Chasing Billionaire Carter

“Hey, do you think this coat works better than the leather jacket?” I turned side to side in front of the giant mirror in the back of my family’s flower shop—the one my sister and I ran together. I was trying to decide which jacket made me look chic and trendy without making it obvious that I was trying too hard.

I had on dark oversized jeans, a fitted black top, and a leather belt cinched at my waist, very Pinterest-core. So very me.

Mia, my not-related-but-somehow-still-bossy older sister and best friend didn’t even glance up from her stack of fashion magazines. “What does it matter? It’s almost seventy degrees outside. Why would you wear a jacket?”

I pouted. “It’s for the look, Mia.”

I turned to my actual older sister, Sophie. I was sure she’d be more helpful.

“Sophie?”

She smiled. “You look hot, Lil.”

“Literally,” Mia added, smirking like a menace.

They both burst out laughing, and I scowled.

I loved them. I mean, how could I not? Not everyone got to call their sister and their sister-friend their best friends. We were a trio, a chaotic little girl gang. They were usually helpful, maybe not with fashion, but Mia did help me file my taxes once, and Sophie tried to teach me how to drive. (It ended in near-death and emotional scarring, but still. Effort.)

But today? Today they were anything but helpful.

They were annoying.

“That’s it. I’m out of here.” I flung the jacket onto the counter and stormed out. Okay, fine. It was way too hot for it anyway. What was I even thinking?g??

Their voices trailed after me, both of them failing miserably at apologizing through their fit of laughter.

I ignored them and stepped outside, letting the warm breeze hit me like a sigh.

Next stop: the art supply store.

I usually didn’t put this much thought into my outfits. Most things looked good on me, so I didn’t really have to try. But ever since I found out he went to the same store...

I’d been trying a little harder. And by “trying,” I meant overthinking everything.

What style would snag his attention instantly? Sweet? Sexy? Mysterious and mature?

In the end, I just went with sharper eyeliner and better jeans. Classic fallback.

Who exactly was he, you might ask? No one else but David Carter.

Now, David and I had a weird history. I met him once when he visited the flower shop and practically fell in love with him on the spot. He also happened to be my brother-in-law Ethan’s best friend, which made him practically family. Great, right?

Nothing like having a lifelong crush on someone who sees you like a little sister. Three years in, and somehow I was still stuck in the friend zone. Or sister zone. Whichever it was, it sucked.

My most petty attempt at love? Bumping into him at the art store. I’d “bumped into” him there so many times, it stopped being a coincidence a long time ago. I’m pretty sure he still thought it was. He was clueless like that sometimes, and honestly, I found it kind of cute.

I didn’t usually chase guys. I never had to. A little flirting, a well-placed smile, and most of them came to me.

But David?

David had boundaries. Thick as a brick wall and just as impossible to climb.

He was charming, obviously. Even flirty at times. But he always kept his distance. Friendly, but that’s all it ever was.

And it was driving me insane.

Was I not his type? I was most people’s type.

Okay, maybe I wasn’t Sophie-level pretty. My perfect, beautiful sister who looked like she could heal the world with a handful of sunflowers. But I had my edge. Right?

...Right?

Ugh. I was actually doubting myself.

Nope. Not today. I shoved the thought away before it could sink its claws in.

The art store came into view, and instantly, my mood lifted. I loved this place. It smelled like turpentine and daydreams. Like possibility.

I was just about to say hi to the owner. He was always friendly, and after years of working at my family’s flower shop with my sister, I’d learned how to sweet-talk just about anyone. It was easy to make friends, and I was great at getting a good conversation going.

Maybe today I’d even manage to get a casual rundown of what times David had been in this week.

But then I turned my head and...

There. He. Was.

My breath caught.

David was hot. Unreasonably, unfairly, frustratingly hot.

He had that easy kind of handsomeness, the kind that didn’t need effort. Like he had just rolled out of bed looking like that.

His light brown hair was just a little too long, in that way that made me want to run my fingers through it. His build was big, strong, like someone who had absolutely no business looking that good in a plain T-shirt.

And God help me, there was that damn dimple.

No one. Absolutely no one could blame me for falling into a crush like this.

I’d dated good-looking guys before. I even had a whole ranking system, from A-tier to D-tier.

But David wasn’t even S-tier material.

He was SSS-tier. Super high-quality stuff.

And I, Lily Miller, wanted more.

“Hey, if it isn’t little Miss Miller.” His voice yanked me straight out of my spiral, smooth and teasing, with that signature flirty smirk already in place.

Classic David. Cocky, magnetic, annoyingly irresistible.

I had to physically stop myself from grinning like an idiot.

I didn’t do wild grins. I’d perfected the flirty smile, just the right amount of charm. Just cool enough not to make it look like I was about to star in the next great romantic drama. Like Titanic or something.

“David,” I said, bright and breezy. Then I tilted my head and pouted, playful. “Hey, I’m not little. I’m pretty tall—five-nine and all.”

His smirk deepened, and I knew that look. He was about to tease me.

