Mistress to the Tycoon Read online

  ‘You like my taste in clothes? I find that hard to believe. Anyway, enough of the chit-chat. Let’s get started.’

  Hell. This was going to be harder than he’d thought.

  He cleared his throat. ‘Actually, that’s what I want to talk to you about.’

  ‘Oh, brother!’ She rolled her eyes, plopped onto a stool behind the counter and rested her chin in her hands. ‘Don’t you think we moved past the whole virginal act last night?’

  Cooper stared at her, torn between wanting to laugh out loud and call her bluff. Every time he tried to tell her the truth, she either interrupted him or came at him with some smart-ass remark.

  He’d give it one more shot.

  If she wouldn’t listen, he’d shelve his good intentions and use tonight as one last opportunity to get some inside information on the opposition before approaching her with his plans for the gallery.

  And when the time came, he wouldn’t take no for an answer, however cute the word sounded coming out of her sweet mouth.

  ‘I think you should know more about me, listen to what I have to say—’

  ‘Nope. Sorry. No can do.’

  She jumped up from her stool, her ponytail bouncing like a jaunty flag amidships. ‘Please don’t take this the wrong way but I’m not interested in getting to know you. I’m not interested in you, period. You’re here in a work capacity and that’s it. You sit, I paint. End of story.’

  She flounced past him, the same weird, intoxicating scent of flowers and oranges wafting over him, as enticing as the rest of her, and locked the front door.

  End of story, huh?

  Fine.

  If Miss Bossy-Boots wouldn’t give him a chance to explain, he’d take what he could from tonight and try the professional approach in the morning.

  ‘On the contrary, the story is just beginning,’ he murmured, following her into the studio with an extra spring to his step.

  The man was a menace.

  The harder she tried to concentrate on drawing the more he’d smile. Or fidget. Or want to chat.

  She could strangle him with her bare hands.

  Though she didn’t want to get that close considering he wasn’t wearing any clothes—bar the requisite boxers, which she’d insisted on again.

  Chicken…

  ‘So tell me more about this painting. Where’s it going to hang?’

  She silently cursed as her charcoal slewed off the paper. He’d spoken just as she’d captured the curve of his hip—and butt, but she didn’t want to dwell on that piece of anatomy just yet. Time enough to study it, next sitting. Or the one after that…

  ‘This is a private commission, a gift for a friend’s sister, so it will hang in her home.’

  ‘This isn’t the fabled friend-of-a-friend thing, is it, and it’s actually for your private collection?’

  Ariel gritted her teeth, wondering if the use of duct tape over a model’s mouth would be frowned upon by any worker’s union.

  ‘Sorry to disappoint, but this sort of art doesn’t do it for me.’

  ‘Then what does?’

  Darn it, she’d been the queen of quick comebacks all her life. She’d had to be, living on the streets. But this guy fired back with a skill to be envied.

  ‘None of your business, Mr Shy-and-retiring-before-whipping-off-your-clothes-in-record-time.’

  ‘Hey, that’s not fair. You practically shoved me behind that screen. I was terrified you’d actually rip them off me if I didn’t get a move on.’

  His smile did crazy things to her insides where her tummy flip-flopped and somersaulted and reminded her she hadn’t eaten dinner. She’d tried before Cooper arrived but the thought of seeing all that gorgeous expanse of bare, tanned skin again had taken care of her appetite well and truly.

  ‘You wish,’ she said, aiming for a frown but failing miserably when their gazes locked over her easel and something zinged between them, an unspoken link, a zap of invisible electricity that made her heart join her tummy in the gymnastic stakes.

  ‘Don’t you ever shut up?’

  Ariel’s question sounded short and sharp in the loaded silence and she ducked behind the easel, buying valuable time to gather her wits and get her breathing under control. Alongside her pounding heart, her lungs had joined in the party and deprived her of much-needed oxygen.

  Must be more of those nasty fumes affecting her again…

  ‘It’s pretty boring sitting here. A little conversation breaks the monotony.’

