Yours Completely: A Cinderella Love Story (Billionaires and Brides #1) (30 page)

Mr. Belrose evaluated both of us for a moment, his gray eyes taking in every detail and filing it away. My stomach churned, wondering what he must think of the unkempt, flippant girl in front of him. I wanted to melt into the floor. He turned to leave, stopping to speak with Charlotte as he crossed the tiled floor.

“Miss Page, please remind them about the study,” he said softly to his assistant. It was just loud enough for me to make out the words. I had a feeling that wasn't a mistake. The man didn't seem capable of making a mistake.

“Don't worry, boss,” she told him with a grin. “Now, get going or you'll be late for your meeting.”

He nodded and continued his walk to the front door. Without another word, he opened it and stepped outside, leaving me staring after him and trying to figure him out.

He had this fancy, over-the-top house that he was selling for some reason. No one had said why yet, and since it really wasn't any of my business, I hadn't asked. Yet, the kitchen didn't match and he had a secret study that no one was allowed in. The man was the CEO of a billion dollar company, but he paddle-boarded out on the ocean by himself every morning, and didn't want his assistant to know he had broken a board he could obviously afford.

He intrigued me. There was something about him that made me want to know more, something about the way he held himself and the self confidence he radiated that made me curious about him. I shook my head. He was a mystery, but one that I knew I should stay away from. He was a billionaire and way out of my league.

“Interesting fellow, your boss,” my father said after the door closed. I couldn't help but agree.

“That he is,” Charlotte replied, putting on a fresh smile. “But, you just impressed him.”

“Impressed him?” I nearly laughed. “I just devalued a possible Alexander Roux.”

Charlotte chuckled. “And you think he didn't know that? Why do you think it's sitting out here as the first thing you would see? It was a test and you passed with flying colors.”

I opened my mouth and then closed it. It was a clever tactic, and one that had worked incredibly well. If he wanted to make sure we were going to do the appraisal correctly, putting the false signature was a good way to test our skills. I smiled slightly, suddenly proud that I had passed a test I didn't know I was taking.

“Well, well. I guess that's why he's the billionaire,” Dad mused. He turned to me. “We better get working, kiddo. There's a lot to do.”

I looked around at the big house, stopping at the door Mr. Belrose had just left out of. “Yes, we do,” I murmured, but my mind wasn't paying attention to my father anymore. It was thinking of Sebastian Belrose and how I couldn't quite put him together.

He was a puzzle, but one I wasn't worthy of solving.

So, I smiled at my father and headed into my room to solve the puzzles that I knew I could solve. Time to appraise some art.

T
he room I was starting in was huge, as was everything in the mansion. Three immense paintings dominated the walls surrounded by smaller ones scattered tastefully to complement the larger. It reminded me of an art museum rather than a house, but then I had only ever been in art museums this big, not houses.

The room had one window, and if I had been the interior decorator, I would have focused my attention on the view rather than the art. While the art was beautiful, the seascape out the window was more dynamic. Sheer curtains floated over the big window, and I was glad to note that a special film had been placed on it to block the UV light. At least whomever had set up this room had designed it to hold the artwork.

I stood for a moment at the window, watching the waves break against the shore and sea birds fly through the air. It reminded me of this morning's sunrise and that made me smile and wonder what Mr. Belrose was up to. I couldn't see him out on the water, which meant that he must have had his meeting.

“Why aren't you working?” Mr. Belrose's deep voice asked, distracting me from my thoughts. I turned around, startled, to see him standing in the open doorway. All the joy on his face from this morning was long gone.

“I was just getting started,” I stammered, going to a table in the center of the room to lay out my supplies. I flushed, knowing I had only been standing at the window for a couple of minutes, but from his viewpoint it must have looked like I was doing nothing at all.

“I'm not paying you to stand around,” he growled. I nearly dropped my tablet on the floor, but managed to catch it in the nick of time. He glared at me. “There are deadlines for a reason. If I wanted someone to stand and look pretty, I'd hire a model.”

