Page 30 of For the Love of Art

“Why?”

The question struck me hard. Had I really assumed his offer would come without questions or a formal interview? I looked down at my ripped jeans and grey t-shirt with a faded image of Garflield and realized how unprepared I was.

“This is a great opportunity,” I said the simplest answer I could find in my muddled mind.

“Come on,” Nathan leaned forward, a sly smile dancing on his lips. “You can do better than that. I know it’s a great opportunity. I offered it. You turned me down.”

“It’s a big change.”

Nathan nodded. “A good one, though.”

I bit my lip.

Nathan took a breath, then slid a small stack of papers toward me.

“What’s this?”

“A contract. Your contract.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Let me get this straight. I turned down your job offer and then responded poorly to your one and only question for me, and you’re still offering me the job?”

Nathan shrugged. “Consider it an eccentric billionaire thing.”

I blinked a couple of times, then looked down at the paperwork.

I mumbled through most of it. Manage collections with catalogs, plan art exhibits and shows, train art dealers, et cetera. My eyes widened when I hit the salary. I looked up at Nathan, who looked genuinely proud of himself.

“Is this a real number?”

Nathan pretended to study the contract and I did my best not to show my annoyance. “Yes. It’s real, hence why you can see it.”

I scoffed. “This is–” I didn’t have words. I was too busy calculating how fast I could get out of the dump I lived in.

“I expect to get my money’s worth. I did my research. I know you went to NYU for your Bachelor's and Julliard for your Master’s.”

“Did you get a PI or something?”

“No, I–” He shrugged. “It’s not hard to guess that someone from New York also attended school here.”

“Jokes on you. I’m from New Jersey.”

“Well, you live here now. It wasn’t hard to guess that you went to school here. Plus, you have a LinkedIn.”

Right.I’d forgotten that I’d made that back when I worked.

“Well?” Nathan took a pen from his fancy looking pen holder. He removed the cap and handed it to me. “What do you say?”

My hand shook as I reached for the pen and put it on the paper.

“Left handed.”

My eyes shot up to him. His lips were turned up in a smile, and my stomach flipped. I turned my attention back to the paper and slowly began my loopy signature. When I finished, I dropped the pen and met Nathan’s steely gaze.

“Welcome to Manning Art Gallery, Isla Watts.”