  He sounded reasonable enough and she sneaked a peek, wondering if he was being serious or teasing her again.

  To her mortification, he caught her furtive glance and winked, exacerbating her embarrassment no end.

  She’d strangle him.

  Once she’d captured his exquisite body—on canvas, that was.

  ‘Have you always been an artist?’

  She picked up a charcoal nub, determined to ignore him, but his question seemed innocuous enough and his voice had lost its teasing lilt.

  ‘I loved drawing as a kid. I graduated from a blackboard to chalk drawings on sidewalks. When other kids were playing hopscotch, I’d be sketching their faces. Later, I did a bachelor of arts to help on the teaching side of things but, basically, I worked alongside Barb here. We loved doing it…’

  Her fingers stilled as she wondered what had possessed her to reveal so much to a guy she didn’t know, a guy she didn’t even particularly like all that much.

  The cosy ambience of the studio at night seemed conducive to shared confidences but Cooper wasn’t a friend and she’d be smarter remembering it.

  ‘Anyway, that’s it for now. I think I’ve done all I’m going to do tonight. Long day.’

  She didn’t look at him as she wiped her hands on a dusty rag, wishing he’d hurry up and get dressed so she could shove him out the door.

  For a guy she hardly knew—and didn’t want to know—Cooper had her in a spin, answering questions she’d usually ignore, deriving some comfort from confiding in another human being when she had so little social contact with anyone.

  What a sad case.

  ‘Ariel?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  She looked up, grateful he’d slipped into jeans and a white T-shirt quickly, obviously sensing her need to get rid of him without delay.

  ‘Whatever happens, you should be proud of what you’ve done with this place.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, surprised by his serious expression and somewhat confused by what he’d said.

  But she was too tired to think about it, let alone ask him to explain and she hurried him to the door, flicking the lock and all but wrenching it off its hinges in her haste to see the back of him.

  As the door swung open and a chilly gust of wind blew it out of her hands several things happened at once.

  Chelsea Lynch, her protégée, rushed into the gallery in a flurry of turquoise denim, red pashmina, emerald scarf and floppy fuchsia beanie.

  Cooper took a polite step back, nodded at Chelsea and turned to Ariel. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow. We really need to talk.’

  Ariel flashed him a tight smile, thinking her talking days with the too good-looking model were over if she had to finish his portrait with her sanity intact.

  Chelsea’s head swung between the two of them, her eyes wide with shock, her mouth hanging open before pointing an accusing finger at Cooper and shouting, ‘What’s he doing here?’

  ‘Cooper’s a model.’

  ‘Like hell he is.’

  Chelsea unwound her scarf in furious swirls, not taking her flashing hazel eyes off Cooper for a second. ‘He’s the scumbag who’s been buying up the street and I bet he has his sights set on this place next.’

  Ariel’s protest died on her lips as she saw Cooper’s stricken, guilty expression one second before her hand reached out, landed squarely in the middle of his broad chest and shoved him out the door.

  Hard.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ARIEL tried to slam the d
oor in Cooper’s face but took a second too long. The lying cretin stuck one of his shoes in the doorway and, as tempted as she was to amputate it, she couldn’t afford a lawsuit on top of everything else at the minute.

  ‘Get out!’

  Ariel jiggled the door, hoping he’d get the hint, what with the way she’d shoved him out the door and now threatened to wedge his foot with it.

  ‘Let me explain—’

  ‘Explain what?’

  She planted her hands on her hips, fury surging through her body at being taken for a fool.

  When she’d been living on the streets as a youngster, people had always thought she was stupid, equating a dowdy appearance with nil intelligence, and she’d hated it.

  She’d shown everyone and then some.

  Exactly how she was going to show Cooper whatever-his-name-was—after giving him a verbal flaying he’d never forget, that was.

  ‘I tried to tell you the truth a few times but you always shot me down, talked over me or didn’t want to know,’ said Cooper.

  Ariel rolled her eyes. ‘Give me a break! Guys like you can talk with a mouth full of marbles for business and you reckon you couldn’t get the message across because I wouldn’t let you? What a load of rubbish. You kept your big trap shut because you wanted to sleaze your way into my good graces. Isn’t that right?’

