“Ms. Nielsen, glad you could make it.” His teeth were a blinding white, and he looked just like Ken—tall, blond, blue-eyed, square-jawed. Did he have a girlfriend named Barbie?
I extended my hand. “Please call me Jesse. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise. Come in.”
I took in the high ceilings and spacious layout. The rooms flowed into one another. The house was a luxurious space with intricate moldings and ornate details adorning the doors andwindowsills. The hardwood floors gleamed. The walls, pristine and unadorned, were begging for an artist’s touch.
A grand staircase wound its way up to the second floor, and a marble fireplace dominated one wall. Sunlight poured through large windows that framed the surrounding greenery.
Ben led me through each room, pointing out the spaces where he wanted me to add my art. I could see the potential in each room, and my mind was already racing with ideas. By the time we reached the last room, I was buzzing with excitement, eager to get started on bringing my—and Ben’s—vision to life.
“Well, what do you think?” He stopped and turned to face me. “Can you turn this place into an art gallery?”
I gazed around, nodding slowly. “I believe I can.” I took out my portfolio. “Is there someplace where we can sit? I’d like to show you some samples and discuss ideas.”
He looked embarrassed. “Um, I’m afraid I don’t have any furniture.”
I rescued him, heading toward the staircase. “This will do just fine.” I plopped down and waited for him to join me, amused when he hesitated. He wore a white summer shirt, light beige chinos, and shoes that looked like they had just come off a designer’s shelf.
He sat gingerly next to me. “I’m used to more civilized accommodations, but this will do.” He smiled sheepishly.
I opened my folder and started telling him about my ideas for his house. He was decently knowledgeable when it came to art. That would make my job easier.
He listened carefully to my ideas, asking pertinent questions from time to time. His blue eyes focused on me, as though he didn’t want to miss a word. That was a good sign. He might be generous with his money, but he wasn’t careless.
“So, that’s the big picture.” I took a deep breath, wishing I had a bottle of water. “What do you think?”
He rubbed his clean-shaven chin. “I like it. The only thing I’m not crazy about is the color brown. I’m not saying you can’t use it, just go easy on it. Other than that, I don’t want to micromanage. I love your work and your sense of style. You know what you’re doing.”
My smile was more confident than my brain. “Thank you. Hey, anything can be corrected. If you don’t like the walls, I’ll repaint them. If you don’t like a painting, I can always resell it.”
“I’m sure I’ll like everything.”
“I hope so. What deadline do you have in mind?”
“There is no deadline. I’m in no hurry, Jesse. I heard that you shouldn’t rush genius.” The corners of his eyes crinkled good-humoredly.
It felt as though a stone had lifted off my chest. Time had been a big issue for me, and it was one of the reasons why I’d been nervous, wondering if there would be an unrealistic deadline to meet.
I exhaled heavily. “Well, that’s a relief, and it’s very generous of you. The deadline part, I mean. I’m not a genius in any way.”
He shifted his body toward me, looking into my eyes. “I disagree. Never underestimate yourself, Jesse. Your work is amazing.”
I gazed at him, believing each and every word. If a guy like that, rich and an art connoisseur, called me a genius, I must be doing something right.
I smiled, biting my lip. Those blue eyes were slightly intimidating.
“Thank you. There’s one subject left to discuss.”
“The price.” His tone never changed. “Of course. How much do you normally charge for a job like this?”
I wasn’t stupid enough to say I’d never done a job like this. Instead, I glanced around, measuring the space in my mind, making a mental list of supplies, calculating the work hours andeffort required. I’d spent half the night thinking about how much I should charge. Quoting too low would haunt me. Too high, and I risked walking away empty-handed.
I named my price, as steady as I could.
He didn’t blink. “I believe that’s more than fair. I’ll add ten percent to that quote. I believe in paying people properly. So, do we have a deal?” He extended his right hand.
“It’s a deal.” I shook his hand, keeping my excitement inside my head.
