Sculpting Grace: A Light Romance Novel (Art of Grace Book 2)

by Samantha Westlake

  "Rather have a man stick than a bread stick," Portia muttered sullenly, but she let me tug her along and over to the restaurant where, fortunately, we managed to snag an open table. I quickly flagged down the first waitress to stick her head out of the kitchen and placed orders for both of us.

  Twenty minutes later, I finished off the oversized slice of thin crust pepperoni pizza on the plate in front of me, savoring how the melted little strands of mozzarella cheese stretched all the way from the plate up to my mouth. I probably didn't look the slightest bit attractive as I wolfed down the pizza, but it tasted amazing, the heat radiating out from inside my stomach.

  "Okay, fine, this is a bit better," Portia admitted as she finished off the last of a bread stick. She'd also ordered a slice of pizza, but half of it still sat on the plate in front of her. I admired her self-restraint, but knew that I could never match that level in my own life.

  "Feeling a bit less drunk?" i asked her, and she nodded.

  "Yeah. The bread helps." She frowned down at the end of the bread stick. "I'm going to have to go on an extra-long run tomorrow morning to burn all of this off."

  I made sure that she saw me roll my eyes at her, and she smirked. "You could come with me, you know," she went on. "Why not give running a try? It has so many health benefits, and after a week or two of getting into the swing of things, it really does feel so much better. I can't stand to miss a day, now."

  "No, I think I'll stick to my normal workout regimen," I replied.

  "What, lying around and complaining about how you never work out?"

  I pointed a finger across the table at her. "Got it in one."

  She sighed. "You really would look and feel so much better if you let me drag you off to the gym, at least a few times a week."

  Not wanting to get caught in this discussion, one that we'd had many times before, I instead turned my attention over to the list that de St. James had given me. "So anyway, back to this list," I said, patting my purse where I'd tucked the sheet away. "Item number one on the list is social media. What do you think he wants me to do for it?"

  "Does he even have any?"

  I frowned, thinking back. "I don't think so, actually - at least, I tried to look him up on Facebook and a couple other sites, trying to find out more information about him, but I couldn't find anything. Maybe he doesn't have any, and he needs me to set them up for him?"

  "Your guess is as good as mine," Portia replied, looking down at her piece of pizza with a curiously conflicted expression on her face.

  I leaned in, grinning at her with my most wicked smile. "Oh, go ahead and finish off the rest of it. You know that you want to eat it. You only live once, and life's too short to not enjoy good pizza!"

  "You know, you're just repeating the words of the little devil sitting on my shoulder," Portia told me with a sigh, but her eyes didn't leave the pizza. "I'm supposed to just live vicariously through you, not let you start influencing my decisions as well."

  I shrugged. "You want me to eat the pizza then, and you can just watch enviously from the other side of the table?"

  I started to reach out to steal her slice away from her, but Portia caught at my wrist. Considering her long, slender fingers and arms, she had surprising grip strength in her hand as she held me back. "How about we split it?" she reluctantly suggested.

  With the help of one of the butter knives stuck into the basket in the middle of the table alongside shakers of hot pepper flakes and Parmesan cheese, we cut the remainder of Portia's pizza slice in half. I polished my quarter off in a minute or less, and then watched as Portia did the same to hers.

  "Don't you feel so much better, now that it's not sitting in front of you and tempting you?" I grinned as I used my napkin to wipe the last little clinging bits of half-melted cheese off of my lips.

  She just sighed, sitting back in her seat. "Oh man. Wine and pizza. Definitely going to need to double my running distance tomorrow."

  We sat there together in silence for another minute, savoring the lingering sensation of being full of delicious wine and food. Finally, however, Portia hauled herself up with a grunt, climbing back up to her feet.

  "Feeling okay to drive home?" I asked her, still a little concerned, as I also got up to my feet.

  She nodded. "Yeah, the wine buzz is in the past. Walk with me back to my car?"