My face flamed to an even higher degree. I wondered if Elijah had remembered to feed him breakfast.

“Didn't you have a meeting?” I asked. All I wanted to do was snap at him to go take a long walk off a short cliff, but I didn't. He was my employer.

“It was canceled. Are you going to work or what?” He glared at me, daring me to sass back. But, I was a professional, despite the fact that I had enjoyed looking out the window. So instead of saying something I knew I'd regret, I put on my biggest smile and looked up at him.

“Of course, Mr. Belrose. I'll get right on it.”

I cocked my head to the side, willing sweetness to drip off every word. I made syrup look bland.

He frowned, opening his mouth and then closing it. I had to hold in my sense of accomplishment at throwing him off. He had obviously been expecting a smart-aleck, defensive remark and my overly-sweet response was not computing.

“Now, if you'll excuse me, Mr. Belrose,” I continued, still smiling and forcing sugar sweet niceness from every pore, “I need to get to work.”

With that, I turned back to my table and arranged my tools. I moved methodically and carefully, feeling his eyes on me as I went about my work. I ignored him, concentrating on what was now entirely my domain. This is where I was most comfortable. I was now entering my element.

Once my station was arranged to my liking, I went to one of the smaller paintings on the wall and carefully began my examination. It took all my willpower not to look up and say something snotty as Mr. Belrose kept watching me, waiting for me to do something he could criticize.

The first painting was small, only about a 10X8 piece of oil on canvas. It's something I could see my mother having painted and I immediately fell in love with it. It was of an impressionist piece of a boat floating in the moonlight. Blues and silvers dominated the canvas, with short brush strokes carefully invoking the feelings of a festive boat out on dark water.

I trembled taking it off the wall, not from nerves but because I could feel it in my bones that this was an important piece. It spoke to me. The frame was well made and I was glad to see that care had been taking in preserving and displaying the artwork properly.

“That came with the house,” Mr. Belrose informed me, the tone of his voice dismissive. “I'm sure it's not worth much. You should start on the Degas.”

I gritted my teeth and forced my face into a polite smile. I hated it when people told me how to do my job. If he was so sure the piece was worthless, then why the heck had he hired me?

“Thank you,” I said politely, beaming my smile at him before turning back to my original painting. “I'll be sure to let you know when I'm finished.”

I would get to the Degas when I got to the Degas. I had a system, one that I had perfected over the years, and I would be dammed if I was going to let him tell me how to do my job. Even if he was a billionaire.

I took the frame over to the table, pointedly ignoring Mr. Belrose. I could feel his temper heating from across the room. He wasn't a man that was used to being ignored. He was a billionaire after all. I rolled my eyes. He probably had people begging to ask “how high” at just the thought of him saying jump.

But I wasn't jumping. I wasn't even bending my knees to prep for a jump. This was the one thing that I was good at. The one thing that I knew made me worth something. He may be a billionaire, but an art connoisseur he was not. The painting was far from being worthless. Very far.

I smiled down at the painting without realizing and heard him let out a frustrated sigh. I peeked up just in time to see his back stomping off down the hallway. I rolled my eyes and told myself to be nicer next time. He was the one paying my salary and he was definitely not pleased that I had ignored his suggestion to start on the Degas. But, if he wanted this done right, then he had to let me do what I was good at.

I pushed him from my mind and focused on the painting. If I was right, and I usually was, it was a Berthe Morisot painting and probably worth around at least fifty-thousand dollars. The last time I had seen her paintings up at auction, a painting of similar size and style had gone for over one hundred thousand dollars.

I hummed gently, starting my real investigation of the painting. I was at peace whenever I held artwork like this. I loved this part of my job. To touch things that were little windows into the souls of painters, to hold something in my hands that had moved the lives of others, was exhilarating. To have it all to myself for just a moment, to be able to see every brush stroke and every careful line of color filled me joy.

I loved the challenge of authentication and appraisal. It was a puzzle that never ended. I always imagined that it was a game to see if I could distinguish real from fake, and I loved having to use all my knowledge of art and painting to make sure that something was what it appeared.