  ‘That’s telling him,’ Chelsea murmured, and Ariel sent her a quelling look to keep out of it.

  Though she was grateful to her star pupil for outing the rat, she could fight her own battles. Always had, always would.

  ‘Can we talk in private?’ Cooper’s steady gaze locked on hers, urgent, compelling, willing her to listen.

  Too bad for him, she’d listened to enough of his lies already.

  She shook her head. ‘I’m not interested in anything you have to say. Now, if you don’t mind removing your big foot from my door and shoving it back into your mouth, I have work to do.’

  ‘This isn’t the end,’ Cooper said, sending her a look that meant business as he stepped out of the doorway.

  ‘That’s what you think.’

  Ariel slammed the door, grateful for the double reinforced glass: it saved her from shattering the windows and afforded a fantastic view of the priceless look on Cooper’s face.

  If she didn’t know any better, she’d say he looked ashamed.

  But that couldn’t be right. Guys like him didn’t have a conscience and they never took no for an answer. They wheeled and dealed their way to the top regardless of the little people trampled in the process.

  Well, she had news for him. This little person wouldn’t let him near the place again, let alone buy it and ruin her plans for the future.

  Cooper the marauding model could develop some other property, preferably in Timbuktu.

  ‘Wow, that was awesome,’ Chelsea said, slapping her on the back. ‘You sure showed him who was boss.’

  Suddenly fatigued, Ariel watched Cooper march up the street past the organic fruiterers, the vegan take-out and the Nepalese home-wares and turn the corner where he’d probably hidden some fancy sports car.

  Lying louse.

  Lying louse who had gotten under her skin in two short meetings.

  And to make matters worse she had to work from memory to finish the portrait. The last thing she felt like doing was resurrecting memories of the louse’s body and how great it would look on canvas.

  ‘You okay?’ Chelsea passed a hand in front of her eyes and Ariel focussed on the young girl.

  ‘Yeah. How did you know who he was?’

  ‘I’ve seen him around the Fitzroy area over the last few months. Mr Fancy-Schmancy works for a company that is responsible for ousting the Ngs from the corner grocer’s, the Bortellis from their café and closing down the old Irish pub. All in the name of “development”.’ Chelsea held up her index fingers on both hands and made inverted comma signs. ‘I hate guys like him. They’ve never done it tough. They don’t know the first thing about the area or locals like me who live in it. They bulldoze their way in and rip lives apart. Tell me you won’t let them get the gallery.’

  Chelsea threw her arms wide and did a three-sixty. ‘I love this place. All the local kids do. Barb made it more welcoming than any halfway house and you’ve continued the tradition. You can’t let those bloodsuckers take it.’

  Ariel managed a weary smile, buoyed by Chelsea’s enthusiasm but more afraid than she’d ever been. She’d known about the property developers buying up every last piece of prime Brunswick Street land, but to hear Chelsea verbalise it somehow made the threat all the more real.

  ‘Don’t worry. I have no intention of letting them anywhere near Colour by Dreams.’

  Chelsea clapped her hands like an excited child. ‘Good, because my first showing is here in a week and I want the world to see my brilliance.’

  ‘And your modesty,’ Ariel said, trying to banish from her mind the threatening image of Cooper’s final glower before he’d marched away and what it could mean for the gallery. ‘Now, how about some tea and you tell me why you dropped by?’

  Chelsea led the way out the back, bouncing with vitality, her pashmina trailing in her wake like a bright flag while Ariel followed, knowing it would take more than herbal tea to dispel her anxiety at the moment.

  ‘Oh, wow!’

  The minute Chelsea laid eyes on the preliminary portrait sketches Ariel had done of Cooper, she stopped dead in front of the easel.

  ‘I’ll take that as a compliment to my artistic skills and not the subject in question,’ Ariel said, busying herself making tea and hoping to God she had enough sketches for a final portrait.

