I go back downstairs. “What?”
He shakes his head and remains silent as he folds his arms over his chest.
I yank his sleeve hard. “Let’s go up to the house and just forget about all of this bullshit. Okay?”
When he doesn’t respond, I rest my hands on his shoulders. “We need to get past this. Nothing is going on, I swear.”
He nods and leans closer. “So, I was wrong? But—”
“No buts. You’re my man, and I sure as hell don’t want to be with anyone else. You have to trust me. I trust you.”
“I just . . .” His words catch in his throat and he reaches for me. His body is shaking, and it unnerves me.
I let him hold me as I try to figure out what to say or do. I take a deep breath. “We’re both so tired and overwhelmed, we aren’t thinking straight. Let’s just go back to bed. Okay?”
His grip tightens, pulling me closer, before he finally relaxes and drops his hands to his sides. “Dylan just got me so worked up earlier, and then when I saw that text, it pushed me over the edge. Now, I’m not even sure if I read it right. I’m sorry—I’ll get you a new phone tomorrow.”
Later, as I lie in his arms, I realize that sometimes it’s better to pick your battles and just let some things go. Hopefully, my careful reassurances before he falls asleep will convince Max to do the same.
The next day, I continue along that line of thought as he drives me to the phone store and shells out the money for my new phone. Even later, when my contacts reload and I finally see that the midnight text was from Travis, he remains silent. The way he pauses and takes a deep breath before he speaks makes me think he’s focusing on staying calm. I grab his hand and squeeze it tightly before I slip my phone inside my purse without reading the message.
But questions gnaw at me as we leave the store. Why in the world would Travis text me late at night? If he only knew how much trouble he’s caused me. I know I need to text him back, but I decide to wait until early evening when I’m back at my place.
I pick up my phone and then set it back down again three times before finally having the courage to read the message that upset Max so much.
I can’t stop thinking about you. Have you thought about what we talked about? Call me.
I take a sharp breath.
I read the message again as I rack my brain and try to remember what we talked about. As I recall, there were few words actually spoken between us, and yet he can’t stop thinking about me? What does he mean by that? Am I supposed to be a mind reader? Damn, I can’t blame Max for going ballistic. I’m torn between telling the guy to back the hell off and remaining professional, since this may lead to a business opportunity. With his vague statements, he hasn’t really crossed a line yet . . . or has he? I send a text.
Hello, Travis. My phone wasn’t working, but I just got it replaced and got your message.
He replies immediately. Thanks for getting back to me.
I’m curious . . . Do you often send business texts at midnight?
Only when it’s important, he responds.
He appears to be one of those guys who never stops working. He probably thinks everything he’s involved in is important.
So what did you want to discuss? I ask.
Actually I wanted to set up a lunch meeting, but it will have to wait until I get back from Memphis. Meanwhile, Nick will be contacting you.
My editor, Nick, is contacting me? The man speaks in riddles. Can I ever just get a straight answer?
Okay, then. I guess we’ll touch base later?
Absolutely.
I set my phone down, even more confused than was before.
“‘I can’t stop thinking about you . . . ’ What the fuck, Ava?” Jess says the next day over lunch “Who the hell is this Travis dude anyway?”
“He’s one of the heads of that new ArtOneWorld network.”
After reading the text once more, she hands me my phone. “I can’t blame Max for getting pissed, even though Mr. Dramatic Artist Guy had to take it up too many notches. At least you got a new phone out of it.”
“That I did,” I reply before slipping the phone into my purse. “The weird thing about this text is that as suggestive as it sounded, when we texted the next day, he was all business.”
“You know, Laura says those network execs are control freaks and try to own their talent. He must have you in mind for something, don’t you think?”
“Well, he told me that Nick, my editor from Ransom, is supposed to call me about something, so hopefully I’ll know more soon. Meanwhile, I hope Mr. Williamson means business. I don’t want anything needlessly stirring up trouble for Max and me.”
