My Secret Master (A Dark Billionaire Romance) (3 page)

“You're saying that like I should. No, I don't have a clue. Why?”

“Well.” She tilted her head back, that mop of hair waving like there was a breeze in the room. “Here's the thing. I actually do recognize his name.”

“What?” I almost spilled my wine as I leaned forward. “Why didn't you say anything before?”

Shrugging, Veronica drained the last of her glass and pursed her lips. “I assumed you knew. Most folks around here do. Listen, it's sort of like... You know, you assume people know some names by default.”

Unless she was talking about Santa Clause, then no, I didn't know many names by 'default.' “Spill it. Who is he?”

Pouring out the last of the bottle, Veronica tapped the rim of her drink in thought. “He's majorly rich, but that's not how I know of him. Seth Hart is one of the biggest financial contributors to CCFA, and I work with a lot of people from there in this industry.”

“CCFA.” My heart skipped. “The California College of Fine Arts!?”

“Yeah, that's right. Why do you look so pale?”

Touching my cheek, I tried to slow down my brain. My thoughts were buzzing. “That's—that's the college I've been trying to get into.”

Veronica gaped at me. “I'm trying to be relaxed here, for your sake. But that's an insane coincidence, Naomi. Like, extremely insane.”

Hanging my head, I breathed out loudly. The scent of the alcohol was bothering me, making my stomach ripple with sourness. “I know it is.”

Is this just a coincidence? Fate?

What does it mean?

“No,” Veronica said. “You don't. Here, this is the part I was waiting to give up.” Digging into her pocket, she pulled out a crinkled card, offering it like it might bite. I reached for it just as reluctantly.

Turning it over, I realized it was a business card.

“Why did he give you this?” I asked.

“He wanted me to tell you to call him, he... he wanted to know if you took commissions.” Veronica hesitated, biting her lip. “I said I wasn't sure. He insisted I give you that, so you could reach him.”

I had a strong urge to throw the card away, but part of me was intrigued. “How long did you guys talk for?”

“Not long. I was busy, and he pretty much just handed me the bidding form and a blank check.” She laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. “You understand how much money you made tonight, right?” Veronica searched my dazed eyes, her tone softer. “You don't need to take his personal commission for more cash, is my point.”

I was still staring at the card. “Money aside, this guy might be my in. He'd be able to help me get past admissions at the college, if he has as much pull as it sounds.”

What would he want from me, though, in exchange?

Is this really about my art?

Veronica grabbed the empty bottle, standing with a groan as she cracked her back. “Well, this gallery is going to be done, now. Your stuff will stay up for the month, but you don't need to come here, since it's all sold. I can cut you your share, and then.” The wine bottle crashed loudly into the trash. “Then, I guess you can do whatever you like.”

Tucking the business card into my pocket, I stood as well, lost in my own head.

“Naomi.”

“Yeah?” I looked up to find the worried face of my new friend.
How fast, but yes, we did become friends.

“Just remember, you don't need to call him. You don't
need
to do anything, alright?”

Can I really just do nothing?
I wondered.

Frowning, I took one more look around the room, finally ending on the large piece, the one Seth had walked in on me painting last night.

My mind was a blur, considering all my options. There was potential in this venture for the one thing I really wanted.

It's another chance.
How many of those did life give us?

With a forced smile, I faced Veronica, holding out a hand. “Thank you, I'll keep in touch.”

When we shook, I noticed how hard Veronica was gripping me. Suddenly, it turned into a fierce hug, leaving us both breathless.

“Don't do anything dumb,” Veronica mumbled into my ear.

I wish I could have told her I wouldn't.

In the end, I said nothing.

****

F
or the third time, I lifted my cell phone, finger hovering over the buttons. Seth's card lay on the bed beside me, but I didn't need to look at it. By now, I'd managed to unintentionally ingrain his phone number into my mind.

Sighing, I lowered my cellphone, staring at the screen. It displayed the time, reminding me it was after ten at night. It gave me an easy out.
He's probably asleep. Also, who makes a business call this late?

My whole body and brain were vibrating; anxious, unable to relax. Veronica's warning, as if I could call it anything else, rumbled in my subconscious.

