Chapter 3

I was stunned for a moment, then couldn't help grinning from ear to ear.

'Did I hit the jackpot? Is my divorce actually bringing me good luck? This lucky streak came out of nowhere,' I wondered.

Hartwell let out a soft chuckle on the other end of the line. "Ms. Grimshaw?"

"Oh, I'm here." I snapped back to reality. "Mr. Nightshade, please let me know whenever you're free. I'm good anytime."

We agreed to meet at Hartwell's studio.

His studio was tucked away in a forest on the outskirts of the city, surrounded by a peaceful, elegant atmosphere.

I showed up right on time, dressed in a sharp white suit and carrying a hefty stack of partnership plans.

Hartwell was even more impressive in person than in his photos. He wore a simple cotton-linen shirt, his look crisp and understated, and his gaze held a distant, artistic air, softened by a quiet kindness.

He showed me to a seat and made coffee for me himself.

"Ms. Grimshaw, these are some of my initial ideas," he said, passing me a booklet.

I opened the booklet and was instantly captivated by the design sketches inside.

I thought, 'Oh wow, this Celadon Shadows collection is breathtaking. The composition and the vibe are so amazing. It hits all my aesthetic sweet spots.

'Hold on, if we simplified the pattern a bit and went with intaglio carving, wouldn't it feel even more amazing?

'His skills are top-notch, but sometimes, he's so obsessed with perfection that things get a bit too stiff. If he could just let loose a little, he'd be the best of the best.'

As I browsed through the sketches, my mind was running wild with commentary.

Across from me, Hartwell's expression went from calm to surprised, then shifted into pure delight, as he'd just found a kindred spirit.

He looked at me, his eyes shining. "Ms. Grimshaw, what you just said, using intaglio for the pattern, and making it a bit more freeform, are excellent ideas."

I blinked at him, totally confused.

Wait, when did I say that? I didn't say a single word out loud.

'Did I blurt that out? No way, how embarrassing,' I wondered.

I scrambled to save face. "Uh, I mean, your designs are already perfect. That was a random thought."

Hartwell smiled, gentle as a spring breeze stirring ripples on a lake. "No, your ideas are really interesting. Maybe we could give it a shot together."

That day, Hartwell and I spent the entire afternoon talking.

We covered everything, from ceramic techniques and aesthetic philosophy to market trends and brand culture. I realized he wasn't just an artist. He had a sharp eye for business, too.

But the best part was how easy it was to talk to him.

'Finally, someone who can actually keep up with me.

'Not like Rowan, that ice block, nine times out of ten, all I get from him is a "Yeah", "Okay", or "Whatever you say", and the other time it's just "I've got a meeting." He's basically a conversation killer,' I thought.

Hartwell's hand paused for a second as he held his cup, and he couldn't help but smile.

He found this woman, who looked all proper on the outside but was lively and full of surprises inside, seriously interesting.

He could hear my inner voice, no question about it.

He'd been tuned into it ever since their first meeting at Nightram last night.

At first, he thought it was just his imagination, but today proved it was real.

He didn't know how or why, but honestly, he kind of liked it. It was like cracking open a mystery box. He never knew what surprise would jump out next.

*****

Meanwhile, in the CEO's office at the Ashwick Group, Rowan tugged at his tie, clearly frustrated.

Ever since yesterday, Briseis's outrageous inner thoughts had been echoing nonstop in his head.

He tried to convince himself it was his imagination, but the voice was way too real, way too clear.

Perrin knocked and came in, looking uneasy. "Mr. Ashwick, regarding your wife, oh, I mean, Ms. Grimshaw's movements."

"Go on," Rowan said.

"Ms. Grimshaw visited Hartwell's studio today. They had a pleasant conversation and reached a preliminary partnership agreement," Perrin reported.

Hartwell?

Rowan knew all about Hartwell. Hartwell was an artist famous for being proud and hard to please. The Ashwick Group had tried to work with him before, but he'd shot them down every single time.

What made Briseis so special that he actually paid attention to her?

"And," Perrin paused, glancing nervously at Rowan. "Ms. Fairmoor called. She made a reservation and invited you to dinner tonight."

"Turn her down," Rowan replied instantly.

Now, whenever he heard Winona's name, Briseis's comment would automatically play in his mind, making him feel all kinds of uncomfortable.

"Mr. Ashwick," Perrin finally worked up the nerve. "I think Ms. Grimshaw is different from what we expected."

"Did you hear it, too?" Rowan looked up, his eyes razor-sharp.

Perrin nodded, hesitantly.