Billionaire Daddy's Little Artist

Chapter 6 : Destiny

*Lily*

It was late afternoon, and I still hadn't a clue what to wear on my date with William. I had spent the afternoon languishing over the MET's Surrealist collaboration. The artists' narrative regarding the challenges of social and political unrest captivated me. I jotted down several ideas, inspired to get back to work on a new series.

Tony had texted, inviting me to come by the studio for one last look at my paintings before they shipped to William Shaw and company. I told him it might be painful to see them one last time and to proceed with the shipment.

In the back of my mind, I felt hopeful I might see them again if a relationship with William was in my future. This was all crazy speculation on my part, as one dinner does not constitute a predestined relationship; however, in the back of my mind, I felt it was destiny. Our meeting, the mutual attraction—it all seemed fated. Never before had I ever felt so drawn to a person, my heart expanding in such a way I might burst with ardor.

I'd never been the romantic dreamer who wanted to get married, to meet Mr. Right. In fact, I steered clear of relationships, afraid they might derail me from my career aspirations. No matter how she tried to paint them, Rachel's bleak life choices reminded me of what could happen if you weren't careful, although I could tell in her voice she loved her family dearly, despite them forcing her to sacrifice her dreams.

Since it was such a splendid spring day, I decided to walk back to our apartment. My weekly Pilates class left much to be desired in the way of exercise. Eva had said once that her father was an avid runner, so I thought I might have to step up my weekly regimen to keep up with him. How silly I was already planning our future, but again, I felt it was inevitable, destined to be.

After a sweaty forty-five-minute stroll through Central Park, past the Empire State Building to my lower Manhattan neighborhood, blisters developed on both heels of my feet. Still, I had no regrets about my jaunt. Seeing New Yorkers out running, bike riding, and gardening on their tiny terraces was delightful.

I took off my shoes immediately when I walked in the door. Patrick and Adam sat in the living room sipping lattes. Adam's new espresso maker only fueled their mutual coffee addition, as I caught them drinking lattes at all hours of the day. “There she is, our very own rising star!"

We had stayed up well past midnight the previous night, exploring why William Shaw had made his elaborate purchase. Adam assumed he did it for Eva, while Patrick speculated he was madly in love with me at first sight.

Completely baffled, I went to bed blissfully unaware of any ulterior motives, only that he genuinely admired my pieces. Thrilled with my recent revelation, I was dying to tell them the news.

“Get out!" Adam almost spat his hot mocha. “Patrick was right. He's infatuated with you!"

“I think her work might have something to do with it," said Patrick. “He doesn't sound like a novice in the art world, what with buying Gauguin's at Christie's in London."

“Oh, my God. What are you going to wear?" Adam had made it clear on several occasions that my apparel was severely lacking in diversity and style. He had offered to take me shopping numerous times, to which I always explained–to his mortification–that I wasn't into clothes. He clearly saw this as a character defect he needed to fix. I had to get forceful a few times and tell him to back off—I'd wear what I felt comfortable in, mostly yoga pants and other loose-fitting garments.

We had my entire closet out on the bed in under thirty minutes, and even Patrick seemed discouraged by my lackluster wardrobe.

“Well, it would help if we knew where you were going." Adam paced, throwing out random skirts and blouses off the rack.

“Okay, enough, Adam. And no, I am not wearing a mini-skirt. I haven't worn one of those since I was fifteen."

“Then why is it in your closet? For someone so artistic, your armoire is really wanting."

Like most everyone at the gallery, Adam and Patrick had admired William from afar. I knew that they saw this as my one shot to make an impression without someone who was clearly out of my league. They didn't say this per se, but the underlying judgment was there. Their nervousness fueled my worst fears, and my temples began to throb.

“Tell us exactly what he said again." Patrick seemed more worried than me.

“Just call him and ask him where you're going!" Too much caffeine had left Adam fidgeting with my shoe rack.

“Is it too late to go shopping?" I exhaled, descending on the heap of clothes.

Just then, the phone rang, and though it was a random number, I answered. It was William's assistant, calling to confirm dinner at seven at a place called Francesca's. William would be by at six thirty to pick me up.

“That was William's assistant, Grace. We are dining at a place called Francesca's."

“I know that place." Adam went about pulling out a black crepe dress, low heels, and a brown leather belt. “A black cocktail dress is always a safe bet, and you need the belt to show off the amazing figure you're always hiding."

I saw the anxious glances the two exchanged before I shooed them out the door. William texted at six-thirty sharp, asking if I wanted him to come to the door.

I texted back that I would be right down. The driver, wearing jeans and a black shirt, hopped out and opened the back door of a black Range Rover.

William was on the phone when I climbed into the back. “Yes, I have to go. No, that's not what I said." He opened his eyes wide and mouthed, 'Sorry.' “Yes, we'll discuss it more at the next board meeting. I have to go." He slipped his phone into his jacket pocket. “Sorry, Lily. You look lovely."

