The Museum of Contemporary Art was a cathedral of white marble and hushed whispers. By 8:30 PM, the air was thick with the scent of expensive champagne and the kind of perfume that cost more than Jules's monthly rent.
She stood at the edge of the mezzanine, her fingers tracing the silver railing. She had chosen a floor-length gown in midnight navy—elegant, high-collared, but with an open back that felt daringly cold against the drafty gallery air. She felt like an imposter until she saw him.
Alistair Blackwood was at the center of a circle of city council members and investors. He didn't look like he was enjoying himself; he looked like a king enduring a dull ceremony. Then, his eyes drifted upward. He found her instantly, as if he had been tracking her scent. He said something brief to the men surrounding him and began to walk toward the stairs.
The crowd seemed to part for him. When he reached her, he didn't offer a greeting. He simply stood beside her, looking out over the gallery.
"You look like you're plotting an escape," he said quietly.
"I'm an architect, Mr. Blackwood. I'm just analyzing the structural integrity of the room."
"And?"
"It's beautiful, but it's hollow," Jules said, finally turning to face him. "There's no soul in a room built only to impress."
Alistair's gaze dropped to the column of her throat, then back to her eyes. "Most people spend their entire lives trying to get into this room. You're the first person I've met who wants to renovate it."
He reached out, his thumb grazing the pulse point at her wrist. It was a brief, electric contact, but it felt like an anchor dropping. "The contract is ready. But I have conditions that weren't in the initial brief."
"What kind of conditions?"
"Total immersion," Alistair said, his voice dropping an octave. "I don't want a designer who visits the site twice a week. I want someone who understands the Blackwood philosophy. That means you work from my estate for the duration of the project. You see how I live, how I move, what I require. You design for me, not for a firm."
Jules felt a flicker of alarm, followed by a rush of adrenaline. "That's... unconventional. It sounds less like a job and more like an acquisition."
"Everything is an acquisition, Julianne. The only difference is the price."