Page 815 of One More Kiss

The Art of Stealing His Heart

Gaia

“Okay,Gaia. You got this. Just Breathe. It’s just another job interview. You had jobs before.” I thought my pep talk was going well until I stumbled on a crack in the sidewalk and almost busted my ass on the concrete. If I couldn’t walk down the street with out falling over, how was I going to convince some rich guy to let me take care of his children.

I've never been a nanny before, but I've always loved children. I used to teach art classes at my local summer camp when I was a teenager. I’ve spent plenty of weekends babysitting to save money for art supplies, but spending a few hours a day with kids wasn’t the same as being a full time caregiver and not my area of expertise.

I’m an artist, well, currently an art student. My professor and mentor recommended me for a job as a nanny for one of her friends. She knew I could use the money and I was grateful for the opportunity. Plus, Professor Swenson wasn’t the type of woman you said no to, especially since she’d been so helpful to me while I in school.

I threw on what I hoped looked professional; a crisp white blouse, a black pencil skirt and a pair of black leather pumps. I tamed my waist length brown hair into a feasibly polished looking bun and traded my usual contacts for my glasses to complete the ensemble.

I arrived with ten minutes to spare and rang the door of a large townhouse in the historic district of the city. A severe looking man in his sixties wearing a three piece suitopened the door.

"Miss Wesley." He said before I had the chance to open my mouth. It was a statement, not a question. "Mr. Edwards is expecting you. Right this way."

Mr. Edwards, I thought to myself, and at that very moment realized that I did zero research on my possible future employer. I didn't even know his name. As I followed my guide through the house, I desperately studied my surroundings hoping to learn something, anything about the family that was about to trust me with their children possibly, or child, I didn't know.

The house was impeccably decoratedbut surprisingly colorful, and whoever Mr. Edwards was he had fantastic taste in art. The walls were adorned with an eclectic mix classic and contemporary pieces including works by Basquiat, Haring, what I would swear was an actual Monet, and sitting on a small table in one of the many sitting rooms was what looked like a Kusama pumpkin. How in the world would someone get a Kusama pumpkin for their house? Then it hit me: Mr. Edwards, the large townhouse, and the extensive collection of priceless art, both contemporary and classic. This was the home of Trevor Edwards.

Trevor Edwards. I was sitting in the office of Trevor Edwards. It was no wonder Professor Swensen didn't bother to mention the name of the person who wanted to hire me. I probably would've been too nervous to show up.

Trevor Edwards was the founder and CEO of Pax Industries. I know it's a multinational, diverse company, but what Trevor Edwards is known for, what I know him for, is that he is famous for being a patron of the arts. It's where his fortune began. He has a talent for seeing the beauty and potential in works of art (and artists) and turning it into millions of dollars. The story was, and I'm not sure if this right, but it's pretty damn cool, that as an art student he found a Rembrandt at a yard sale, purchased it for forty bucks, restored it himself and sold it at auction for four million dollars. He used the money to start Pax as an auction house, and the rest is history.

And now here I sat, in the same room, potentially interviewing to be his nanny. I wondered if it was too late to run out the room, but my guide, whom I learned was named Fredrick, closed the door behind him as he left.

“So, Gaia?" He was reading my resume. I didn't even remember handing it to him, but I must've because it was no longer in my hand.

“Yeah, Gaia.” I stammered. “It’s the Earth Goddess. My parents were hippies.” I laughed nervously.

"I'm familiar. So are you a fan of Gaia?" His face was inquisitive, but I couldn't read his expression. What I did know was that he was the sexiest man I'd ever seen. The rare photo appeared in the paper or on the news, but nothing compared to seeing the real Trevor Edwards up close and in person.

This man was gorgeous. He was in his early thirties, with a ruggedly handsome boyish face and sparkling green eyes. His six foot tall frame was perfected with a broad chest and well-defined muscles. A suit jacket and tie had been draped over a nearby chair showcasing the crisp powder blue dress shirt. The top two buttons were undone, and the sleeves rolled up. I imagined him scooping me up in his big strong arms, laying me across his desk and doing things to my body that I’d only seen on clandestine websites while curled up in bed late at night listening to my roommate snore. My inappropriate daydream what cut short when realized that he'd been staring at me, expectantly. Shit. He’d asked me a question. I was so entranced in his emerald eyes I hadn't bothered to answer. What was it? All of my energy was focused on trying to rewind the last few seconds of my meeting. I was pretty sure it was something about my name.

“Ummm, the Earth Goddess?” I blurted out, wondering how much time had passed since he asked the question. “Yeah, I guess I’m a fan of the Earth…” I trailed off looking down at my hands folding in my lap, feeling like an idiot. Had I just told Trevor Edwards I was a fan of the Earth? I struggled with the feeling of simultaneously wanting to run out of this townhouse and never look back coupled with not wanting to embarrass Professor Swensen. The latter was the smart option and I stayed in my seat. When I forced myself to look at him, I saw he was smiling. He had the most gorgeous smile I’d ever seen on a man, with dimples. When he smiled at me, he smiled with his eyes.

“I was referring to Gaia, the artist,” he replied, obviously struggling to stifle a laugh. Of course, he meant that Gaia, the other Gaia. I wanted to sink into my chair and disappear.

"I'm a big fan," I started nervously. "I love the way he uses iconic figures and themes and incorporates them into modern urban landscapes…”

“He’s a hack.” He cut me off. “Tired. Overdone. He just a…”

“Excuse me?" I interrupted, no longer embarrassed. The rest of the exchange was a blur, but I remembered having a heated debate about the future of modern art and place of street artists in the hierarchy. When I regained my composure enough to remember that I was supposed to be in a professional setting, I managed to thank Mr. Edwards for the interview hoping it was enough to save face with my professor.

As I stood on the stoop of the townhouse after Fredrick saw me out, I knew three things for sure: I would not be getting the job as the nanny, I’d just engaged in a shouting match with one of the most important people in the art world and that I was incredibly attracted to him, which was the most upsetting thing of all.

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