I blinked at him, lips parted, throat suddenly dry. Words stalled as excitement and fear warred inside me. It felt too big to be real—and too good to pass up.
“Holy crap.” I bit my lip, torn between excitement and terror. “It sounds amazing, but I’ve never done anything on that scale. Does he have a vision? A theme? Deadline? Contract?”
Robert waved a dismissive hand. “You’ll have to sort all that out with him. I just wanted to know if you’re interested. If so, I’ll pass along his contact info, and the rest is between you two.” He raised a brow. “Well? Are you in?”
My heart kicked into overdrive, even as my brain warned me not to get carried away. But the grin forming on my face had a mind of its own.
“Hell, yeah, I’m interested.”
“Perfect.” He pulled out his wallet and handed me a business card.
The thick beige card was embossed with elegant black letters. No address, no job title—just a name and a number.
“Benjamin McFarlane the Third,” I read aloud. “What does this guy do?”
Robert smirked. “Oil tycoon. His family struck it rich generations ago and built a fortune in drilling and refining. Officially, he’s an International Business Liaison. Unofficially, he travels a lot, works very little, and finds creative ways to spend the family fortune.”
He took the card back for a second, scribbled a number on the back, then returned it. “That’s his personal line. He said to call him directly if you have any questions.”
“I have a million.”
I glanced around the store, feeling momentarily unmoored. The opportunity felt surreal, but I wasn’t about to let it slip. I carefully tucked the business card into my bag, then turned to Robert.
“Thank you. Seriously. I don’t even know what to say. I appreciate you thinking of me.”
He smiled, a faint flush blooming above his beard. “It was an easy call. I just hope you two can work something out. If he likes your work, he could bring in more clients. Big ones.”
“Yeah.” I nodded, already feeling my imagination run wild. Me, in a mansion, surrounded by paints, charcoal, maybe even clay again, given full artistic freedom. It was exhilarating—and terrifying.
Snapping out of the daydream, I extended a hand. “Alright, let me see that list of yours and get you what you need.”
Twenty minutes later, Robert walked out, arms full of supplies. I held the door open, thanking him once more for thinking of me.
Back behind the counter, the doubts crept in. What if McFarlane changed his mind? What if he didn’t like my work? Worse—what if he hired me and I couldn’t deliver? Robert said he wanted more than just paintings. Sculptures. Custom pieces. I hadn’t sculpted since college. My tools were long gone.
My jaw clenched, breath catching as panic tried to claw its way in. I forced myself to breathe. One thing at a time. I hadn’t even spoken to the man yet. No promises made, no expectations set. First, I’d call him. Then I’d decide.
With deliberate calm, I reached for my phone and McFarlane’s card. I cleared my throat, took a steady sip of cold coffee, and dialed the number.
My heart pounded so loudly I could barely hear the phone ring.
“Hello?” A smooth, professional voice answered.
“Mr. McFarlane? Jesse Nielsen here.” I kept my tone confident. “Robert Delaware mentioned you recently purchased a house and were looking for someone to decorate it.”
“Ah, Ms. Nielsen.” His tone warmed immediately. “It’s great to hear from you. I admire your work.”
Flattered, I pressed on. “Thank you. What kind of art were you envisioning?”
“Call me Ben, please. As for the art, not much of a vision,” he admitted. “That means creative freedom for you. I want everything unique. You won’t create these pieces for anyone else.”
I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. “Understood. Shall we meet to discuss this further?”
“Perfect. How about tomorrow morning? Best if you come to the house so you can see the space.”
“Sounds great. May I have the address?”
He shared the details, and we settled on 9 a.m. I thanked him and hung up. My pulse raced even after the call ended. This was happening. I could have a chance to show off more than just my brush strokes—murals, sculptures, mixed media, anything that matched my vision. I had to pray I was good enough to impress Mr. McFarlane—Ben—and that we would agree to a price that suited us both.