Two days later, it’s a typical workday morning until my phone rings just after I’ve eased out of bed. Is it Travis again? If so, he’s continuing with his inappropriate phone hours. But when I look at my phone’s screen and see it’s Nick, I remember Travis telling me that Nick would call.
“Nick?”
“You work fast, Ms. Jacobs.”
“Work fast?”
“Charming the art community.”
I smile inwardly. I forgot how much I like dealing with Nick and his direct approach. “Yes, well, I can’t help that I’m incredibly charming. But seriously, what, specifically, are you talking about?”
“I just got off the phone with Travis Williamson from ArtOneWorld. They heard about your work on the Andrea Altman project, and they’ve arranged for you to interview her on camera. The shoot will be in her studio in New York, similar, I guess, to what they had you do with Caswell.”
I let out a deep breath. So that’s what Travis was alluding to in his text.
“Are you serious?” I remember what Zach, the cameraman, said about interest in me. I guess he wasn’t kidding. Things are moving fast.
“I don’t joke about such things,” Nick states emphatically. “You’ve made quite an impression. But seriously, Ava, I saw the Caswell footage. It was exceedingly clever, very fresh, and engaging.”
I blush crimson. Holy hell.
“Thanks, but you know I’m friends with Caswell, so it was easy. I highly doubt others will go like that.”
“But Andrea liked your footage with Max, so she’s agreed to it already. That is rather remarkable in itself.”
“She did?” Wow.
“So this will be a good test to see if you are charismatic outside of Caswell’s spell. My guess will be yes. So, prove me right, Ava.”
“Yes, sir!” I respond half playfully, half serious. “I’ll do my best.”
Later that day, I finally gather up the nerve and approach Adam in his office.
“May I interrupt?” I ask timidly. I twist my earring and look at his clock.
He looks at me with a curious expression and points to the chair in front of his desk.
“Of course. Have a seat.”
I sit down and fold my hands in my lap. My throat tightens as I begin to speak. “I want to talk about my schedule.”
“Yes?” He waits patiently. His expression is completely calm. He doesn’t look surprised at all.
“I’m feeling awkward because opportunities keep coming up and some require me to take time off, and I don’t want to take advantage of you or disappoint you with my performance here.”
“You’ve never disappointed me, Ava.”
“There you go . . . you’re always too generous.”
“Well, you know, you’re like a daughter to me and Katherine.”
“And that’s why this is so hard.”
“Has something specifically come up?”
“Well, Nick’s office called and ArtOneWorld wants me to fly to New York to interview Andrea Altman on camera.”
His eyes grow wide. “That’s impressive. I’m sure we can work that out with your schedule.”
“But I’ve also learned that Taylor and Tiden and ArtOneWorld want me to go to Max’s show in Barcelona in a few weeks to promote the book. That means I would miss five days of work o
n top of the New York trip.”
“I see.” He steeples his fingers and looks over at the painting next to his desk.
I shuffle my feet under my chair.
“You know, Ava, it’s probably time to have a bigger discussion about your career.”
I swallow nervously. “Okay.”
“What are your plans and your dreams, now that you’ve stepped out into the bigger world?”
“Everything’s happening so fast, and I’m still trying to figure things out.”
He gives me a warm smile. “First of all, that’s so exciting that you get to promote the book in Barcelona. I told you after you let me read your final draft what an amazing job you’d done, but I want to say again how proud I am of what you’ve accomplished.”
I duck my head, feeling overwhelmed by his compliments. “Thank you. It means so much to hear that from you.”
“Well, it’s true. Furthermore, you’ll love Barcelona. It’s a magnificent city.”
I guess he’s going to let me go. I breathe a sigh of relief.
“Ava, I’ve known all along that you were destined for bigger things. I just figured that your time with us would be another part of your education, a launching pad if you will. You just needed time to get your footing for a while until you had the confidence to go out into the world.”
