Page 4 of Christmas With A Billionaire

The twins ran off, leaving me with James’s smirk and rising brows. “Out of the mouths of babes,” he said.

I spotted Autumn across the room, laughing with her brother. The lights caught the gold in her dress, making her shine. As if sensing my gaze, she looked up, holding my eyes for a long moment before smiling.

“You know,” James said quietly, “sometimes the best presents come after Christmas.”

The party wound down slowly,family and friends drifting into the snowy night with warm hugs and promises to visit the newly retired judge. Autumn helped Diana clean up while I loaded gifts into cars and said goodbye to the stragglers.

“Ready for dinner?” I asked when we finally made it back to my car.

She kicked off her heels, curling her feet under her. “I thought you’d forgotten about your mysterious proposition.”

“Not all that mysterious. I told you yesterday what it was about. Tonight, I’m giving you the details.” I headed toward downtown, where I’d made reservations at Le Colonial. “Tell me why Madison thinks we’re getting married.”

Her laugh carried a nervous edge. “Angela needs to stop gossiping with my mother.”

“Your mother’s been planning our wedding since high school.”

“Please, she gave up on us years ago. Now she just wants me married to anyone with a pulse and a portfolio.”

“Is that what you want?”

She turned to look at me, streetlights painting shadows across her face. “I want...” she paused. “I want dinner. I’m starving.”

The restaurant welcomedus with warm lighting and the smell of lemongrass. The maître d’ led us to a private corner booth, and Autumn slid in close enough that her knee touched mine.

“Now, about this proposition,” she picked up her wine glass, her red lipstick leaving a perfect print on the rim.

“The Benefield Chicago needs something different. Each floor will tell a story of our city through art.” I leaned forward, drawing energy from the interest in her eyes. “The lobby would showcase established artists - the ones who put Chicago on the map. But as guests move through the hotel, they’ll discover emerging talents. Every corridor, every space will feature different artists from different neighborhoods.”

“That’s ambitious,” she traced the rim of her glass. “How many pieces are we talking about?”

“At least two hundred. I want rotating exhibits in the main gallery space, permanent collections in the suites, and commissioned pieces for the restaurants and public areas.” I pulled out my phone, showing her the mock-ups. “See how these walls extend? Perfect sight lines for large-scale pieces. But for the launch I propose an auction – to put capital directly into the pockets of the artists.”

Her fingers brushed mine as she took the phone. “You’ve really thought this through.”

“That’s not all.” I signaled for another bottle of wine. “You know the old building I bought on 47th Street?”

“The one you renamed the Benefield Building?” She smiled. “Subtle, by the way.”

“I think naming your cat Leonardo da Vinci gives you the least amount of room to talk,” I stole a piece of lemongrass chicken from her plate. “I’m converting the first three floors into the community arts center we used to dream about. Teaching spaces, studios for rent at reduced rates, and a gallery forstudent exhibitions. The top floors will be affordable live-work spaces for artists.”

She set down her fork. “You’re serious about this.”

“You know I wouldn’t consider pulling you into something I wasn’t serious about. Hopefully by now, you can tell when I’m joking and when I’m not.” Our eyes remained non-blinking as we stared at each other. Her nervous smile was etched at the corner of her lip. And that let me know she understood my reference but for her comfortability I eased back to the proposition.

“Think about it - we could offer residency programs and mentorship opportunities. Connect emerging artists with collectors through the hotel gallery. Create real pathways for talent right here in our community.”

“And you want me to curate all of this?”

“I want you to help me build it. From the ground up. Our vision, connections, and understanding of what artists need to thrive.” I covered her hand across the table with mine. “There’s no one else I trust more. Partners?”

She turned her fingers upward and squeezed my fingers. “Partners.”

My heart warmed as did my body. It didn’t go over me that she was always there when I needed her, and I would always be there for her no matter the cause or case.

Later,walking Autumn to her door, with snow falling softly around us, my mind shifted to what would happen if I kissed her. If I finally crossed that line we’d drawn so carefully all those years ago.

Instead, I pressed my lips to her cheek. “Goodnight, Autumn. Thank you for continuing to be a major part of my life.”

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