Me:Not bad. I have my first client walking in soon.
Husband:Good luck. I know you will do well. I love you, Tiff.
Pausing, I read the text a few more times. Every time Nico tells me he loves me, I get this sinking feeling in my stomach. I’m so torn. Part of me knows this man has to love me. Look at all the crazy stuff he did to get me. However, there is another part of me that questions if the love is real? I don’t exactly know if how I feel about him is real. I mean, how can I love someone that I truly didn’t even know?
Me:Okay.
After sending the text, I place my phone face down on the table in front of me. A soft knock draws my attention to the meeting room door. I look up just as Kim, the receptionist, escorts an attractive man inside. This guy was maybe 6 feet even and had one of those typical pretty-boy faces. Model bone structure, golden blond hair, and a straight nose. He was young and looked to be no older than thirty. He looked relaxed in his white button-up under a black blazer and dark-wash jeans.
I step toward him with my hand out. “Hi, I’m Tiff—”
“I know who you are, Ms. Best.” He grabs my hand with both of his and shakes. The smile on his face is flirtatious yet friendly.
“It’s Basille, actually,” I say. “Mrs. Basille.”
The man never wavers. He dips his head. “My apologies. I have been following you since I read the article in ModernStructure. The work you did on Basille North River is incredible.”
I blush at the accolades, taking my hand back from the handshake. I hold out my palm toward the table where I have everything set up.
“After you,” Ezra says.
I make my way over to the table.
“I’ve been looking at photos of your home, and I have to say it is stunning.” Before I can sit, Ezra grabs my chair and pulls it away from the table. The gesture takes me by surprise, but I don’t complain. I assume he is one of those old-school guys who enjoy pulling out chairs and holding doors open.
He finally takes his seat beside me.
“Yes.” He scoots in closer toward the table. “After viewing the home, I was sold. The location is everything. But I won’t lie, it needs a lot of work.”
I chuckle.
“Well, that’s why I’m here. Tell me what you envision for this house.”
“Honestly, my mind is a blank canvas. I don’t know what I want, but I know that what’s already there isn’t my style.”
“Okay, do you know what your style is? Any inspiration or artwork you admire?”
A slow grin fills his face. “Do you know the famous anonymous painter Bankman?”
“I do actually.”
Bankman was a graffiti-style artist. He is well known for his paintings and his anonymity to the world. Just recently, one of his artworks sold for 4 million.
Ezra’s grin spreads wider. He leans forward in his seat as if he’s about to tell me a secret.
“I’m Bankman.”
I gasp. My eyes scanning him from head to toe. He didn’t strike me as an artist when he walked in, but obviously looks can be deceiving.
“Oh my gosh. Seriously? I love your work. Wait, am I even supposed to know that?”
He chuckles. “No, and I’d hope you would keep my secret.”
I pretend to zip my lips. “I won’t tell a soul. I just can’t believe I’m meeting an actual celebrity.”
Technically, he isn’t a well-known celebrity, but his name is. People have been trying to unmask him for the last seven years since he came on the scene.
He waves me away. “I’m just a normal guy. But I told you because my art is my inspiration for the home. Something edgy, yet masculine and modern. And not black,” he chuckles. “My sister has been adamant about me not having everything black.”