  Back at her luxury sedan, Portia paused, turning back to me. "By the way, don't think that I didn't notice how you avoided talking about your current relationship woes," she pointed out to me.

  I tried to look blank. "I don't know what you mean?"

  "Oh, you do. I mean, I didn't ask you at all about how things are going with Carter, or whether you've given in to Onyx and decided to let him blow your mind. You really need to loosen up and go with one of them, you know, or else you're likely going to lose both of them."

  "Thanks for the advice," I sighed, "but right now, I just don't want to deal with it."

  Portia patted me on the shoulder, but her big eyes were still a little concerned. "I just don't want you to miss your chance, Becks."

  Impulsively, I hugged her. "Thanks," I told her. "I'll think about it - really, I promise!"

  She nodded, unlocking her car, but didn't say anything more.

  I watched her drive away before heading back to my own truck and making my way back to my apartment. I still needed to get Salem his kitty dinner and get into bed at a reasonable hour, so I could get up the next morning and take on the challenge of winning over Dean Benjamin de St. James.

  Chapter Eleven

  *

  The next morning, thermos of coffee in hand, I headed into the Halesford Gallery. This time, I didn't jump at the presence of the shock of blonde hair sitting behind the front desk. Not a burglar! Lizzie!

  "And how is everything going this morning?" I asked, smiling down at her. Surprisingly, despite the wine and greasy pizza from last night, I felt great. My body was full of energy, I hadn't had nearly as much trouble getting out of bed as usual, and I felt ready to tackle the challenges of the day.

  Lizzie, however, seemed a little less cheery and perky than I remembered from the day before. "Oh, it's going well, I suppose," she answered me, returning my smile - but it looked a little bit wobbly on her face. "Nobody actually bought anything yesterday, though."

  "I did warn you," I pointed out, but then cut off as I saw her bottom lip tremble slightly. "Lizzie, that's okay! Business is always slow here. That's why I'm out trying to recruit this new artist to sign on with us - he'll bring in more attention. You'll still get paid, whether you get a bunch of sales or not." I paused on these last words; I didn't exactly know whether Lizzie was getting paid at all, much less how much she might be receiving. Preston had handled all of those details, just like he signed my own paychecks.

  Lizzie took a deep breath. "Yeah, I suppose you're right. It's just a little disheartening, watching all these old people come in and look at everything, gawking like they're in a museum-"

  "-and then they leave without buying anything, I know," I finished her sentence for her. "Trust me, I've dealt with it. Just keep your chin up, and know that eventually one of them will decide that she just can't live without some watercolor print or a necklace."

  After a moment, the blonde-haired young woman nodded. I did a quick walk-through of the rest of the gallery, checking to make sure everything looked fine - and then headed off to get to work on the list that de St. James had given me.

  List item number one: social media. A bit more hunting about the Internet on my computer only served to confirm all of my suspicions; de St. James didn't have any sort of presence whatsoever on social media, not even a personal account.

  "I don't get it," I muttered to myself as I stared at the ZERO RESULTS MATCHED YOUR QUERY page on Facebook. "How does someone go their whole life without making a page for themselves on the internet?"

  Still, this didn't seem like that tough of a challenge. I'd just need to set up some sites for de S
t. James, places where he could connect and share with his fans!

  I paused for a moment, my mouse halfway to the "create a new account" link. I thought back to the haggard, wild-haired artist that I'd met at his house the other day. That certainly did not seem like the kind of man who would be eager to connect with fans of his art - or vice versa, once the fans got a look at the creator of their favorite pieces.

  Hmm. No wonder de St. James hadn't ever managed to retain a professional agent, especially with all his grumpy tendencies.

  Now, if I set up these accounts for him, would he actually use them? I tried to imagine teaching the angry, short-tempered artist how to use Facebook, respond to tweets on Twitter, or post pictures on Instagram. I couldn't even see him understanding it well enough with me hovering over his shoulder, much less trying to operate all the different websites when I was no longer around to help him...

