His Brand of Passion by Kate Hewitt

she finally asked, after the tense silence had gone on for several minutes.
    ‘I don’t know. Something modern.’
    ‘Why are you going, then?’ Zoe asked. She sounded petulant, even childish. This evening was going downhill fast.
    ‘Several of my clients will be there.’
    ‘Clients? what is it you do, exactly?’
    ‘I’m the CEO of Bryant Enterprises.’
    ‘I know that. But what does that mean?’
    It means I live on a knife-edge; I wake up at night in a cold sweat; I devote my entire life to a job I never really wanted
. The sudden virulence of his thoughts shocked him. Swallowing, he turned back to the window. ‘I manage the company’s assets, which are varied. But my main personal responsibility is our hedge fund.’
    ‘That’s what Millie does—hedge funds. Although I’m not even sure what they are.’
    ‘Essentially an investment fund with a wider range of trading activities than other funds.’
    ‘Still not sure what you’re talking about,’ Zoe said airily,and Aaron almost smiled. He actually liked that she didn’t get it. He didn’t really want to explain it, or even talk about it.
    ‘Hedge-fund managers usually invest some of their own money,’ he told her. ‘And the funds are not sold to the public or retail investors.’
    ‘So you’re managing your own money, as well as someone else’s?’
    ‘Essentially.’
    She turned to face him, her expression strangely serious and intent in the darkness of the car. ‘Do you like it?’ she asked. ‘Do you enjoy what you do?’
    Aaron stared back at her, words lodging in his throat, choking him. ‘I make money,’ he finally said.
    ‘So?’
    ‘It’s what I do,’ he answered, and made his tone dismissive, even curt. ‘It’s what I’ve always done, what my family has always done.’ There were no other choices.
    Zoe felt her spirits lift as soon as they entered the gallery. It was all soaring space and clean angles, huge, messy canvases hanging on the otherwise stark walls. Women in elegant dresses and men in tuxedoes circulated the space amidst black-tied waiters with trays of champagne and fussy-looking hors d’oeuvres.
    ‘I know you’re not keen on modern art,’ Aaron murmured as they came through the door, and Zoe arched an eyebrow.
    ‘Who said I didn’t like modern art?’
    ‘You did say my apartment was awful,’ Aaron reminded her. ‘And it’s rather modern.’
    ‘True, but there are different kinds of modern. My paintings are modern, in their own way. These—’ she gestured to the bright canvases on the walls ‘—are colourful, lively. I like them,’ she stated firmly and Aaron gave the nearest painting his consideration.
    ‘I’m not sure what it’s supposed to be.’
    Zoe studied it, as well. ‘From a distance it looks like some kind of festival,’ she said slowly. She couldn’t point to any distinct figures or shapes, yet she got the sense of it—of people with arms outstretched or raised, of firelight and dancing, of joy and celebration.
    Aaron nodded slowly. ‘Yes…I suppose,’ he said, and Zoe laughed at how dubious he sounded.
    ‘Not a fan?’ she teased. ‘And with all that modern art in your apartment!’
    ‘I never said I liked it. I certainly didn’t choose it.’
    ‘Why have it if you don’t like it?’
    He shrugged. ‘An interior decorator chose it all, for effect and re-sale value. I spend very little time there as it is.’
    ‘And yet I spend a lot of time there,’ Zoe replied tartly. ‘Maybe I should redecorate.’ She saw the expression on Aaron’s face freeze and she rolled her eyes. ‘Chill, Aaron. I was joking. I’ll stick with my few paintings and my plant. That’s enough for you, clearly.’
    ‘You can redecorate if you want,’ he said stiffly. ‘Since you’ll be living there for at least seven months.’
    At least
. Because what happened after the baby was born? Zoe pushed the thought away. ‘I want to study the painting,’ she said, and moved closer.
    Funnily enough,