asking you to," I say, drinking in the sight of her. Even covered in paint, she's the most captivating woman I've ever seen.

We head to my car, and I catch Harper's low whistle as she takes in the sleek lines of my Aston Martin. I open the passenger door for her, savoring her proximity as she slides into the leather seat.

The drive to downtown Oakwood is charged with an electric tension. I'm hyper-aware of Harper's every movement, the way she fidgets with the hem of her overalls, how her eyes dart to me and then away.

I pull up to a low-key bistro, its warm glow spilling onto the cobblestone sidewalk. Harper raises an eyebrow.

"Thought you'd appreciate somewhere a little more laid-back," I explain as we step inside. The scent of garlic and herbs envelops us, and I notice Harper visibly relax.

We're seated at a cozy corner table, candlelight flickering between us. Harper studies the menu intently, her brow furrowed in concentration. I can't take my eyes off her.

“What?” she asks when she catches me staring at her.

I clear my throat, caught off guard. "Nothing. Just...you look beautiful in this light."

Harper rolls her eyes, but I catch the hint of a blush on her cheeks. "Smooth talker," she mutters, hiding behind her menu.

Our waiter arrives, and we order—a rich pasta dish for Harper, steak for me. As we wait for our food, an awkward silence settles between us.

"So," Harper says finally, fiddling with her napkin. "Tell me more about this...investment you want to make in my art."

I lean forward, my eyes lighting up with enthusiasm. "Harper, I want you to focus on what you do best—creating breathtaking art. Imagine waking up every morning and your only concern is what to paint next."

I gesture expansively, painting a picture with my words. "You'll have a studio stocked with the finest supplies—canvases stretched to your exact specifications, brushes that feel like extensions of your hand, and paints in every shade imaginable. When you're running low, you just send a text, and within hours, a fresh shipment arrives at your door."

Harper's eyes widen, a mix of longing and disbelief flickering across her face. I press on, my voice low and intense. "But it's not just about the supplies. I have connections in the art world—gallery owners, critics, collectors. I'll set up exhibits in the most prestigious venues in Oakwood and beyond. Your work will be seen by the right people, people who can truly appreciate your talent."

I reach across the table, my fingers brushing against hers. She doesn't pull away. "You won't have to deal with the business side of things—no haggling over prices, no chasing down payments. I'll handle all of that. You'll be free to pour your heart and soul into your art without worrying about making rent or buying groceries."

Harper's breathing quickens, and I can see the wheels turning in her mind. "It sounds...incredible," she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. "But it also sounds too good to be true. What's the catch?"

I shake my head, my gaze never leaving hers. "No catch, Harper. I believe in your talent, and I want to see it flourish. All I ask is that you give yourself fully to your art. Push your boundaries, explore new techniques, create without fear or hesitation."

She bites her lip, considering. "And...us? What about...this?" She gestures between us, the unspoken attraction crackling in the air.

I take a deep breath, choosing my words carefully. "That's entirely up to you, Harper. My support for your art isn't conditional on anything between us. If all you want is a professional relationship, that's what we'll have. But I won't lie—I'm drawn to you in a way I can't explain. If you feel even a fraction of what I feel..." I sit back and clear my throat, “Well, in any case, I hope you’ll want to have dinner with me every now and then at least.”

I trail off, leaving the possibility hanging in the air between us. Harper's cheeks flush, and she looks down at our still-touching hands. "I...I need time to think about all this," she says finally.

I nod, understanding. "Take all the time you need. I'm not going anywhere."

As our food arrives, the conversation shifts to lighter topics, but the weight of possibility hangs heavy in the air. I watch Harper as she laughs at one of my jokes, her eyes sparkling in the candlelight, and I know I'd do anything to keep that smile on her face.

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