  I tapped on the computer's keys idly for a minute, trying to think of a solution. I could probably teach him to use one of the websites, I decided. Maybe not more than one, but I could probably get by with one - or at least write up basic instructions so that he could handle it. That, at least, would solve the technical side.

  As for the issue of his acrid and contentious personality clashing with his fans... I really didn't know how I could fix that. Maybe they'd appreciate his bluntness?

  I did a bit more poking around online, but kept on getting distracted by the growling of my stomach. If I was going to keep working on this problem, I decided to myself, I needed to take care of my growing hunger pangs.

  A half hour later, I munched on a freshly pressed turkey and tomato panini as I pored over my computer. As it turned out, I'd discovered, there were actually a whole host of different websites out there in the wilds of the Internet that offered "all-in-one" social media tools. Post one thing on the one website, and it would automatically distribute that post out across every other channel. No need to visit Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest, Twitter, and more in order to share a new status update - post on the tool, and it would go to all of them at once!

  I just needed to pick one of these all-in-one tools.

  It took me most of the afternoon to get everything set up, but finally, just as I finished off my mid-afternoon cup of coffee to re-up my caffeine buzz, I sent out a test message. I waited for a moment, closing my eyes and crossing my fingers - and then checked the various social media profiles I'd constructed for de St. James.

  It worked! I nearly jumped up from my seat in happiness, only holding back at the thought of how silly I might look to the other patrons of the coffee shop when this seemingly professional woman started dancing around and grinning like a lunatic.

  Still, I couldn't keep a smile off of my face. Dean Benjamin de St. James now had an official Instagram, Twitter, Facebook page, and even a Pinterest board. I'd scrolled back through the articles that I'd found on him, adding both the links and the cropped out images to his new social media accounts so that they wouldn't seem blank. And, even as I celebrated the success of my test post, I got a little notification from the social media manager - I'd just gotten my very first like!

  Great! Things were working! I barely had enough patience to put together a quick little user guide for de St. James (complete with as many screenshots as I could manage, with red arrows pointing to all of the relevant buttons) before I just had to get out and head over to de St. James' house to show him.

  Challenge, schmallenge! I totally had these three tasks for de St. James under control!

  When I arrived at the man's house, however, I couldn't bring myself to physically climb out of my truck and head inside. Even just looking up at the deceptively pleasant exterior of his house reminded me of all the dirtiness and filth on the inside, of how de St. James had given me nothing but sneering attitude.

  I didn't really need to show him this right away, did I? After all, if I showed him the social media stuff now, he'd just keep on calling me over the next few days as I worked on the other two tasks, pestering me and keeping me from focusing.

  All around, I finally concluded, it would be much better for me to wait until I'd successfully accomplished all three tasks. That way, I could go give him everything he needed at the same time. The benefits of this plan, as I saw, were twofold; first, I'd be able to drop everything on him at once, so he couldn't pester me with questions. Second - and more importantly - I wouldn't need to set foot in de St. James' house more than once.

  I knew that I was delaying on purpose out of selfish reasons, but it only took one brief recollection of that squirming thing, whether it had been a particularly small mouse or an especially large cockroach, disappearing into the newspaper in de St. James' studio for me to decide.

  I'd give him the documentation and good news later.

  I sat in my truck for another couple of minutes, looking out at the deceptively beautiful and artistic house in front of me (how had de St. James ended up here? The house had such nice lines, looked so elegant! It deserved better than to be turned into a garbage-filled hoarder's home). Just as I finally reached for my keys, intending to head back to the gallery and go check in again on Lizzie as she wrapped up her day, my phone started buzzing in my purse.

  I jumped at the sudden sound, frantically convinced for an instant that de St. James was staring out his window and could see me parked in front of his house. When I fished the phone out of my purse, however, I instead saw that the call came from Carter. I smiled at the picture of him, hair tousled and brown eyes warm, that appeared in my head as I swiped across the screen to answer.

  "Hey there, you," I greeted him as I held the phone up to my ear.

