Chapter Six

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Chapter Six

As I waited outside my building for him, I debated the wisdom of having lugged the painting box down four flights of stairs, thinking that maybe I should wait for Tom, but I was a grown woman and I did not want to start out first meeting by asking for help. He had already done more than enough for me. Besides, he probably had one hell of a hangover to contend with.

One canvas isn’t very heavy but six large ones, all slotted into a plywood painting case, was damn heavy, so by the time I made it down stairs, I was hot and a teeny bit sweaty. With anyone else, that would be fine but I was meeting Mr Hollywood, who spent his life surrounded by beautiful, nubile young women, with an army of makeup artists and beauticians to make them look good.

Me? I was lucky if I remembered to shave my legs once week.

I had kept my outfit simple, a knee length black woollen dress that skimmed my figure, black leggings and ankle boots. The only colour was a wide, red belt. I thought I looked passable. I’d left my long hair down for a change, I normally wear it up so it doesn’t get covered in paint.

Tom arrived in a Jaguar, making me rethink having accepted his offer; the box wouldn’t exactly fit in the back seat.

Still, when he got out of the car and smiled at me, I forgot to worry.

“Harri?” He asked, as if he hadn’t already seem my face on webcam. Or maybe he was just puzzled by the fact that I scrubbed up pretty well.

I nodded as he rounded the car, then he bent down to kiss my cheek, making me worry about how sweaty I was.

“You must be freezing out here without a coat.”

“I’m fine,” I smiled, hoping I didn’t look like a grinning fool. “Carrying this kept me warm.”

I patted the wooden case. Although it had handles, it was five feet by four. He looked at the box, then at my building.

“What floor do you live on?”

“Top.”

“You should have waited for me, I’d have helped you.”

I shrugged. “Will it fit in your car?”

“Should be fine,” he smiled, lifting the box and taking it to his boot. When he opened it, I could see that not only was the boot larger and deep than it looked, he’d put the back seat down, giving enough room to slip the box in.

“You don’t have to be so delicate,” I said, trying to find a way to help him but he seemed to have it covered. He was stronger than he looked at first glance. “Everything’s covered in bubble wrap and secured in polystyrene grooves.”

“Still, better safe than sorry,” he said, winking at me.

Once the box was in, he closed the boot and turned to me, a small smile playing on his lips.

I didn’t know what to say, nor did he, presumably, and I blushed under his scrutiny. Then suddenly he seemed to snap out of his stupor.

“Come on, we’d better get going, in case traffic’s bad.”

He followed me around to the passenger side and opened my door for me.

“Thank you for taking me,” I said when he got in.

“Not a problem, darling.”

As we drove away, I was lost for words, having no idea how to speak to someone like him. It was easier over the phone where, although I knew who he was, I wasn’t reminded of it every time I looked at him.

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