Читать книгу Postcards From…Verses Brides Babies And Billionaires - Rebecca Winters - Страница 94

“YOU’RE AVOIDING SOMETHING, WREN.” Sean Ainslie’s voice cut into Wren’s thought process.

Her brush hovered over the same patch of blank canvas that she’d been attempting to start work on for the last half hour.

“Avoiding something?” She put the brush down onto her workstation and looked up. “What makes you say that?”

His eyes swept over the lackluster canvas. A few strokes of color decorated one of the bottom corners but it was clear she had no direction. She hadn’t sketched anything out, hadn’t planned what the painting would look like. Hell, she couldn’t even legitimately claim that she was too swept away by her Muse to do any of the preparatory work.

She had nothing, and as a result, the painting was nothing.

Oh, it’s something all right. It’s a hot freaking mess, is what it is.

“I saw so much inspiration in your portfolio, Wren. So much…” His hands fluttered in the air in front of him. “Passion. Creativity. Your paintings were bold and vibrant. This…” His hands dropped down to his sides. “I don’t know what this is. Do you?”

“I’m a little blocked,” she admitted.

Every time she tried to touch the paintbrush to the canvas she pictured Rhys’s expression when he’d looked at that painting. The memory filled her with a strange mélange of excitement and shame, anticipation and disgust. Part of her wished that she’d let him stay. If for nothing more than to see where they would have ended up. Visions of his deep brown skin and warm eyes filled her mind.

“Just paint whatever pops into your head right now.” Sean touched her shoulder and she jumped, startled as she reached for her brush almost involuntarily. “Whatever image is in your mind now, paint it. I want you to get over this hurdle, Wren.”

Biting down on her lip she shut her eyes and let the memory of Rhys gazing at the painting wash over her. His full lips, the wicked way they’d parted as his eyes had widened. The slight flare of his nostrils.

She started mixing paint as she let her mind wander. His pupils had grown as he’d looked at her canvas, his breath stalling in his throat. Her life had contained few moments as electric as that, as intensely intimate and vulnerable. Wasn’t that the purpose of art? Laying yourself bare?

Being open and receptive?

But that’s how she’d been hurt before. With her heart so open and unprotected, it was ripe for the picking. Her fingers tightened around her brush as she stopped midstroke. The faint sketch of a man’s face—the high points of his cheeks, the rough contours of his lips and the strong angle of his jaw—filled the canvas.

People can only hurt you when you let them. So don’t give them the opportunity.

Her hand hovered again, the moment lost like steam into air. Fear had crept back in and chased inspiration away. Sighing, she threw the brush down into the palette, flicking sienna paint across the carefully mixed palette of earthy flesh tones.

It was useless. She was useless.

Sean opened his mouth to say something but they were interrupted when Lola poked her head into the room. “Sean? I’ve got the security people from Cobalt & Dane here to see you.”

“Tell them I’ll be out momentarily,” he said. As Lola disappeared he turned back to Wren. “I want to see a complete painting next week. The whole point of you being here is to work on improving your art. I can’t help you with that if you don’t produce anything.”

“I understand.”

“If you’re not able to do that I’ll have to find another intern. It’s not fair for you to take a valuable position in my program if you’re not going to do the work. There are plenty of other artists who would eagerly step into your place.”

The words stung but she kept her face neutral. “I’ll do better, I promise.”

When Sean left the room, Aimee turned from her station and offered a sympathetic smile. “It’s not easy to be creative on demand, is it?”

The genuine empathy caused moisture to rush to Wren’s eyes, but she blinked the tears away. She wasn’t the kind of girl to let her pain show; she locked it all away where no one could see how much she allowed other people’s words to cut her.

“No,” she admitted. “It’s not.”

“You just have to give yourself permission to be crap,” Aimee said.

“That flies in the face of every piece of advice I’ve ever received.” Wren frowned at her canvas as she picked up her brush.

Her whole life she’d told herself she needed to be incredible, that she needed to be “the best.” That’s why it’d hurt so bad when Kylie had initially been chosen over her to gain a place in Ainslie’s internship.

If she couldn’t be the best, then her parents would never consider her art as anything but a hobby. But if her talent was honed and she pushed herself hard, they might believe in her.

Giving herself permission to be crap was laughable.

“Hear me out.” Aimee put her brush down and flicked her long blond ponytail over one shoulder. “I can almost guarantee you’re psyching yourself out of this painting. You keep thinking that no matter what you do it’ll never be enough, right?”

“Well, not exactly…”

“But close enough?”

Wren huffed. “Maybe.”

“So give yourself permission to paint something no matter how crappy it is. Better at this point to have a crappy painting than no painting at all.” She folded her arms over her apron and smiled with an air of smugness. “Trust me, it’ll get the creativity flowing again.”

Maybe she had a point. If Wren failed Sean’s ultimatum, it would put a swift end to her mission. Better to give him a mediocre product rather than a blank canvas. He might kick her out of the internship anyway, but she could still have a chance. Whereas if she continued on the path she was on, she’d definitely be out.

Wren sucked in a breath and touched her brush to a shade of burnt orange. Perhaps painting Rhys would help get him out of her head. Then she could kill two birds with one painting.