  "Hey there, yourself," he returned, his voice warm and rich even over the phone's connection. "How are things going? How's life in interesting times treating you?"

  I glanced over at the passenger seat, at my computer and the printed-out notes on how de St. James could manage all his social media. "You know, it's not nearly as bad as I thought it would be, at least so far."

  "That's good, that's good," he said, sounding like he was thinking about something else. I waited as he paused for a moment, and then continued on. "Listen, do you have any plans for this evening? I happen to be free, and there's this new restaurant that I've had my eye on trying for a while..."

  Normally, I'd happily accept a dinner invitation from Carter, a lead-in to a night of sparkling conversation, flirty glances, and definitely plenty of sexual tension - but the list that de St. James had given me beckoned, reminded me of my duty. I hated to turn down Carter, especially when he sounded so cute and hopeful on the phone, but I needed to get these tasks checked off.

  "I'm afraid that I'll need to take a rain check," I sighed. "See, de St. James assigned me a few tasks that I need to do for him, in order to prove that I'm trustworthy. I've managed to get a good start on the first one today, but there are still two more, and I really want to get through them all before he gives up confidence in me."

  "Three tasks? He's got you running around on the Labors of Hercules," Carter cracked, but I still heard the note of disappointment in his voice. "I suppose that I can wait, as long as these tasks don't end up keeping you away from me for too long."

  "One out of three is already finished!" I pointed out to him. "So at worst, you'll just have to put up with not seeing me for a couple more days, and then I'll take that dinner invitation. And if all goes well, maybe I'll even be able to pay for one of our dates out!"

  "You know, I really don't have a problem with you just owing me a lot of favors," Carter replied to that, and I had to grin at his irrepressible determination.

  "I'll talk to you later, maybe tomorrow," I promised. "I'll explain what's going on, and maybe you can even help me out with these."

  "Sure thing. Take care, Becca." And he hung up.

  I lowered the phone, gazed at it for a minute before putting it back in my purse and turning my truck back towards home. It hadn't just been my imagination, I was pretty sure - Ca
rter sounded a little frustrated with me at the end of the call, there. I knew that, after our first couple dates, things had slowed down between us, but I just wanted to take my time, to not plunge into another potentially disastrous relationship right after finally struggling out of my failed marriage. Surely he understood that.

  Maybe I could sneak in a dinner with him tomorrow, especially if I made more progress on these tasks, I decided as a compromise as I drove through the quiet streets of Davis on my way home.

  That would help soothe any ruffled feathers.

  Of course, if I'd foreseen the disastrous evening that this innocent little thought would bring, I would have immediately deep-sixed the idea...

  Chapter Twelve

  *

  The next morning, I couldn't quite get myself dressed and ready for work in time to be at the Halesford Gallery when it opened - but hey, what are assistants for?

  "Halesford Gallery, this is Lizzie," came Lizzie's voice, two rings after I dialed the number for my workplace.

  "Hi Lizzie, it's Becca," I greeted her, sipping comfortably on my coffee, still dressed in my pajamas. "Just wanted to call and make sure that everything's going smoothly this morning."

  This was great! I could check in on my assistant, make sure that the gallery was open and ready, without even having to change out of my pajamas! I could really get used to this.

  "Yeah, things are going about the same as normal," Lizzie replied, but I heard the note of melancholy in her voice.

  "What's wrong?" I asked.

  She sighed loudly into the receiver, giving me the brief impression that the gallery was being struck by a localized tornado. "I mean, there's still been, like, no sales! I thought that I'd be helping people, you know? Selling stuff! But I'm basically just stuck here with nothing to do but screw around on my phone, and Mark won't even text me back because he's annoyed that I didn't tell him about how Jillian felt, and-"

  "Lizzie! Lizzie!" I tried in vain to get a word or two in edgewise, but eventually gave up and focused instead on drinking my coffee as Lizzie's litany of complaints tumbled past me. I understood what she was saying - business was definitely slow - but she didn't have to take advantage of all this downtime to talk my ear off!