The week after Christmas flew by. Seth didn’t hold himself to a strict work schedule. He was enjoying his time with Tia too much. But he did spend a couple of hours a day fundraising for the humanities center he was planning to build. Tia called some of her wealthier associates in the movie industry too, and most were so relieved to hear from her they were overly generous in contributing, especially Christian Allen, her costar from Expect the Worst. Seth planned to make the building itself into a work of art and have the names of all the donors who’d given a certain amount featured in a colorful banner going up one side, so that helped to encourage donations, too. Everyone liked to be recognized for doing a good deed.

By the thirty-first, they’d been able to raise four million dollars. According to the architects and contractors Seth had talked to, he needed twenty, so he still had a long way to go, but he was willing to contribute a sizable amount himself, so he had a great start.

Between going running every day, cooking, enjoying the pool and hot tub, and watching movies with Tia, he also managed to finish The Businessman. Once he could concentrate on it, it took only one night. To make up for how long he’d made his client wait, he borrowed Cal’s truck and took Tia with him to San Francisco to deliver it in person. The attorney who’d requisitioned it—a Mr. Li Chen—was so excited he even made a donation for the humanities center.

“I think I’ll create something special for the entrance to the building and sell signed, limited-edition prints to help raise the rest of the money,” Seth said as they drove away from the attorney’s house.

Although Tia was wearing her beanie and her sunglasses with a sweater and a pair of jeans, she hadn’t bothered with her scarf. She seemed to be growing less self-conscious about her scars every day. “That’s a great idea! Then, people who aren’t rich can contribute, too, and have something special to show for it.”

The painting he’d done of her came to mind. It was still covered with a cloth and hidden behind another canvas at Maxi’s, so she hadn’t seen it, but he was keenly aware of it. Easily the best thing he’d created in some time, it seemed like a prime candidate for the humanities center—at least in some regards. He’d met Tia in Silver Springs. She’d helped make the building a reality. And prints of such a beautiful and sensual woman would be broadly appealing.

But he was strangely reluctant to share it with the world. Despite being purely conceptual, it was somehow too private. He would feel oddly exposed—and he didn’t care to discover why.

“I’m starving,” she said. “Where are we going for dinner?”