I look at Adam with disbelief and my eyes fill with tears as I realize all he’s done and what he’s gently trying to tell me.
“Look, I haven’t been completely selfless. You’ve been a great asset in the gallery. There wasn’t a job I gave you that you couldn’t do.” He looks down and picks up his Murano glass paperweight, examining it for a moment. The vibrant swirls contained in the glass are like a peek inside my mind, colorful but without constraint or a pattern to follow.
He smiles. “Are you excited about where things are headed?”
“Yes, I am. To get to write and talk about artists whose work moves me is a dream come true.”
“See, I think it’s time to spread your wings.”
“It sounds like you’re letting me go.” I’m getting nervous, since I’m not ready to leave my little home yet.
He chuckles softly. “No, I want you to work here as long as you need and want to. But, meanwhile, I want you to take on these new projects, and we’ll work around it. Just remember us when you’re famous, okay?” His grin is wide and infectious.
“Oh yeah, as if!” I laugh lightly. But I’m charmed by his complete confidence in my future success.
“I really appreciate your support. I promise I’ll make you proud.”
He smiles. “Oh, Ava, you already have. But enough of this love fest. We could go on all afternoon. There’s something else I want to talk about. How are things going with Max?”
“Good,” I reply hesitantly. “Why?”
“I’ve heard from Brian that you two are quite the couple.”
“I know you aren’t Max’s biggest fan, but he’s been working hard on turning himself around after his time in Ojai, and he’s doing so well.”
“Could being in love with the right woman have anything to do with that?”
“I hope so. I’d like to think so.” I smile warmly.
“You love him, Ava. You don’t even have to tell me. It’s written all over your face.”
“Head over heels . . . head over heels.”
“As I suspected. Well, in that case, I wish you all the best. That boy better realize what he has in you.”
“He does,” I say, pushing the memory of our showdown on the beach out of my head.
Chapter Two / The Challenge
An artist never really finishes his work; he merely abandons it.
~Paul Valéry
By the following Thursday, I’m on a plane to New York for the shoot. Even though I’m being paid to do it, my world has fallen off its axis. I’m stunned on the flight as I try to figure out why all this amazing stuff is happening. I’m a nervous wreck, but I also feel like I’m holding the winning lotto ticket, and I’m determined not to screw it up.
After dropping my bags off at the hotel in SoHo, I meet with the ArtOneWorld production group for dinner in the Village, and we go over the schedule for the shoot in Andrea’s studio. Although the segment will have the same director as Max’s shoot, they are using a New York crew for the camera work, sound, and lights.
I can’t imagine how I’m going to be relaxed like I was with Max, but worrying about it won’t help. So, I drink some wine and try to push my anxiety out of my mind.
Later, I’m excited to get back to the hotel so I can call Max and actually have time to talk. I really miss him and need to hear his voice.
“Hi, love.” He sounds so happy, and it reminds me how relieved I am that we’ve weathered our rough weekend.
“I miss you so much already, Max. I know it’s crazy, since I just saw you yesterday.”
“I miss you too.” Despite his initial cheer, I can hear the loneliness creeping into his voice. His tone has less energy and spark than usual.
He asks about the plans for the shoot and the people I’m working with. I share all my excitement and anxiety, but I also frame all my answers, intent on keeping his jealousy in check. Before he even has a chance to ask more questions, I turn the tables and quiz him about his gallery event the next night.
“I have to warn you, mister, I’m sending Jess to the event to ensure the art groupies are kept at bay.”
“Are you now?” he asks.
“And I don’t like that gallery owner either. She better keep her hands off you too, or I’ll come rip them off her Barbie doll body.”
“I like my girlfriend fierce. But, please, that woman’s creepy. You know I have better taste than that.”
“Hmm, what is your taste exactly? I was under the impression that it was quite varied.”
