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Just as the chicken was about to leave an unwanted “contribution on the canvas, Nina shooed it away with a swift kick. Ignoring its indignant squawks, she had the canvas mounted into a big easel and swept up to the brush display, selecting a thick one. Her movements carried the easy confidence of someone who knew exactly what they were doing.
With a practiced dip into the acrylics, she began. Each random chicken track transformed beneath her brush, merging and llowing into something entirely new. The earlier accusations of fraud died in throats as the audience watched, transfixed.
Guests exchanged meaningful looks. They couldn’t quite make out the full picture–Nina’s constant movement around the massive canvas and the distance from their seats made sure of that–but something was definitely taking shape.
Time crawled by until a clear “Done!” cut through the tension.
“She’s done already?”
“No way it hasn’t even been two hours!”
“Bet she just slapped something together.”
“If this turns out to be any good, I’ll eat my hat!”
Two staff members carefully transferred the painting to the projector screen. The skeptical whispers died mid–breath. Under Nina’s masterful strokes, the chaotic chicken tracks had transformed into a vibrant garden in full bloom. Sunlight danced across a riot of colors–where simple footprints had been, now dresses of young women swirled among fluttering butterflies.
“A masterpiece!” The shout broke the spell.
A businessman leaped to his feet. “Three million dollars for that
The floodgates opened.
“Five million!”
“Six million!”
“Seven million!”
“Thirty million!”
Gasps rippled through the crowd at the jump. Nina’s ears perked up at “thirty million.” Her interest in the bidding. evaporated instantly. Mission accomplished. Time to collect on Clifford’s promise.
From his perch in the VIP suite’s balcony–the perfect vantage point for watching the show–Clifford had an unobstructed. view of the bidding frenzy below, as buyers scrambled to outdo each other.
The door burst open with a bang.
“Clifford!” Nina bounded in and wrapped her arms around his neck from behind a gesture that should have been intimate but landed somewhere between a chokehold and a child’s enthusiastic tackle.
“Target hit! Spill your secrets,” she demanded.
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Her warmth pressed against his back, and he suppressed a sigh.
The girl had absolutely no concept of personal space or male–female boundaries. Thank goodness she only acted this way with him–anyone else might have taken advantage of her ingence.
He gently untangled her arms and turned to face her. “Want to know what your painting’s going for now?”
“Don’t care.” Her nose scrunched in annoyance. Just tell me why everyone respects you so much.”
“It’s at a hundred million dollars,” he said.
“Cool, new record!” She barely registered the astronomical sum. Now talk.”
“Care to guess who made that bid?” Clifford asked, fighting back smile.
“Why should I care about that?” Nina’s pretty face scrunched in ritation. She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you trying to wriggle out of our deal about telling me your other identity! If you won’t spill, I’ll investigate myself”
“What’s there to investigate?” He couldn’t help but chuckle. “It’s all public knowledge–just Google.me.
That caught her off guard. ‘He’s that famous?’ she couldn’t help but wonder.
On the ride home, Nina did exactly that. Her eyes widened at what she found.
Clifford wasn’t just Deputy Director of the Special Operations Division–he was the treasured third son of the Snee family, one of Moonhuntland’s most powerful business empires
He was doted on by his father to the point where the old man was ready to hand him the keys to the kingdom.
Instead, Clifford had blazed his own trail: academic prodigy turned decorated military officer turned high–ranking government official.
Due to his political position, he’d left all business operations to his two older brothers, but even so, he still controlled 40% of the Snce family’s core shares. No wonder everyone showed so much respect to him, calling him “Mr. Snee.”
“Okay, but why stay in the Special Operations Division when you’ve got all that waiting?” She gestured vaguely at the concept
of vast wealth.
“Because I choose to.” He left it at that. The complexities of family business politics would be lost on her.
Nina studied him with newfound fascination. His government salary was probably around 10,000 dollars a month. Running the family business, he could make that in minutes. But he still wanted to stay in the Special Operations Division.
After careful consideration, she could only reach one conclusion the man must be an absolute idiot.
Clifford caught her look and felt a flicker of indignation at being judged by someone so endearingly clueless. But he was mature. Dignified. He wouldn’t stoop to trading barbs with a naive girl.
At least, not directly.
When they reached the Woods residence, Nina hopped out with a cheerful “See ya!”
“Wait. His voice stopped her mid–bounce.
“Yeah? She glanced back.
“You did well today. Here’s a little reward,” he said with a smile.
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Her eyes lit up as she bounded back to the car window. “What kind of reward?”
“Hold out your hand,” he said with a sketchy grin.
She complied eagerly.
over
He placed his closed fist her palm and slowly opened it. Something small and hard dropped into her hand–a fruit candy wrapped in plastic film.
Before recognition could dawn, his car began pulling away.
His amused voice drifted back. “You asked me to hold onto that earlier, remember? Just returning what’s yours.”
As the realization hit that this was the same candy she’d passed to him by mouth, creative curses filled her mind. “The absolute nerve of him! Keeping that used candy just to- Disgusting“”
“Clifford!” she yelled, but his car was already disappearing around the
e corner.
She stared after him, torn between outrage and reluctant admiration. Never in her life had she met anyone quite so infuriatingly clever.
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