This particular piece was relatively easy as it had a certificate of authenticity from a museum I knew and respected, though, I still had to double check it, and check the certificate in order to catalog it for the auction.

I opened up my tablet to begin putting in the details when I heard a loud thunk from the room next door. Frowning, I carefully set down the painting and went to investigate the noise coming from the room where my father was working.

“Dad?” I called out, stepping into the large room next door to mine. “You in here?”

Silence answered me. I frowned and then gasped as I saw my father's form on the floor next to a large wooden desk.

I screamed a sound of pure disaster and ran to his side. He was ashen and clammy to the touch, but I thought he was at least breathing. Panic welled up in my chest and my heart threatened to beat right out of my ribs. I could hear every beat echo in my ears, whooshing and rushing as I cried for someone to come help us.

Everything moved in surreal time. Some seconds, like the one where I waited for him to take that single shaky gasp, seemed to drag on while others flitted away faster than the speed of light.

“What happened?”

Mr. Belrose was suddenly filling my vision, his hands on my shoulders and shaking me. I looked down at my father, unable to move and unable to make my mouth work.
My Dad... Daddy...

I looked helplessly back up at Mr. Belrose, focusing on his gray eyes. Something in them helped loosen the tightness in my chest making it hard to breathe. His hand on the bare skin of my arm was a tether back to sanity.

“I heard a thunk and I came in. I...” I stammered, the words sounding off-key and hollow to my ears. I knew there was something I should be doing, something I should have done by now, something that would help my father, but for the life of me, I couldn't remember what it was.

“Bastian?” Charlotte's soft voice echoed through the room. Her brown eyes went wide as she saw my father on the floor. “What's going on?”

“He's alive,” Bastian said quietly, holding his fingers against my fathers throat and feeling for a heartbeat. Somehow, he was ridiculously calm, while silver cords of panic wrapped around me and threatened to strangle me. “Charlotte, please call Dr. Verner. Tell him we have an emergency that appears cardiac related. It will be okay, Ava.”

The word “cardiac” resonated in my mind, reverberating and cinching the cords of panic even tighter. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. I needed my father to wake up.

“Ava.” Mr. Belrose grabbed my wrist, his eyes connecting with mine. When I looked at him, the slender threads of panic holding me in place lessened. He knew how to be in charge and what need to be done. I was so glad he was taking control because I was freaking out. “Ava, I need you to go get the AED. It's in the kitchen next to the door. Lucia will know where it is if you don't see it right away. I need you to bring it to me, okay?”

I nodded, my head bouncing wildly. His words were my direction and I took off running the moment he let go of my wrist. I ran as fast as my legs could pump, skittering and sliding across the wood floors like an overgrown puppy all the way to the kitchen.

I stumbled into the bright yellow kitchen, panting and eyes wild. The smell of breakfast was still in the air. I looked for the AED, but since I wasn't sure what it would look like, I couldn't find it. The rush of having something to do, of doing something to help my father, quickly wore off in the face of my defeat. The panic from before returned full force as I had no idea where the AED was, yet knew my father needed it.

“Miss Ava? Are you looking for something?” Lucia asked, coming around the center island and wiping her flour covered hands on her dark apron. “You look like you've seen a ghost.”

“The AED, I need it,” I gasped. My voice came out squeaky, like I had forgotten how to use it.

Lucia's face paled and her eyes grew wide. She scurried over to the door, moving faster than I would have thought possible. Hanging on the wall to the side of the kitchen door was a small white and blue briefcase with a red cross on it. I couldn't believe I hadn't seen it. Lucia took it from the wall and placed it in my hands.

I nearly dropped it I was shaking so bad, but as soon as I told my fingers to wrap around it, it would have taken pliers to make me release it. “Thank you,” I whispered, turning around and running before I had even finished saying the words.

“No, don't sit up just yet,” Mr. Belrose scolded as I sprinted into the room. He had his hand on my father's shoulder, keeping him pinned to the floor. I didn't care what he was doing, my father was awake.