Episode five
1398 Words
DOUBTS
I stood by the large window of my studio, arms crossed as I watched the raindrops trace jagged paths down the glass. My mind replayed Jones' phone call over and over. "Take care of it before she finds out." The words were seared into my thoughts, cryptic and unsettling. Was he talking about me? Was this charming billionaire hiding something darker beneath the polished exterior?
As I debated, I went to the cafeteria at the corner of the studio to make some black coffee with some biscuits, which I got from Martina as a freebie...
"Good Morning". Kate greeted as she walked in
"Morning". I answered facing the direction of the window
You good?.
I'll be out of town for a few days; I hope you will be able to stop worrying about Jones and be able to focus...Kate announced.
How do you know that he's on your mind? I asked surprisingly
Allison, I know you better than anyone else. She replied
"I'll be focused and take care of yourself, Kate"
I will. Kate answered waving her hands as she left.
Although Kate and I have been friends since, and we both shared the same dreams, which made us still remain friends after school days, and she has been the sweetest girl I have known since college. I smiled
I paced the length of the room, chewing my bottom lip. The paint on my canvas had long dried, but my creativity remained stalled. Jones had left the coffee shop shortly after his call, apologizing and saying he’d reach out soon. That had been three days ago. Silence echoed louder than any excuse.
My phone buzzed.
Jones Brown: “I’d still love to see your studio. Lunch tomorrow?”
I stared at the message, my thumb hovering over the screen. My instincts wavered between caution and curiosity. Something didn’t feel right, but she couldn’t ignore the pull Jones had on me.
Me: “Sure. By Noon. At the Studio.”
The next day, Jones arrived precisely at noon. He was dressed down in jeans and a navy sweater, the kind of casual look that still screamed effortless wealth. His smile was the same—warm, slightly mischievous—but I couldn’t shake the tension coiling in my chest.
“This place is incredible,” he said, stepping inside and letting his eyes scan the room. My studio was a converted loft with exposed brick, tall windows, and dozens of canvases lined up against the walls. “It’s very... you.”
I raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Jones chuckled. “Creative. Bold. Unfiltered.”
His words made me blush, and I hated that I liked the way he looked at me, though. Still, I kept my distance.
“I like to keep it authentic,” I said, watching his every move.
He wandered toward a piece I had been working on—a woman with no face standing at the edge of a cliff. “This one feels... conflicted.”
I crossed my arms. “Maybe she is.”
Jones turned.
Our eyes met across the paint-streaked floor, and for a moment, there was a pause—tense and sharp, like the edge of a blade.
“Are you conflicted?” he asked softly, voice low and strangely gentle.
I gave a shrug, trying to mask the sudden tightness in my throat. “Aren’t we all?”
He smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I didn’t mean to disappear on you.”
“Yet you did,” I said, sharper than I intended. “Three days of silence after an intense call in the middle of a date? That’s not the best way to make someone feel secure.”
Jones sighed and took a step closer. “You heard something on that call.”
“I heard enough.” I met his gaze. “You said, ‘Take care of it before she finds out.’ Who’s she, Jones?”
He hesitated. A flicker of something—regret, perhaps—crossed his face before he schooled it into calm again. But I saw it. I felt it.
“She wasn’t you,” he said finally. “But I won’t lie to you—I was handling business. A complicated business that got messier than it should have.”
“That’s vague,” I snapped. “And I’m not asking for the sanitized version.”
Jones looked away, his jaw clenching. “Do you know what it’s like to live your life under a microscope? Every word scrutinized, every move misinterpreted? I learned early that transparency is a luxury I can’t always afford.”
“That’s not an excuse,” I said, my voice rising now, my hands balling into fists. “You don’t get to be charming one day and mysterious the next. You don’t get to pull me in and then hide behind closed doors and half-truths.”
Jones took another step toward me, and suddenly we were too close. I could smell the faint cologne on his sweater, see the tension in his jaw, the pleading in his eyes.
“I wasn’t trying to play you, Allison,” he said, voice quieter. “I like you. More than I expected. And that scares the hell out of me.”
I stepped back.
“Fear doesn’t give you the right to lie.”
Silence stretched between us like a chasm. I could feel the weight of it—of all the unsaid things hanging in the air between us.
“I want to trust you,” I whispered. “But right now, I don’t know if I can.”
Jones reached into his pocket and pulled out a small folded paper. “If it helps,” he said, offering it to me, “this is a copy of a contract I just terminated.”
I hesitated, then took it.
My eyes scanned the header: Acquisition Proposal – Greenspring Art Collective.
My heart stopped.
He’d been negotiating to buy the studio?
“I didn’t know you were part of Greenspring when the talks began,” Jones said quickly, watching my expression. “Once I did, I tried to step back. I told my associate to end the discussion. That call you overheard—that was me trying to undo it. I told him to take care of it before you found out because I knew how it would look.”
I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. My pulse pounded in my ears.
He sighed. “I terminated the deal yesterday. The board wasn’t happy. But I couldn’t go forward with it—not if it meant lying to you. Not if it meant losing you before anything even began.”
The paper trembled in my hand.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I really am.”
I looked up at him. For the first time, I didn’t see the billionaire. I didn’t see the charming playboy with curated suits and perfect timing.
I saw the man behind the curtain—vulnerable, scared, trying.
But was that enough?
“I need time,” I said, my voice hollow.
Brown nodded. “I’ll give you space. But Allison... I’m not walking away. Not unless you tell me to.”
With that, he turned and left the studio, the door closing quietly behind him.
I stood there for a long time, still clutching the paper.
Outside, the rain had stopped. But inside, I still felt soaked in uncertainty.
I turned back to the painting—the faceless woman at the cliff’s edge. Her stance was brave but hesitant. Afraid to fall, but even more afraid to stay where she was.
I dipped my brush into a rich amber tone and added a streak of light behind her. Not enough to change the whole canvas. But enough to show the possibility of dawn.
***
That night, as I prepared for bed, my phone buzzed again.
Unknown Number:
"Tomorrow night. Meet me at the rooftop of the Harborview Hotel. One last chance."
I stared at the message.
It wasn’t signed. But I knew it was him.
I looked at the paper contract still lying on my nightstand.
Trust is a fragile thing. But maybe... I wasn’t ready to close the door.
I set the phone down and turned out the light, heart pounding.
Tomorrow would decide everything.
- Writer