  Chelsea grinned, tearing her gaze from the sketches for a second. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I think you’re the best artist this side of the Louvre, but wow-ee! That guy might be a slime-ball but he is one hot slime-ball.’

  ‘I should’ve known he was too good to be true,’ Ariel muttered, trying not to scald herself as she poured the boiling water into mugs, her hands shaking in anger at how Cooper had taken her in. ‘Model, my butt.’

  ‘Doesn’t look like you got to that bit, worse luck.’

  Chelsea winked as Ariel handed her a mug of steaming raspberry, the young woman’s favourite. Ariel tentatively sipped at her peppermint brew, the steam heating her cheeks.

  ‘Shouldn’t be a problem. I can improvise.’

  Sadly, Ariel knew her imagination wasn’t that good.

  ‘Whatever.’

  Chelsea shrugged and took a seat on one of the ruby sofas, curling her long, legging-clad legs beneath her while she cradled her mug.

  ‘Okay, Chelsea, what’s up with you?’

  Ariel didn’t need any more problems right now. She had enough of her own to keep her busy into the next century.

  ‘Do you really think I’m any good at all this art stuff?’

  Chelsea’s large hazel eyes radiated doubt and Ariel smiled, confident she could solve this easily.

  Taking a seat next to the nineteen-year-old, she said, ‘Do you trust my judgement?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘And you know how tough it is to get a showing in Melbourne?’

  The corners of Chelsea’s mouth turned upwards. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Plus you know how busy I am, right?’

  Chelsea sat up straighter. ‘Right.’

  ‘Okay, you’re a smart girl. Do you think I’d waste my time if I didn’t think you’re talented and inspired and are going to be the next big thing?’

  ‘When you put it that way…’ Chelsea plucked Ariel’s mug out of her hand, deposited it next to her own on the floor and flung her arms around her. ‘You’re the best! Barb was so lucky to have someone like you take over for her.’

  ‘I’m the lucky one,’ Ariel murmured, blinking back sudden tears.

  If only she could keep the likes of Cooper from taking away the only place she’d ever known as home, she’d be very lucky indeed.

  ‘So where are we at with acquirin
g that gallery?’

  Cooper refrained from glaring at his father, especially with a conference table full of developers, wishing his dad didn’t keep pushing so hard. He’d said he’d handle it.

  Yeah, like you handled it last night?

  Silently cursing, he shuffled the papers in front of him and faced the curious looks of the men who’d invested millions into the project so far.

  He’d give them what they wanted to hear before settling the deal one way or another.

  ‘As you all know, Ariel Wallace isn’t keen on selling. However, I’ve met with her the last two days and I’m optimistic she’ll change her mind.’

  She’d better. He needed to get out from this company and his dad’s overbearing presence.

  ‘What makes you think you’ll succeed where I didn’t?’

  This time, Cooper couldn’t stop his swift glare of condemnation at his dad. Sure, he knew Eric had taken professional jealousy to extremes, but did he have to air his feelings in this forum?

  Quelling his anger, Cooper addressed the table at large. ‘Eric, everyone here knows you’re a top negotiator but I’ve established a rapport with Miss Wallace.’

  Yeah, they’d grown real close if her shoving him out the door constituted camaraderie. ‘I’m confident that, with a few more meetings, she’ll come to the party.’

  His farewell party, that was.

  The day she signed on the dotted line was the day he would be free: free of his contract, free of Vance Corp, free of seeing the edge in his dad’s eyes every time he walked into the room.

  ‘Good.’ Eric barely inclined his head in Cooper’s direction before continuing. ‘I’ve sealed the deal on several properties around the block from the gallery and we need that piece of land.’

  Eric stabbed at a remote and a screen lit up with a PowerPoint presentation behind him. ‘These are the preliminary plans, but once we secure the gallery we can demolish it along with the old houses behind it and create a six-storey apartment block. With property prices at an all-time high in suburbs surrounding the Central Business District, that’s a killing for us.’

  Eric stared at Cooper with contempt, as if saying, And you want to leave all this behind? You think you can match me? Beat me at my own game?