The Seduction of Ms. Ward – Part 1: Business Only

Charlotte Ward had a rule for every situation. Never sign a contract after six o'clock. Never accept a gift from an artist. Never, ever, let a meeting run over by more than five minutes. The rules had built her gallery, and they kept it running, and they had kept her lonely for longer than she liked to admit.

So when the young woman walked into her Chelsea office with a battered portfolio and no appointment, Charlotte had every intention of refusing her.

"I don't review unsolicited work," she said, not looking up from her desk.

"I know," said the woman. "But you'll want to look at this one."

Charlotte looked up. The painter was younger than she had expected, in paint-stained jeans and a black shirt, dark hair cropped short, a face that was all sharp cheekbones and unsettlingly direct eyes.

"Inès Moreau," said the woman, and set the portfolio on the edge of the desk. "I paint rooms. Empty ones, mostly. Old kitchens, closed shops, the places people leave when they're done. I think you'll recognise the one at the back."

Charlotte opened it, despite herself.

The first painting was of a gallery. Her gallery, with its tall windows and its polished floor, empty of people. The second was of Charlotte herself, in profile, standing at the window with her arms folded. It was accurate in every detail, from the set of her shoulders to the small crease between her brows.

"You painted me," said Charlotte, very quietly.

"I watched you for three weeks," said Inès. "From across the street, from the café, from the stairs. You always stand at that window before a big sale."

Charlotte closed the portfolio slowly.

"That's invasive," she said.

"Yes," said Inès. "And I'm sorry for it. But I wanted you to see how well I see."

Charlotte's pulse was fast and uncomfortable. She stood up, walked to the window, and looked out at the street, at the people hurrying past the gallery door. Her reflection stared back at her, straight-backed and cool.

"Ms. Moreau," she said. "You have three minutes."

"I'll take two," said Inès, and grinned, and for the first time Charlotte felt something crack open under her ribs.

"Sit," said Charlotte, turning back. "Business only."

"Of course," said Inès, sitting. "Business only."

Charlotte's gaze lingered on her a second too long. Inès noticed, and didn't look away.

Charlotte cleared her throat. "What do you want from me?"

"A show," said Inès. "And maybe, if you can stand me for longer than three minutes, a drink."

Charlotte smiled before she could stop herself. It was small and tight, but real.

"Green or yellow?" Inès asked quietly, across the desk.

Charlotte blinked. Nobody had ever asked her that about a business meeting. "Yellow," she said honestly. "Slow down. I'm not used to this."

"Then we'll go slowly," said Inès. "Start with the drink."