“Right,” he said, clearly mocking me for pretending I wasn’t the short one in this dynamic.

I was taller than most of the women I knew, but next to him? The guy practically needed his own zip code. It was unfair, really.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, pretending like I didn’t already know exactly why he was here, what he usually bought, and just how ridiculously specific he was about his paint.

“Just grabbing something quick,” he said.

“Perfect, because I need your help picking my paint.” I didn’t wait, I looped my arm through his like I owned the place. Or him. Either worked.

“I only came for one thing,” he muttered, but he didn’t pull away.

I liked that he didn’t mind me invading his personal space. I just wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a very bad thing for me.

“Great,” I said, flashing him a smile. “That means you’ll have even more time to spare with me.”

He sighed. That signature David sigh. The one that meant Come on, Lily, but always came right before he gave in anyway.

It didn’t come easy, though. If it did, I would’ve had a real chance with him by now.

I led him to the paint section, grabbing a few supplies from the shelves while I scanned the colors, trying to act like my heart wasn’t absolutely sprinting.

Then, like I had just thought of it (even though I hadn’t), I looked over at him and asked, “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask... why do you even shop for art supplies when you don’t paint anymore?”

I’d been sitting on that question for a while, ever since Ethan, my brother-in-law and David’s best friend, let it slip. I knew David was involved in the art world. He owned an art agency, hosted exhibitions like they were casual hangouts, and talked about artists the way most people talked about their favorite Netflix s

But I didn’t know he painted too.

Naturally, I did what any normal girl would do when handed a single crumb of crush-related information: I stalked the hell out of him.

David kept a low profile, probably thanks to his ridiculously rich family, but I still found what I was looking for. He used to be a full-time artist. Like, real-deal. Actual art shows. Awards. Galleries. The whole thing.

But David wasn’t just an artist. He was one of those artists.

The quiet, mysterious, lowkey tortured kind. The kind of genius who could rip open a canvas and somehow show you your entire soul.

And nothing, nothing prepared me for his work.

I was already obsessed with him before. Like, a hundred out of ten obsessed. But seeing his paintings might have multiplied that obsession by ten.

He hadn’t painted in years. Not publicly, anyway. These days, he focused on his agency, helping up-and-coming artists get noticed, get paid, get seen.

But secretly? I wanted to know what he would paint now.

And I knew I wasn’t the only one. His tiny Reddit fanbase (yes, I found it, no I’m not proud) was rooting for a comeback too.

David ran a hand through his already-messy hair, and I had to mentally stop myself from reaching out and fixing it for him. “I still paint,” he said. “I just hate what I paint. Maybe I’ll finally get out of my rut if I ever find my muse.”

My heart did a dumb little thing at that.

A muse?

Before I could even bombard him with follow up questions, he clapped his hands together like a human reset button and gave me a look.

“You done?”

Rude.

“Just one last thing,” I said sweetly, tossing a tube of paint into my cart like I hadn’t just been emotionally stonewalled.

At the register, he didn’t even hesitate, just pulled out his card and paid for all of it.

I blinked, totally caught off guard. “Thanks,” I said, and it came out... a little softer than I meant. Very un-Lily-like.

I wasn’t really sure how I felt about guys paying for my stuff. But this time? I let it slide. It was David, after all. And maybe he only did it because he still saw me as some annoying kid. Someone he had to look out for.

“You didn’t have to.”

Outside, he shrugged. “Come on, I have to support struggling artists.”

“Oh, so you do support struggling artists?” I teased, giving him a little side-eye.

“I guess I try.”

“Then you should know that I’m currently struggling.”

He glanced at me, all suspicious and skeptical. “With what?”

I let out the most dramatic sigh I could muster and threw my hands up like the universe had personally betrayed me. “Everything. Life. The meaning of existence. But mostly, this stupid piece I’m working on.”

That was only half a joke.

I’d been trying to get into another stupidly exclusive art school, because Sophie, my perfect, encouraging older sister, told me it was okay to chase the silly, beautiful dreams I kept on a shelf for too long.

Their requirements? A portfolio that was, and I quote: emotionally driven, thematically bold, and technically ambitious.

Whatever that meant.

I had paint-stained fingers, a few mental breakdowns, and a mild caffeine addiction. That had to count for something.

David looked amused. “What are you working on?”

I exhaled like Atlas, carrying the world’s weight in my overpriced tote bag. “Terrible things.”

Then, boom. Brain lightning. I grinned. Oh, it was a brilliant idea.

“Actually... I need a model.”

His face shut down so fast, it was kind of impressive. “No.”

I gasped like he’d slapped me. “David, come on! You just said you support struggling artists, and I am struggling. Right now.” I batted my lashes at him, innocent and desperate in equal measure.

He squinted. “Stop doing that thing with your eyes. It’s freaking me out.”

I pouted. “So is that a yes?”

“Will I be paid?” he asked, deadpan.

Like I could afford even one percent of his net worth.

I placed a dramatic hand on my chest like some tragic heroine. “David. I am a struggling artist. You said you’d support me.”

