Chapter 8: Nicholas’s First Act of Kindness

Oil paints, turpentine, and the art center's subtle earthy fragrance of clay were constantly present. No matter how chaotic life got, I could always find serenity in that scent. I let familiarity overwhelm me as soon as I entered that morning. The space was unpretentious; paint-splattered tables, worn easels, and cracked tiles revealed years of arduous labor.

"Cassie!"

One of my art teachers, Nina, came out of the rear studio with her wavy hair clumsily tied up with a red scarf. "The furnace is misbehaving once more. It has a consciousness of its own, I promise.

I let out a sigh. "We'll get by. Tell the students to dress in layers for the time being. Later, I'll call the repairman.”

My phone buzzed in my pocket as Nina made her way back. I looked at Nicholas Scott on the television.

Now, what does he want?

Something forced me to pick up even though my thumb was hovering over the ignore button.

"Yes?" I asked, attempting to sound polite.

"Where are you?" He spoke in a cool, clipped voice. Nicholas, as usual—hard to read.

I said, "At the art center." "You know I work."

A pause occurred. Then, without warning, he remarked, "I'll be there in 30 minutes."

I blinked, "What?" "Why?"

"You'll see," he continued, and the line ended before I could protest.

As though it might help me understand what had just happened, I glanced at my phone.

Nicholas? Are you coming here? I felt nervous at the idea of his entering my haven. I was myself, not the woman he had transformed into a commercial deal.

After stuffing my phone back into my coat pocket, I started working. Students would soon be arriving, and whether Nicholas liked it or not, the furnace needed to be fixed.

As promised, a black town vehicle arrived outside the center precisely thirty minutes later. My building's peeling paint and mismatched masonry made the shiny car look ludicrously out of place.

As Nicholas left, I watched through the window from the front desk. He wore his trademark cool indifference and one of his well-tailored suits, charcoal gray today. It was as though the cosmos itself changed when he walked into a room, drawing the air closer.

His shined shoes clicked on the worn floors as he entered with deliberate steps. I became acutely conscious of every flaw in my core. Did he also see them? Did he criticize the window at the front door and the flaking paint?

With caution, I folded my arms and said, "Nicholas." "What is the purpose of my visit?"

With his hands in his pockets, he came to a halt before me. "I wanted to witness it firsthand."

"Observe what?"

"Your center for the arts."

I was surprised at the words. "You're... considering the art center?"

His gaze swept over the room, taking in the antique easels, the colorful paintings drying on improvised racks, and the shelves stocked with mismatched supply jars. "You've created something commendable here," he finally remarked. "But it requires effort."

I became irritable. "We make it work, even though it's not perfect."

"The issue isn't perfection. Sustainability is. His sharp eyes met mine as he turned to face me.

"How long can you keep this place operating with a leaky budget and patchwork repairs?"

My throat constricted. "I get by."

"And I'm willing to assist."

I was sure I had misheard him, so I blinked. "Aid? Why?”

"I looked over your finances." As if he had started going over a menu, he said it in such a casual way. "If nothing changes, this center won't be around for another six months."

I felt a keen, scorching rage explode inside of me. "You looked over my money? Without consulting me?

"I am your spouse," he said calmly. "I can. Don't seem so surprised.”

"Having access does not grant you the authority to—"

"To save you?" he interrupted, his tone hard but low. "Do you want to make that argument?"

I parted my lips, then shut them again. He was right, and I detested it. It seemed like a daily struggle to keep the center afloat. But taking his assistance? That was like losing, like parting with myself.

"Nicoles, what do you want?" Quietly, I asked.

He took a step closer and declared, "I want to invest in this place." "I'll pay for the expansion and repairs. Everything you require will be available to you, including improved equipment, new studios, and center promotion. There are no conditions.

"No strings?" I chuckled sourly. "There are always strings attached to you."

He didn't recoil. "Think as you like, but the offer is still in effect."

With my heart thumping in my ears, I looked away. Gazing out at the street below, I made my way to the window. With their backpacks draped over their shoulders, children were congregating outdoors in preparation for class. My children. My hub. My fantasy.

"How much authority would you possess?" My question was hardly audible above a whisper.

"None," he replied. You'll continue to operate it. My name doesn't need to be close to it.

I paused at that. Did Nicholas Scott, the guy whose name was attached to every commercial endeavor like a gold seal of approval, not want to be given credit? It didn't add up.

"What are you doing?" I looked back at him. "Actually."

He kept his eyes fixed on me. "Because I can."

Even though his response was quite straightforward, I couldn't think of anything to argue with.

The contractors showed up two days later.

It was surreal to see trucks and hard helmets arriving at the center. Not only had Nicholas pledged to assist, but he had done it more quickly than I could have imagined. It ought to have been a boon. But I felt a knot in my stomach as I watched the workers unload the items.

With her arms folded, Nina said next to me, "I don't trust him." From a distance, she observed Nicholas conversing with the foreman, both of them focused on their work. "What's his angle?"

"I'm not sure," I said. "He claims he wants nothing in exchange."

Nina snorted. Men like that don't merely provide favors. Be mindful of your back, Cass.

I nodded, but I couldn't help but feel a glimmer of appreciation rising within me. I was aware that I should remain vigilant. Nicholas was shrewd and cunning, not a hero. Still, I felt something I hadn't felt in a long time when I watched the repairs get underway. I hope.

I discovered Nicholas in one of the vacant studios later that night after the employees had left. His muscular shoulders were silhouetted against the vanishing horizon as he stepped close to the window. When I walked in, he didn't turn.

"What makes you concerned?" I asked quietly.

Without hesitation, he stated, "I don't." "However, I am aware of how significant this location is to you."

I felt a weird ache after making the admission. I briefly believed that his profile revealed a weakness that he rarely displayed.

I pushed the words out before I could take them back and said, "Thank you."

At last, he looked up at me, his face unreadable. "Thank me later."

"Why not?"

"Because this isn't finished yet."

"What do you mean?" I scowled.

He paused, then stepped forward, his eyes narrowing as if he was considering telling me something or not. "Cassie, there are things you don't know about me.

My heartbeat accelerated. "Then tell me."

He shook his head, his eyes growing icy once more. "Not just yet."

"Nicolas—"

He interrupted me and said, "Go home." "We'll speak soon."

His comments reverberated in my thoughts as he passed right by me, leaving me alone in the deserted studio.

Things you are unaware of.

Long after he had gone, I continued to stare at the door while a cold chill ran down my spine. What did Nicholas have to conceal?