Love at First Site

THE DARK HORSE

Alexander’s POV

“What's taking us so long, Mike? It's almost time for my meeting.”

Punctuality was my watchword and my clients knew it. I always arrived at meetings at least fifteen minutes before the arranged time and gave my clients a grace of ten minutes for lateness. If they dared arrive even five seconds after ten minutes, they'd be meeting my warm, half-full mug of exquisite, black coffee. I had a very low tolerance for lateness.

Yet, here I am about to break my ironclad rule because I'm stuck in traffic.

“Can't we go any faster? I do not want to be late for my meeting, Mike. If I'm late then I'll need to apologize and we both know how much I hate having to apologize.”

“Y-Yes, sir. I understand. I'm going to make sure I get you there right on time for the meeting, sir.”

I glanced at him and grimaced at the back of his head. “I should have been there before time. Not on time.”

“I u-understand y-you, sir. I'll do my best to ensure you get to the gallery before your guests arrive, sir.” Mike stammered.

“Good.”

I took in my feel of the Art Montecarlo traffic that had built up for well over a mile and mentally asked myself if the gallery was still a good rendezvous location or if I'd need to change it. I always preferred to talk business in a quiet, serene environment. Something the gallery didn't seem like it'd offer at the moment.

“Mike, are there any good restaurants we can check around here? I don't see myself concentrating with all this crowd.”

I was already developing a mild headache.

“I thought you wanted to go to the gallery because the client insisted that we should hold the meeting at the gallery's rooftop lounge. Or has there been a change in your schedule that I am unaware of, sir?”

I sighed. Mike was right. The client had insisted that we had the meeting at the gallery. Much to my dismay because I knew Monaco like the back of my hand.

The traffic to the Art Montecarlo exhibition was always crazy every single year. Only an art enthusiast or a tourist—as with the case of my client—would be crazy enough to want to deal with the stress that came with locating the venue.

“No. And you're right. The client did insist on meeting at the rooftop lounge. Alright, get on it then. I don't want to be late.”

After what seemed like an eternity, I opened my eyes from my short nap and looked out of my tinted window to appreciate the exquisite architecture in front of me.

I know I've been here a couple of times but this building never ceases to amaze me.

As I took hurried steps towards the elevator, my eyes caught a glimpse of something sparkly, standing regally in a hallway and I couldn't help but be drawn to it.

Upon closer observation, the ethereal-looking figure began to take on more human-like features, and like a moth to flame, I found myself getting pulled into the hallway even more with each passing second.

What manner of sculpture is this? These 3D sculptures are starting to get out of hand.

Then, all of a sudden, it moved. The 3D, human-like sculpture swayed to the left, and then to the right, taking in all the paintings on display.

I'm still going to bet that that's some weird AI meets 3D art sculpture going on right there. There's no way that's a human.

Then, it moved again and this time, it turned to face me.

Wait a damn minute!

The sculpture was smiling at me and I felt the radiance of a million suns envelop me completely. Not to mention, the sculpture had a familiar face.

“That's no sculpture. It's her.”

Standing and smiling in my direction was the woman who had plagued my mind and sleep every single day for weeks.

Her rich, wavy, brunette hair cascaded its way to her hips, begging me to feel its softness, even as it framed her adorably oval face.

Fuck. I can't breathe.

She waved gleefully at me and started making her way toward me amidst the crowds of people who were threatening to tear us apart.

Were there always so many people in here?

When I had initially walked into the hallway, I had felt so starstruck that I hadn't noticed anyone else in the space with us.

It had felt like a ray of light was beaming right above her and the artist had cleverly placed his art piece in front of another art piece to make it look more realistic.

I particularly found the idea very impressive. But it was no sculpture.

My 3D AI-meets-art sculpture was bounding its way toward me and smiling brighter than all the halogen lamps in the entire gallery combined. It was blinding and completely impossible to ignore as if the whole world had paused to bask in its glow.

I decided to meet her halfway and Mike made a face at me as if to remind me about my prior engagement. I replied with a nod and gestured for him to excuse me. The client could wait.

“We meet again, Miss…”

“Eleanor. Eleanor McCarthy. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr?...”

“Alexander. Alexander Pierce Kensington. Lovely meeting you, Eleanor.”

