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A few minutes later, I am standing in front of a beautiful glass building. I’m awestruck as I take everything in. Even from the outside, I can already appreciate the artwork displayed. No doubt, the owner of this place has excellent taste.
The name LENS is prominently displayed at the top. Clutching the file tightly, I make my way toward the entrance. The moment I step inside, I let out a gasp., LENS was already beautiful from the outside, but from the inside, it’s breathtaking. My eyes are immediately drawn to the array of paintings adorning the space.
“Good afternoon, ma’am. Welcome to LENS. How may I help you?” I spin around at the sound of the voice behind me. The voice belongs to a beautiful lady. I assume she is the artist Uncle Tyler was talking about.
“Hi, my name is Phebe. I have an appointment with you for 2pm. I’m here on behalf of Mr. Tyler Wilson,” I explain.
“Oh, you’re the interior decorator,” she remarks.
“Yes,” I reply with a smile.
“Follow me, please,” she instructs.
“Thank you,” I respond as I accompany her down a hallway. I assume she is leading me to her office. I was right because she stops in front of a door. A brief knock precedes her entry, and I follow suit. I realize it’s a workroom.
“Jeffrey, your 2pm appoint is here,” she announces, and time seems to freeze. I stand motionless, my wide eyes locking onto the man seated behind the elegant mahogany desk.Holy shit.Blood drains from my face as I recognize the figure as Jeffrey. It starts making sense. There are no other renowned artists save Jeffrey. How could I not have connected the dots when my uncle mentioned it?
“Alight, thank you,” he acknowledges, and the woman, possibly an assistant, walls out of the office.
“You’re the interior decorator from Mr. Wilson,” he comments, giving me a questioning look. I quickly catch myself just in time to avoid saying his name.
“Yes, Jeffrey…,” I catch myself before I complete it.
“It’s Mr. Rowland to you, ma’am,” he retorts icily. The unmistakable chill in his tone sends shivers down my spine, but I manage a nod.
“Miss Landon,” I reply. He arches his brows but says nothing.
“Please have a seat,” he invites. I force my feeble legs to approach to the desk before taking a seat across from him. I swallow hard as I take in his face. His sharp jawline, beautiful lashes, and those captivating eyes stare back at me.
“Mr. Wilson says you’re the one I’ll be working with,” he states.
“Yes, he did. He spoke highly of your unique artwork,” I reply, ignoring the scent of sandalwood drifting into my nostrils. My eyes drift downward, and I swallow hard when I take in his appearance fully. It’s been so long. The striking resemblance between him and Michael becomes painfully evident. Goodness, this is my first love, the only man who captured my heart and, above all, the father of my child.
“Did he Miss Landon?” he drawls. He stares at me with an inscrutable expression. I don’t know its meaning, but I sense his displeasure with my presence. Jeffrey’s resentment is understandable. I know he assumes I left without a goodbye.
The emotions from years past rush through my body, the tingling sensation I feel anytime he stares at me, the rapid thudding of my heart that felt like it might escape my chest - all these sensation surge through me with full force.
That brief encounter outside the restaurant was nothing compared to this. I’m in the same room with Jeffrey again. Heat covers my cheeks when I recall the last time we were in the same room together. Oh, losing myself, Jeffrey’s embrace will forever be in my head.
“Can we get started, Miss Landon? If you’re up to the task, that is,” he prompts.
“I’m up for the task,” I respond with urgency.
“Are you Miss Landon?” he inquires.
“Anyways, I’m putting forth my terms for this project. I discussed this early with Mr. Wilson. I’d prefer to personally assesses each property to determine the most suitable artwork. I’m sure you know this might be a long-term project in case I have to make new paintings. My expectation is perfection, and if you’re the skilled professional Mr. Wilson said you are, I expect that’s what we will be working on this project,” he states, his voice chilling.
It breaks my heart that this is what we have left. I wonder what will happen if I tell him about our son. Would he resent me even more intensely, or might he accept Michael as his?
8
JEFFREY
Igaze into those enchanting blue eyes that have captivated me since our first encounter. The same eyes that have tormented my thoughts relentlessly for years. Being this close to Phebe isn't helping the ache in my heart. It's almost impossible to believe she is here.
I notice her eyes scrutinizing me. I don’t care what she thinks about my insistence on keeping formality. That's the only way I can remain sane. Clearly, she hadn't realized who she would be working with. I should have known that she would be the interior decorator her uncle was talking about. I had been so engrossed in the details of the job that I didn’t bother asking Tyler who I would be working with. It came as a shock to see her walk into my office. Something I never thought would be possible.
“I’ll brief you on the tasks I’d like you to handle as the interior decorator of this project. As you know, your clients want mine to provide the artwork that fits into the description,” I tell her calmly. I watch her swallow repeatedly and imagine what it would feel like to kiss her neck like I had done years ago. Her forehead creases with a frown, a gesture she used to make when deep in thought. It beckons to me, just like the rest of her body. I force my eyes to stay on her face; I can’t allow her to know the power she still holds over me.
