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Logan’s house had been incredible. It wasn’t a house—it was a mansion with numerous bedrooms and the most incredibly entertaining area outside.
When she was introduced to Aidan, she had found him funny and charming.
And drop-dead gorgeous.
That night he was in a suit and looked every inch the wealthy entrepreneur she knew he was. Tailored jacket, a large silver watch that was worth more than her parent’s house, and polished shoes.
Lily knew his attention was a bit of fun, because men like him didn’t end up with girls like her.
So when Aidan had offered to show her Logan’s art collection, she’d just grinned and accepted it, looping her hand through his arm.
They started in the living room where everyone was milling around, and slowly made their way up the stairs and along the hallway, stopping to discuss each piece. One of them was a Picasso.
Which apparently Lily had thought was a good time to tell Aidan she loved to sketch, as if it was the same.
She’d blushed as he’d said, “Oh yeah? Is our Lily an artist?”
Ugh. She’d felt dumb.
“No. It’s just a hobby. Some people read. I sketch to relax,” she’d replied.
Not that she had a lot of time.
While Lily enjoyed her job, her boss was very demanding of her time. He was very nice, and they had a good relationship—too good, Emma said.
Matt was good-looking.
He’d divorced last year and sometimes his behavior was a little inappropriate. Nothing that she had to worry about, so Lily just brushed it off.
She needed the job.
From time to time, his hands went to places that made her pause. On her arm, on her knee, brushing a hand over her hair.
It wasn’t okay, but he never took it further and the overtime she got paid was helping to boost her savings and pay for stuff her dad needed.
Lily figured Matt was handsome enough, and because he had his own law firm, he’d find a girlfriend eventually.
And lose interest in her.
So Aidan’s advances, while she had no idea why he was interested in a girl from the South Side of Chicago, were much of the same. Lily decided to just sip her champagne, relax, and enjoy it.
As much as one could relax with a powerful and masculine man like him towering over them.
Then things had escalated.
He was a terrible flirt, and she had no game. She had just giggled and fluttered her eyelashes like a Jane Austen heroine.
At one painting, Aidan placed a hand on the small of her back and leaned in. “You see, the skill of the stroke here, Lily?”
She had shivered.
Then his hand had slid down her arm at another print. “How do they make you feel?”
By then, her heart rate had been off the charts. When they got to the top of the stairs, Aidan’s hand was on her hip. Unlike Matt, Lily didn’t want him to move away.
She continued to follow him and to this day, she had no idea what art she’d seen from that point onwards.
Except the last one.