She's wrong, I DO need to do this. It's such an opportunity to get an upper hand, to get into that school.

Plus... I'd get to see Seth again.

That man had left an impression on me, even if I didn't want to admit it. He was crisp on the edges, a coolness with something far more wild beneath the surface of his cocky smirk.

The slow burn of intrigue in my belly had me clenching my thighs.

Once more, I lifted the phone.

The worse that happens, is he doesn't answer, and I leave a message.

I debated if maybe, just maybe, the worse that could happen was actually making the phone call at all.

No, he didn't seem dangerous. He bought all of my art, I have enough money now to stay out here for some time.

Is it crazy to want to find out how much he'd offer for a commission, and if he'd agree to assist me into CCFA?

Biting my lower lip, I typed out his number. Pressing the phone to my ear, I listened to the metallic ringing, preparing myself for what I would say to the machine.

On the second ring, the line 'clicked' and someone began speaking.

“Seth Hart, who's calling, please?”

The voice wasn't the familiar, rich baritone of the man I'd met so briefly. This was someone else, calm and almost flat—and not an answering machine. Confused, I cleared my throat. “Uh, hello, I'm looking for Seth.”

“Of course, but may I ask who's calling?”

Had I imagined the tart edge to that reply? “Sorry, this is Naomi Starling, he left me a message to—”

“Oh!” The person suddenly became very pleasant. “Yes, of course, one moment, I'll transfer you to his main line.”

A spark of indignation flared. With the effort Seth had made, buying everything and leaving his card, I thought he
had
given me his main phone number.

Veronica said he was pretty important. I guess he doesn't really know me, so filtering calls makes sense.

Was it fair of me to be insulted?

The line was silent, to the point that I wondered if I had been disconnected.
Seriously? Did I just get the cold shoulder?
Perhaps Seth wasn't as interested in my art as he had seemed. Had Veronica misunderstood?

I was too tired to deal with being given the runaround. My hand moved, ready to end the call.

“Hello, Ms. Starling?” When he spoke, it created a familiar thrill down my spine.

That's him!
Seth was on the line.

“Yes,” I said, tugging my hair nervously. “I mean, yes, it's me.”

“So you got my message.”

“Ah, yeah, Veronica gave it to me after the show.”

“It was a lovely gallery, your work was beautiful.” He made a sound, I couldn't tell if it was him breathing out or chuckling. “But, on topic, she told you about my offer?”

I shifted the phone to my other ear, reaching out to pick up his business card. Even with the crinkles in it from Veronica's pocket, the printed ink was sharp, immaculate. “She sort of did. According to her, you want a commission, but...”

“But?”

“But, you... did you really buy all of my art, for just yourself?” The words rushed free in a whirl as the shock finally caught up to me. “All of it? I have the check from Veronica. If this isn't a joke, I just... why do you want, or need, any more from me?”

There was a heavy silence. I opened my mouth, ready to apologize for my abrupt questions. Seth halted me with a low, throaty laugh that couldn't be confused for anything else. “Ms. Starling, slow down. Yes, I bought everything you had. Is it so wrong if I would enjoy
more
from you?”

His emphasis on the word 'more' made my tongue very dry. I realized I'd started crushing the business card in my hand. Dropping it, I wiped my palm on my leg, wondering what to say.
What does he really want from me, why does he like my work so much?

“Ms. Starling,” he said.

“Y—yes?”

“I can tell you're a little nervous. Please, just hear me out. I'm only offering you some work, after all, nothing more.”

“Nothing more?” I asked warily.

“What else could I offer?” I swore I could hear him smirk over the phone.

Swallowing, I began again. “There is something else you could offer me.”

His silence was uncomfortable, it turned my arm hairs into sharp prickles. Seconds later, he whispered, “What would you like from me, Ms. Starling?”

Dammit. Why was his voice so sexy?

I pushed my uncertainty away. I needed to push forward while I had the opportunity. “There's a college I'm trying to get into. You're apparently pretty important to them. I was hoping... maybe... that you could help get accepted.”

