Work of Art ~ the Collection (67 page)

I kick my legs futilely as he marches through the sand, retracing our steps.

“Let me down!”

He shakes his head before rolling his eyes. “I need to look out for you. You aren’t thinking clearly.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” I snap, trying harder to wiggle out of his arms, to no avail. He just tightens his grip in response, and after a few more kicks, I stop struggling and let my body go limp. As he holds me against his bare chest, it occurs to me that we must look like the cover of a romance novel. I’m pretty sure it’s one I wouldn’t want to read.

By the time we reach the gate to his house, he’s winded. When he squeezes his eyes shut and lowers his head, I push hard against him and he finally lets me go.

“You’re so dramatic,” I huff and yank the shirt back down my thighs.

I don’t look him in the eye, but I can hear his ragged breath.

I’m halfway up the stairs to the gate when I notice he’s frozen in place.

“Max?”

His eyes are still closed. “Max?” I call louder, my tone softening when I notice the look on his face. All of his features are sunken with defeat.

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 on 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.