“That’s where you’re wrong—I’m extremely specific. I only like fair-skinned, long-haired, gorgeous brunettes with big green eyes. Also, I like my girl to be extremely smart, strong, and talented . . . Oh yeah, and she only has eyes for me.”
“Wow, that’s quite a list, Mr. Specific. I know someone who fits the bill, and ironically, she has a specific list as well.”
“Really? I’d love to hear what’s on it.”
“She likes tall, gorgeous men with dark hair and wicked blue-gray eyes. She prefers a brilliant artist who will inspire and challenge her. He must have a chiseled jaw, broad shoulders, and arms strong enough to carry her to his bed. And his kisses, have I mentioned his kisses?”
He sighs. “No, I don’t believe you have.”
I stop for a moment and imagine him pressed against me. I squeeze my thighs together and try to push back the desire this conversation stirs up. There are twenty-five hundred miles between us, yet I want him desperately.
“His kisses are heaven. With every kiss, she falls further in love with him,” I whisper.
“With every kiss?” he asks with a lingering exhale.
“Mmm,” I moan.
“She must be in deep.”
“I’ll make sure she shows you how deep next time you see her.”
The next morning, I wake up and remember the call with Max the night before. In the dark of my room, I took sharp breaths and clutched my phone with one hand, while my fingers slid between my legs as we shared all the ways we wanted each other. There’s phone sex and then there’s pure passion sizzling across satellites.
In contrast to last night’s surrender and contented collapse, the new day is the very definition of a whirlwind. I’m whisked out of my hotel at eight sharp to a waiting car.
Andrea’s loft is huge with large windows full of light, and the crew greets me warmly. The lighting guys have already done their magic, and I’m taken to the area where the makeup artist is set up.
It’d been suggested that Andrea have me become a subject in one of her films from the American Woman series. The stylist, hair, and makeup people transform me into a 1950s secretary, complet
e with a beehive wig and fitted pencil skirt. I feel self-conscious in this getup, but I push my discomfort out of my mind.
I come from the dressing room area and look for Jeff, the production manager. Before I can find him, an intense looking woman with thick black eyebrows and tightly pressed lips approaches me.
“I’m Veronica, Ms. Altman’s assistant. I’m taking you to meet her now.”
“Thanks, Veronica. Nice to meet you,” I say, as she walks down a long hallway.
She doesn’t reply, and I scurry after her, hoping Andrea is friendlier than her assistant.
Halfway down the hall, Veronica announces, “Take note that Ms. Altman does not shake hands. She’s always very focused before her shoots.”
Okay then . . .
She sharply knocks on the door at the end of the hall three times and then peeks inside. She waves me forward as she steps into the room.
A petite woman with a long braid trailing down her back looks up and regards me warily. She looks so different from the pictures I’ve seen that I almost don’t recognize her. She pushes away from the huge worktable she’s sitting at.
“Hi, Andrea,” I say brightly, despite the fact that my stomach churns. “I’m really looking forward to our interview.”
She narrows her eyes as she surveys me slowly from my wig all the way down to my shoes. She waves her hand. “Turn around.”
I turn and force myself to smile. “I love the outfit,” I lie.
She nods to Veronica, turns back to her worktable, and ignores me completely.
Veronica takes me by the arm and leads me into the hall.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, while I decide if I’m more pissed off or worried about how I will possibly interview this woman who just dismissed me like I was a dressed mannequin and not her interviewer.
Veronica gives me a blank stare. “Nothing.” She releases the top page of her clipboard and hands it to me. “These are the questions Andrea will answer.”
I scan the page of banal questions. This is a disaster. “Does she want to even do this?” I ask.
“That’s a complicated question,” Veronica says before walking away.
My heart races when I set out to find Jeff, the production manager. My eyes widen with horror when I see him in the corner talking to not just Nick, but Travis from ArtOneWorld too. Why did no one warn me that they’d be coming to observe what is now my spectacular failure of an interview?
Work of Art ~ the Collection Page 50