His sigh was languid, steamy. “I see. So you don't care about the money, so much as the prestige.”

I had no answer to that.

“Let's go with that desire of yours, then. You want something, something it seems only I can give you... and I would love to have a personal art piece created by your hands.”

Flooding with elation, I started nodding, even though he couldn't see it. “Oh, yes, that—”

“But,” he cut me off, “There is a slight twist.”

Oh god, what could that be?
With my heart throbbing, I mumbled the shakiest words ever. “What twist is that?”

“I don't want you to paint on canvas. I actually have a wall in my home I would like you to use it for your base.”

Crinkling the bridge of my nose, I parsed this information carefully. “You want me to paint inside your house?”

“Exactly. I have a section that is utterly too bland, I think your work would look amazing there.”

“I'd obviously have to come to your place to do this.” Swallowing, my pulse racing, I pressed on with my real question. “When I finish, you'd agree to help me?”

“Yes. I'll happily write a letter of recommendation to the CCFA dean for you, once the job is complete.” Seth hummed briefly. “I'll also buy you the materials for this mural, pay for your meals while you're here, send transportation, and anything else you might need during your visits. Does that sound fair?”

I dropped the phone, the device clanking from my bed to the floor. That was more than I imagined. He would get me into the college without a doubt.

A personal letter!

I heard a noise, and looking down, noticed my phone blinking. The distant sound was clearly Seth. Scrambling, I picked it up and heard the tail end of his sentence. “—alright, Ms. Starling?”

“Sorry, sorry, I uh, what was that last thing?”

“I asked if everything sounded alright? If so, I can send someone to pick you up tomorrow, and we can go over the contract.”

Looking around my small apartment, I noticed the crumpled rejection letter in the corner. I hadn't touched it since I'd thrown it away so angrily.

This is it, this is the break I've needed so badly.

“Yes,” I said with a stunned smile. “Yes, that sounds just perfect.”

****

I
'd been too excited to sleep well.

When the sun started rising, I gave up and rolled out of bed, landing gently on the hard floor. I ended up wandering around my small apartment, debating what to bring, how to dress, and even what shoes to wear.

He said he'd provide the supplies, I guess I don't need to bring much.

Tugging on a pair of tight jeans, as well as a comfortable purple top that walked the line between casual and fancy, I stood by the window. Seth had told me, before I had hung up, that he'd send a car over around nine in the morning.

Glancing at the clock on my stove, I shifted uneasily and leaned on the wall.
Any minute now, but how will I know what car is for me?

As if on cue, a vehicle that was far too fancy for the area rolled slowly around the corner. It was black, reminding me of a killer whale on the hunt. I didn't know much about cars, but I was wise enough to understand that this thing, whatever it was, had to cost a fortune.

Oh my god, it might as well be a limo.

When the driver stepped out, I noted his expensive outfit matched the car perfectly. He turned his shiny sunglasses up towards my window. I ducked out of sight, wincing.

This was too much. I was out of my element, and I hadn't even gotten
in
the car yet.

My phone buzzed, a text from a number I didn't recognize. It read, 'Your car has arrived, please go outside, Ms. Starling.'

So,
I mused,
Seth gave my number to his driver.

Hiding was impossible.

It was also pointless.

Frowning, I tucked my cell into my purse. Wandering down the steps, I caught one of my neighbors staring at me from their window. Blushing wildly, I quickened my pace.

Wonderful, I'll be the talk of the town.

Stepping into the early sunlight, I shielded myself from the blinding glint of the car. The driver waved, opening the back door as I approached. “Ms. Starling, after you,” the well dressed man said.

I recognized his voice; he had answered the phone last night when I first tried to call Seth.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, slipping inside. Settling on the expensive seat, I tested the plush material.
This is nicer than my whole apartment.

The driver shut his door, adjusting his mirror. Watching him, I said, “So you work for Seth, I assume?”
What a ridiculous question.

“Indeed.” He nodded, turning the wheel and inching the vehicle silently down the street. It was smooth, a well oiled machine in every sense. “I'm Mr. Hart's personal chauffeur, he usually sends me for his important clients.”