Page 11 of The CEO's Obsession

CHAPTER

FIVE

Harper

I glidemy brush across the canvas, a contented smile on my face. The vibrant colors blend together, bringing my vision to life stroke by stroke. This piece feels different—more alive, more raw. Maybe it's the newfound confidence coursing through my veins, or maybe it's just the caffeine from my third cup of coffee. Either way, I'm riding this creative high for all it's worth.

A knock at the door breaks my concentration. I set down my brush with a sigh, wiping my paint-stained hands on my already ruined jeans as I cross the tiny studio apartment.

"Coming!" I call out, fumbling with the stubborn lock.

The door swings open to reveal Ben, his shaggy hair windswept and a lopsided grin on his face. "Hey, Harper. Brought you some supplies from the gallery." He holds up a paper bag that clinks promisingly.

"My hero," I say dramatically, ushering him inside. "Please tell me there are new brushes in there. Mine are on their last legs."

Ben's eyes drift to my easel, his expression shifting subtly. "Wow. That's...intense. New direction for you?"

I follow his gaze, suddenly self-conscious about the raw emotion splashed across the canvas. "Yeah, I guess. Just experimenting, you know?"

He nods, but I catch the flicker of something in his eyes. Admiration? Concern? Before I can decipher it, my phone buzzes insistently.

Mason's name flashes on the screen, and my stomach does a little flip.

I hesitate, torn between answering and focusing on Ben. The phone keeps ringing, an insistent reminder of the complications that have invaded my carefully constructed world.

Even though Mason says his support comes with no strings I can’t help but feel somehow beholden to him for all he’s doing for me.

So, I answer the phone.

"Hello?" I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.

"Harper," Mason's deep voice rumbles through the speaker. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything important."

I glance at Ben, who's busying himself with unpacking the art supplies, pointedly not looking in my direction. "No, it's fine. What's up?"

"I’ve got an opportunity for you."

My heart skips a beat. "What kind of opportunity?"

"A showing in Paris.”

“Paris,” I repeat dumbly.

“Paris,” he comfirms.

"Oh," I say, not sure how to feel about this. "That's...great?"

"It is," Mason says firmly. "This is a huge opportunity for you, Harper. Your work deserves to be seen by the right people."

I bite my lip, torn between excitement and anxiety. "When do I have to go?"

"We leave tomorrow," he says, a hint of anticipation creeping into his voice.

“Tomorrow? We? You’re going too?” I sputter.

"Of course," Mason replies, his tone a mix of amusement and determination. "I'm not about to send you off to a foreign country all alone, especially not for your first international showing. We'll take my private jet."

"Your private jet," I echo, my mind reeling. Of course he has a private jet. Why wouldn't he? I lean against the wall, suddenly feeling lightheaded. The paintbrush I'd been holding clatters to the floor, leaving a bright blue streak on the worn hardwood.

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