“I must say, you clean up nice, Kensington.”

Kensington... I like that.

She was staring at me with eyes bigger than two full moons and I found myself at a loss for words for the first time in my life.

“I noticed you kept staring at that painting of the African mother carrying her child at her back with an earthen bowl of some sort on her head.”

“Oh, yes… I found myself particularly drawn to that painting. I don't know how to describe it but each brush stroke carried depth and spoke to me in ways no other painting has.”

Her eyes were gleaming and I had a flashback of our first meeting in front of the historic building.

“Come closer. See how the artist uses lighter strokes while capturing the baby's eyes but deeper strokes here while drawing the bowl?

Our shoulders were brushing each other and I could feel the velvety smoothness of her skin through the fabric of my suit. It played with my senses senselessly.

“Yes, I can see that.”

“This is only my interpretation but I feel like the artist uses light strokes for the baby to represent how the mother doesn't consider the child's weight to be heavy. No matter how big her baby is. Because to her, her child will never be too heavy to carry.”

Wow.

“Then, of course, deeper strokes are used to paint the vessel to represent its weight on the mother. So, even though her baby most likely weighs more than that bowl, it feels lighter. However, the bowl will always feel heavier because of the pain of suffering.”

“Wow. Did you get all of that just now? By staring at that painting?”

I watched her ivory skin take on a warm glow and a knowing filled my mind almost immediately.

This will not be our last meeting.

“Although I wasn't always interested in fine arts.”

“Oh? Well, that's a surprise. You seem so passionate about it.”

She covered her mouth with her palm and I couldn't help but notice her slender, delicate fingers and well-manicured nails.

“Well, originally, I wanted to be a singer.” She announced with a cheeky smile.

“A singer!”

I took in her full view and admitted that she had the looks to pull it off. Her big, bright, doe eyes would have gotten young men—and even older men, if he was being honest—simply hard the way they did with Rihanna.

“Yeah, but then I wanted to be an artist. You see, I grew up around nature so it was a bit easier to lean into my artistic side. Before I knew it, I started drawing so much that my parents made sure to always include a sketchpad in whatever gift they got me. I've got so many used sketchpads now and many unused ones from the times they used to buy them for me.”

“Used to? Did they stop buying? Why? Because you're no longer their innocent, little girl?” I asked grinning.

“Because they're dead.”

My smile never faded so fast. I felt my jaw lock tight and my brows furrow accordingly. It was all reflex. I felt guilty.

“I'm sorry about that.” I gritted through pursed lips.

“It's fine. It's been ages since they left either way. So, it's alright.”

The air between us tensed and I felt an uncontrollable need to clear the air somehow. For some strange reason, I didn't want to see her looking down. I craved her radiant smile.

“So… we've got a singer, then an artist. What next, oh Jack of many trades?”

“Architecture. I fell in love with architecture after visiting Venice with my parents when I was ten...”

Oh. She's also been to Venice. Interesting indeed.

“... The buildings there were nothing short of glorious. Before I knew it, my drawings were no longer about fine arts but now about building designs. My parents remained supportive all through and sent me to college to study Architecture. Though I had to drop out in my penultimate year.”

“Oh. Why? If you don't mind me asking.”

“Personal reasons.”

Hmm… I can tell that she's hiding something but it's much too early to start prying into personal matters.

“I recently moved down here and I've been job searching ever since, though no company wants to hire a college dropout in any important roles. I've only been getting part-time jobs that barely pay my bills. But I'm hopeful! My sixth sense tells me I'm going to get a job soon. I can feel it.”

She might be a college dropout but she has an eye for design. She might be the dark horse my design team needs to finally make headway with our Floating City proposal.

Just as I was about to speak, Mike showed up from a corner like a child playing peekaboo and gave me a face that seemed to shout, “Our client has been waiting!!!”

I sighed deeply, unwilling to end my mind-tickling conversation with Eleanor. It had been a while since anyone interested me the way the woman did.

“Alright. Here's what. I'm going to give you my company card right now and I want you to show up on Monday with your resume by 9 am. Got that? Alright.”

I handed my business card to her and pranced out of the hallway, strangely feeling very satisfied with the stunned look on her face at my proposal.

You're in for a ride, Eleanor.