Chapter 8

Leona's POV…

"Who is C.M?” He queried a bit too harshly as if he'd already cracked the code.

“I don't know who that is,” I lied, digging my teeth into my lower lip to stop it from trembling.

He glanced at the note, then back to me. The doubt in his eyes was visible. “I'm hoping it isn't the person I think it is.”

“Who is it?”

“Conrad Moore,” he blurted without hesitating. “He's the only one with that initial. Are both of you still seeing each other?”

My chest rose, falling heavily. I lowered my lashes so that he wouldn't be able to see through me.

“Why would I want to see him after everything he did to me? That man hurt me deeply, and I'm not sure if I'd ever be able to forgive him,” at least, this was true. “It could be someone else with the same initials like me.”

“I hope that's the case because I still hate him for treating you the way he did. You should do the same.” He sounded furious.

I wondered what he'd do if he found out the truth or even discovered that the house opposite mine belonged to the man we both hated.

After collecting the gift box from him, I lowered myself beside him. “Let's forget about him now, brother; he shouldn't be the center of our discussion when I'm only seeing you after a long time since you visited in Paris.”

“I know. How have you been?” he asked, and we dived into a hearty chat.

Some minutes later, I busied myself with dinner while he assisted me, but all the while I couldn't stop wondering why he chose to rile me up that way.

Did he send me the gift box because he noticed that Tristan was around?

That could be an option because the windows of his house faced mine, which gave him the opportunity of seeing whoever visited. I'd technically lost my privacy.

I should speak to him tomorrow about him being a nuisance.

Tristan and I cleaned up after dinner and went to bed. He was to leave in the morning for a trip to New York while I'd head to the gallery to meet with the CPO and inform her of my decision.

~~~~

My knees bunched under the desk, my hands clutching my tweed suit skirt while I waited for the CPO to come in. Her secretary had informed me that she was occupied in a meeting, so I waited for her at the conference room.

Alicia was unaware that I was here, or she'd have dissuaded me from coming over, but this was something I had to do regardless of anyone's opinion.

Conrad and I couldn't possibly work together, and that was final.

Some minutes later, the door was pushed open, her heavy musky scent trailing behind her as she plopped down in the chair in front of me.

“Good morning, Ms. Rivera,” she greeted warmly, the telephone ringing immediately.

While she took the call, I wondered if Conrad was around. I would rather not meet him now or be reminded of his arrogance.

When she dropped the call, I noticed a shift in her mood. She was all smiley when she came to the conference room, so it bothered me that her face was covered with disappointment.

“Is anything the matter, Ms. Rafael?”

She gulped, leaning forward and clasping her hands. “The chairman wants to have a private meeting with you.”

“Mr. Moore?” My chest tightened.

“Yes. His office is at the end of the second floor. Do have a nice day.” She stood up abruptly, walking away without sparing me as little as a glance.

I pushed my chair backward, perplexed. Did Conrad tell her about my refusal to work with them?

There was only one way to find out.

I took the stairs instead of the elevator, wanting to burn off some of the pent-up tension before getting to his office. How could he say he liked me yet go ahead to treat me in this manner?

Locating his office was easy since it ate up one-third of the whole floor. It was glass-walled but opaque, making it impossible for me to see through.

Smart!

I knocked once and entered after receiving his permission to come in.

Mischief glinted in his bright blue eyes, and he wasn't alone, so lashing out at him wasn't feasible.

“Hi, Ms. Rivera. Please come and have your seat.” He ushered me in.

I sent a greeting to the other man with a curt tone and sat down. “You called me up. Why?”

He massaged his chin. “I wanted you to meet my lawyer.”

My eyes narrowed into slits. “Why?”

“Because of your attempt to terminate your contract with us, and I want him to enlighten you on the reason the termination can't happen,” he said.

I swallowed hard, nodding slowly. “Okay then. Let's hear it.”

The lawyer brought out two documents and handed one over to me. I took it, realizing that it was a copy of the contract I'd signed. He asked me to flip to a certain page that contained the clauses.

“Ms. Leona Rivera, clause II under section D of this contract states that any attempt to breach the contract before the expiration of it will lead to irreparable damages worth over five hundred million dollars.”

The document nearly slipped off my hands, but I caught it immediately, holding it tightly like my life depends on it.

I peered down at the page, scanning the clause over and over again, anticipating seeing something different, but all that appeared were the exact words the lawyer had said.

My emotions erupted at that point. “You knew, Conrad, you knew that I'd take this route when I found out you own the gallery, but then you decided to draft this ridiculous contract. You disgust me, Conrad,” I spat with so much venom and anger I feared I'd explode.

He merely grinned, gazing intently at me. My hands steadied my head as I ran through my brain through my net worth.His gallery had contracted me for the sum of five million dollars, which was a drop in the bucket compared to what I'd pay if I reneged on the agreement. Even if I added my savings and solicited for help from friends, it would barely scratch the surface.

On the other hand, I imagined coming to the gallery every morning and seeing his hideous face. I imagined holding back from smashing his head against the wall every time I saw him and then realized that I'd been fixed between the devil and the deep blue sea. Both options would consume me.

“So, Ms. Rivera. What will you do? Take the job or go against me in court?” Conrad questioned the satisfaction of putting me in a tight corner, blaring loudly in his voice.

Silently, I cursed the day I met him.