Page 4 of Fake Dating My Billionaire Boss

“Wow. I mean… Thank you. That’s… wow.”

Ugh. If I could speak English, that’d be great.

Again, Maxine graciously overlooks my awkwardness. “Your paintings have a lovely whimsical quality to them. It’s clear to me you’ve intentionally developed your style over the years. Impressionism at its roots, but with your ownflavor, if you know what I mean. It’s rare to see that in a young artist. Most waffle a bit, for the first half of their careers. I find that usually,true, unique style doesn’t show up until an artist turns fifty, even sixty. And yet with you…hm. You’re different. You’re not quite thirty, is that right?”

“I’ll turn thirty on October 26th.” I clear my throat and try to summon some courage. For the past half hour, ever since I sat down, I haven’t been able to trust my vocal cords. On a few occasions, literal mouse sounds came out instead of words. “I—I hope this doesn’t sound crazy, but for years I’ve focused on one goal.” “And that is…?”

“A show at your gallery. Before my thirtieth birthday.”

She chuckles.

It’s not exactly the response I hoped for. I feel my cheeks start to burn, and I stuff a spinach leaf in my mouth in an attempt to look as though I’m not dying inside. She shakes her head. “I’m sorry to laugh. I see you’re serious about this. You’re a go-getter. I only laugh because it’s bewildering, how much you remind me of myself when I was young and finding my way. My big break happened at a gallery on West 24th Street, you know. Overnight, everything changed. One day, I could barely get anyone to take a second look at my work, and the next thing I knew the Met was hounding me, asking when I could get new pieces to them for display.”

I almost drool onto my salad plate.That. I wantthat.

She chuckles again. “I can see you’re hoping for the same sort of transformation. And you have paid your dues…”

Suddenly, she sets down her fork, tents her fingers, and narrows her eyes. Friendly Maxine is gone, and in her place, I see a savvy gallery owner who knows what it takes to run a business in this competitive city. “Let me put it to you straight, Bella. I like your paintings. I do. And I have an opening this October—the second half of the month. I’m looking for a new, rising talent to feature, and I’m almost convinced that you’re the perfect fit. Almost.”

I gulp. “What… er, what’s holding you back?”

“Your portfolio… It’s missing something.”

As I wait for her to go on, my stomach performs gymnastic moves I didn’t know it was capable of. Flips. Flops. Summersaults.

A knot forms in my throat.

What does she mean, my portfolio is ‘missing something.’ What is it missing?

The silence stretches between us for a long minute as Maxine chooses her words.

Finally, she says, “A focal piece. That’s what’s missing. A painting that showcases your unique style and ties all of your works together. Apièce de résistance,if you will. I’m thinking… a large painting. Twice the size of anything you’ve done. A landscape, of course. Water, trees, that magical sky you’re earning yourself such a name for. I’ll leave the rest up to you. What do you think? Can you manage that?”

I stare wide-eyed at her. I know I must look weird with my eyes bugged out like this, but I can’t help it. I can’t blink.

If I create one more landscape, she’ll actually hang my paintings—mypaintings! —in her world-famous gallery.

She waits patiently while I gather myself.

I feel my lashes flutter. I reach for my water glass to soothe my parched throat. All the tension I’ve been coping with gives way to a rushing excitement. “Yes,” I say, nodding numbly. “Yes, I can definitely do that.”

She nods. “Good. That’s settled. I’ll tentatively put you in the books for the third and fourth weeks of October. We can touch base later this summer to confirm. That will give you enough time to get that final painting underway. Now, what do you say we put business aside and enjoy our meal? Have you eaten here before?”

I’m an idiot,I realize, as I watch Maxine hail a cab. I’m standing on the sidewalk, hugging my cardigan-clad arms, mentally kicking myself.

It’s been two hours since I made that foolish promise to Maxine:“Yes, I can definitely do that.”Definitely.

Why did I have to throw in definitely?

Maxine waves at me from within a cab before it whisks her away, and I’m left on my own out in front of the restaurant.

I head north, only vaguely aware that I’m walking. Inside, I’m running through every dumb word that escaped my lips throughout dinner. It’s half past eight, and the sky has turned purplish-blue. The first stars are poking out.

I turn a corner, totally lost in thought.How on earth am I going to create the painting I just promised to Maxine?

I agreed so readily.

So eagerly.

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