Page 7 of Crimson Sin
Charlotte stares at me, stunned. Then she blinks, reaches for her wine, and takes a long sip. Her blue eyes are wide, processing what I've just told her.
“That's not a date, Naomi. That's a plot twist.”
“I know,” I whisper, chewing on my bottom lip.
“And you're seriously considering it?”
“I don't know.” I run a hand through my hair, letting it fall from the bun. It tumbles down my shoulders in auburn waves, and I twist a strand around my finger nervously. “That amount of money would change everything. I could finally prove I'm more than just an intern. I could make Dad proud. But it's also completely insane. Who even makes an offer like that after one meeting?”
Charlotte studies me, the playful sparkle in her eyes giving way to something softer. She sets her wine glass on the coffee table and turns to face me fully, crossing her legs beneath her.
“You've worked your entire life for this. You've sacrificed, begged, borrowed, poured every ounce of yourself into this exhibit. Don't act like this isn't fate knocking.”
“It feels more like temptation,” I murmur.
She shrugs. “Sometimes they're the same thing.”
I rise and begin to pace the living room, weaving between the coffee table and bookshelf. Every step echoes the turmoil in my chest. My mind keeps circling back to the way Daniil looked at me, like I was a riddle that caught him off guard, one he found amusing yet captivating. But there was something darker in his gaze, too, that made my pulse quicken.
“It just feels too good to be true. What if there's a catch?” I wonder aloud.
“Of course there's a catch. There's always a catch. But you're smart. Ask the right questions. Get it in writing.”
I stop pacing and turn to her. “He already gave me his card. It's real. The company's real.”
Charlotte raises a brow. “Then maybe he's just a crazy rich guy that doesn’t want to get attached to anyone and would rather pay you to pretend for a weekend. And you're a brilliant woman with a dream. Sounds like mutually beneficial crazy to me.”
The memory of my father's face when I told him about the museum internship floods back. The pride in his eyes, the way he smiled despite the exhaustion that never seemed to leave him. He worked double shifts for years to pay for my education, never complaining, never making me feel guilty for choosing a field that didn't promise financial security.
“It's not just the money. It's about proving something. That I belong in this field. That my father's sacrifices weren't in vain. He worked himself into the ground so I could get to this point. I can't throw it away because I'm scared.”
“Then don't.” Charlotte reaches for her wine again, taking a thoughtful sip. “Tell me about him. What was he like?”
I sink back onto the couch, pulling a throw pillow into my lap. “Intimidating. Controlled. He has this way of speaking that makes you feel like every word is carefully chosen.” I pause, searching for the right words. “But when I was talking about the exhibit, he listened. Really listened. Like what I was saying actually mattered to him.”
“And he's attractive?”
Heat climbs my neck. “That's not relevant.”
“The blush on your face suggests otherwise,” Charlotte smirks.
I groan and bury my face in the pillow. “He's gorgeous, okay? Like, stupidly gorgeous. Tall, dark hair, these incredible eyes. The whole dangerous but sophisticated thing. Happy?”
Charlotte grins. “Very. Continue.”
“There's something about him that feels dangerous. Not in a scary way, but in a way that makes you want to do things you normally wouldn't. Like he could convince you to jump off a cliff just by asking nicely.”
“Sounds like my perfect man,” Charlotte winks.
“Charlotte.”
“What?” she shrugs innocently. “I'm just stating that you clearly have a type.”
I throw the pillow at her. “I don't have a type.”
“Honey, you've been attracted to exactly three men in your entire life. Your high school boyfriend who rode a motorcycle, that grad student who got kicked out for hacking the university's database, and now a mysterious businessman who bribes people with rolls of cash. You absolutely have a type.”
I open my mouth to argue, then close it. She's not wrong.