William wore the same outfit from earlier in the day, making me wonder if I should have made such a fuss. After an awkward silence, I asked, “Did you receive the paintings?"

“Yes! They came to my office, and I unwrapped every one of them."

“No buyer's remorse?" I teased.

“Not in the slightest. Quite the opposite." His eyes bore deeply into mine. I reverted my gaze to my hemline and pulled down the dress to my knees. “Seller's remorse?"

“A little." I thought I'd be honest until I saw his jaw drop with a hurt expression.

“You can have any one back—"

“No, no, no." I touched his hand. “I mean, I think moving forward, I'll always keep one for myself to remember the collection."

He looked down at my hand on his. “You can see them any time you desire. Just say the word. Or if you want one back—"

“No." My throat tightened and cracked my neck to release the sudden arousal I felt rising in my chest and loins at his touch. I wanted his hands all over me now. I removed my hand and switched my gaze out of the tinted window.

“Are you hungry?"

“Famished." I smiled. “I haven't had time to eat since lunch with Eva." Tiny prickles of guilt shot through my words.

“I'm sorry to ask you to keep this dinner from her. She's just so unpredictable and still in a vulnerable spot since the divorce. I know she doesn't show it."

“I know," I said. “It's sweet that you worry."

“How did she seem to you today?"

I swallowed, trying to find the right words. “Good. Good. She's, uh, Eva. You know." I laughed.

He looked deflated. “She has this insane hope that I'll get back together with her mother, and it's not going to happen."

I tried to hide the smile that turned upward on my lips. “I'm sorry, but not sorry."

“I can't believe I just met you. I feel like we've known each other forever–well, you seem much older or more mature than most women your age."

“I feel the same–not that you're older," I said with a laugh, “but comfortable with you."

“Good."

We seemed stalled in classic rush hour city traffic. I hoped he didn't hear the embarrassing rumblings from my stomach.

“I hope you like Francesca's. It's Mediterranean." His voice suppressed the hint of a chuckle. “Is that your stomach growling?"

“Yes. I'm so sorry."

William laughed outright. “Well, I'm sorry about the traffic."

“No, I'm sorry. I should have had a snack. I'm constantly hungry. It's a problem with me." I moved my arms across my chest.

“Well, you certainly don't show it." His stare unnerved me. “And then I have a little after-dinner surprise."

This raised the hair on the back of my neck as my mind drifted to the most devious thoughts of what his surprise could be. The conversation lulled, and his phone rang. He apologized before taking the call.

I watched him out of the corner of my eye. The tiny lines on his face revealed his age. He was tall, too; he must have been at least six foot four. The way he moved his hands when he talked and the way he dressed seemed very European to me. I wanted to kiss the hollow at his throat and the base of his neck where the skin touched his dark curls. How could I harbor these longing for a man I had just met, who was twice my age—older than my father?

A sudden storm crossed William's face as he shot orders to someone on the other end. I realized I would always have to share my time with his work if this was to be my life, which seemed crazy to even think.

We pulled in and he hung up as we stepped outside where the air grew chillier. I wished I had worn my coat or at least a shawl to wear over my shoulders. My uncertainty returned as the voices clouded my judgment. I had no business being with a man of his clout. Surely, I was a passing fancy, a knot in his belt, as they say. I knew nothing of his and Eva's world, and I could never fit in with his friends.

“Lily." I looked up, and William had removed his jacket and wrapped it around my shoulders. “You look cold. Are you alright?"

His concern smoothed my rampant self-doubts, though I felt dizzy as I moved into the restaurant. “Yes," I replied in a shaky voice.

His arm rested there as we walked to our table, like a lion shielding me from predators. I felt glances from every table. An intoxicating smell rose from the kitchen.

“You're turning heads," he whispered, pulling the chair out for me. The room had pressed white linen tablecloths and tiny glass chandeliers above every table.

“Doubtful."

A grin escaped him as he handed me the menu. “You are a mystery, Lily Matthew, one I intend to unravel piece by piece."

“Is that a promise?" My flirting always seemed to fall flat.

Just then, the waiter appeared to take our order.

“The chef here is excellent." After consulting me, William ordered for us both from an eclectic menu of Horiatiki, Moroccan Tagine, and Tabouli.

Suddenly, the color drained from William's face. “Oh no." He peered over the tall menu.

“What is it?"

“Someone's here. I'd rather not speak to a friend of my ex-wife's."

“Do you want to go?"

“No, no." His mood clouded.

Five minutes later, a woman appeared at our table in her late forties, impeccably dressed, holding a Louis Vuitton handbag. Her eyes bored into me, appraising my clothes, hair, and purse.

“Hello, William."