He exhaled like this was the worst decision of his life. “Fine.”

“Great!” I clapped my hands, already ten steps ahead. “When do you have time? I can totally work around your schedule.”

David pulled out his phone like he was actually going to check—

“Now.”

He blinked. “What?”

I pointed down the street like I was guiding him into a trap. “My studio is right around the corner. I’ve got all my supplies, and you look devilishly handsome today, so I don’t need anything else.”

David ran a hand down his face, muttering, “I don’t know if it’s because I’m older than you, but your energy seriously scares me.”

I beamed. “I get that a lot.”

Without giving him another second to back out, I grabbed his arm and started dragging him into traffic. Okay, not into traffic, through the busy street. Details.

David groaned. “I can’t believe I agreed to this.”

“It’ll be fun! I promise I’ll feed you chips.”

He gave me a long, unimpressed look. “...Chips?”

“The good kind.”

He sighed. “Fine.”

I grinned so hard my cheeks actually hurt. Got him.

Soon, we arrived at my studio, a bright, open space with wide windows that overlooked the town, flooding the whole room with natural light. It was spacious, cozy, and mine.

The kind of place that made me want to breathe a little deeper. The kind of space where I could actually make something. Not just dabble, create.

“Nice space you’ve got here,” David said, glancing around.

I shrugged. “I’m sure it’s not as impressive as whatever you have, but I love it.” And I did. I was still insanely grateful to Ethan and Sophie for helping me get this place.

For the first time, art wasn’t just a side thing I squeezed in after everything else. I could actually try. I gestured toward the chair in the center of the room. “You go here.” David sat down with a smirk. “Just so you know, you owe me for this.”

“I could take you to dinner as payment,” I said casually, as I started pulling my supplies together.

He chuckled. “That’s just what you want.”

“True,” I said with a shrug, flashing him a grin, “but I’m great company. I’m an expert at dating.”

David snorted. “An expert at dating?”

“Yeah, everyone says I’m so good at it,” I said, all mock-serious.

And then he laughed. Full-on. Deep. Genuine. Those damn dimples of his making an appearance like they always did when he forgot to hold back.

My breath hitched. God, he looked so handsome when he laughed.

“Don’t. Move. I have to capture this.”

David smirked. “You think that’s amazing? You should see my brooding face.”

I rolled my eyes. “I think I prefer you smiling. It’ll look great when it’s finished.”

Personally, I always thought it was easier to draw someone sad than to draw someone happy.

His smirk faded, just slightly. Replaced by something softer. Something that made my chest tighten, just a little.

“The first time I saw your work,” he said quietly, “I wondered who could pack so much sunshine and joy into one painting.”

I blinked, completely caught off guard.

And then he added, “You’re really good, Lil.”

My heart stopped. For a second, I just stared at him.

I hated this feeling the most. That unfamiliar, unguarded flutter in my chest.

So I waved him off, trying to play it cool. “Oh, stop. You know compliments will get you anywhere with me. So... when do you want to go out with me?”

He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “How many favors do you plan on cashing in before this turns into actual extortion?”

“I already promised to feed you chips,” I muttered under my breath. “So high-maintenance.”

He chuckled again, and I swear, I could’ve sketched just the sound of that.

Finally, I settled in front of the canvas and started sketching. David sat still, for the most part.

About thirty minutes in, he finally broke the silence. “You know,” he said, “you could just take photos of me. I’d even let you.”

I gasped, fully dramatic. “Ha! So funny. I know I have stalker tendencies and would very much appreciate those photos, but I think I like you better in person.”

I tilted my head, studying him. Not just his face, but the way he existed in the space. The way his fingers drummed absently against his knee. The way his expression shifted ever so slightly when he was lost in thought. Like he was somewhere far away and didn’t even know it.

“A picture would just freeze you in time,” I said, more to myself than to him. “But I want to see you breathe. Think. Exist. So don’t stay so still.”

“Calm down, Shakespeare,” he deadpanned. “I’m stuck in a small room with a girl who probably wants a piece of my hair. I’m trying my best, okay?”

I smirked. “I don’t want your hair. That’d be creepy, even for me.”

I paused.

“Your eyelashes, maybe.”

He mock-shuddered. “Why am I not surprised?”

I just grinned and kept sketching.

“I get to see the final piece first, okay?” he said after a beat.

“K. Now stop talking, you’re making me lose concentration.”

David let out the most exaggerated sigh in human history. “Just a few minutes ago, you told me not to be still. What do you want, woman?”

I groaned. “Fine. Let’s take a break.”

He stretched his arms with a smug little smirk. “Finally. I was promised chips, remember?”

I shook my head, a smile tugging at my lips as I walked over to my secret snack stash to feed him.

Not that I thought he’d be impressed with just chips. The man probably had a taste for truffle fries and champagne or whatever rich people snacked on.

And just like that, I knew I was in trouble.

Because I wasn’t supposed to like him this much.

I wasn’t supposed to want him, at least not like this.

So why wouldn’t he just date me already?

I needed to get him out of my head. Fast.