RHYS FOUND HIMSELF tuning out as the client went on a diatribe about how underappreciated artists were. Judging by Quinn’s glazed-over eyes, she was struggling to pay attention, as well.

“Why don’t we talk through the security incidents you mentioned over the phone, Mr. Ainslie?” Quinn suggested tactfully. “You said there was some unauthorized access to your storage room…?”

“Right.” Sean Ainslie narrowed his dark brows and interlaced his fingers. “I have a storage room where I keep all the paintings that aren’t on display. They’re very valuable, you see.”

“Of course.” Quinn nodded, one hand fiddling with the pink ends of her braid. “What alerted you to the break-in?”

“The thief didn’t actually get into the room. The incorrect pin code was entered three times and I have my system set up to alert me when that happens. I had to reset it the following day. I questioned the staff here but no one has owned up to it.”

“So was anything stolen?”

“No. Nothing. But I think the culprit may try again, so I’d like to take some preventative measures. I’ve been a customer of Cobalt & Dane for quite a few years now, but I’ve never had an incident this severe before.”

“I assume you’ll be happy to give us access to your security-camera footage,” Rhys said.

Sean looked sheepish for a moment. “There isn’t any.”

“You don’t have security cameras?” Rhys resisted the urge to raise a brow. “Or the footage isn’t accessible?”

“There are no cameras.”

Rhys’s suspicions were instantly roused. What kind of person would store a bunch of valuable paintings in a room with a high-tech locking system and then not have security cameras? It didn’t make sense.

“Hasn’t someone from Cobalt & Dane advised you that a monitoring system for the gallery would be a good idea?”

“I don’t like the idea of having cameras on my employees,” he explained. “I trust these girls, and the idea of having cameras on them felt a bit 1984.”

Quinn cast a glance to Rhys, which confirmed that she also wasn’t buying his story. “Okay,” she said slowly. “You also mentioned an email breach…?”

“I was looking for an email in my inbox the other day but I found it in the deleted folder. I definitely didn’t delete it. I think someone has been accessing my emails, as well.”

“Quinn can have a look through the email security logs and see if there’s any strange activity,” Rhys said. “Do you have any idea what this person might be after?”

“Not a clue.” Sean shook his head, but there was a guardedness to his expression that didn’t seem to match his words. The guy was hiding something; Rhys was sure of it. “All my paintings are valuable, but there isn’t one that’s worth significantly more than the others.”

“Try to think if there’s anything in particular a thief might want. It might not be a painting. It could be information. We strongly recommend that you install cameras. It will be hard for us to assist you in keeping this place secure if there isn’t anything for us to monitor. In the meantime, it might be worthwhile for us to have a chat with your employees. I understand you’ve already talked to them, but it would be good for us to go over anything that they might have seen or heard.”

“Of course.” Sean motioned for them to follow him back out into the gallery.

“You can take the lead in talking to the staff,” Rhys said to Quinn as their footsteps echoed through the spacious gallery showroom. “If you get stuck I’ll jump in.”

“Great.” Quinn nodded, lowering her voice as they let Sean walk ahead. “We should debrief when we get back to the office.”

“Agreed.”

After spending a few minutes with a dark-haired woman named Lola, who appeared genuinely shocked that anything was amiss, they headed past Sean’s office to the studio.

“My other two interns are in here,” Sean said as he rounded a corner into an airy space lit with streaming natural sunlight. “Aimee and Wren, this is Rhys and Quinn. They’re here to ask a few questions and I expect you both to give them whatever they need.”

Rhys’s chest clenched when he caught sight of Wren, her golden-blond hair piled messily on top of her head and a streak of dark orange paint on her cheek contrasting against her fair skin.

What a coincidence.

Her blue eyes widened in mild panic as her lips formed an O shape. No sound came out.

“I need to make a phone call,” Sean said. “I trust you two will be fine to talk with the girls?”

“Quinn, why don’t you talk with Aimee in one of the other rooms and I’ll stay in here with Wren,” Rhys said, his voice smooth and unflustered. He knew exactly how to sound in charge—the product of years of faking it until he made it.

“Sure thing, boss.” Quinn introduced herself to the other intern and they left him alone with Wren a minute later. An easel and canvas partially obscured his view of her.

“Well, this is quite a surprise,” Rhys said, keeping his distance. The last thing he wanted to do was spook her, especially given how their last encounter had ended.

“You’re telling me,” she said, her hands knotting in front of her. She wore a long flowing dress colored with swirls of pale blue and purple. The thin straps left plenty of skin visible. A simple silver chain held a piece of roughly cut blue stone just below her bust. “What are you doing here?”

“We’re looking into a few security concerns for your boss.”

“Oh?” Her tone and expression gave nothing away.

“There was a failed attempt to access the storage room as well as suspected email hacking.” He leaned against the wall and folded his arms across his chest.

“I don’t know anything about that.” The response was too automatic. Defensive.

“That’s okay. We’re going to be taking some preventative measure to ensure it doesn’t happen again.” He inched closer and noticed her body tense up. “Is it okay if we talk? I can bring Quinn in, if that would make you more comfortable.”

“No, that’s fine.”

“What are you working on?” He thought he’d start with something easy, something nonthreatening. But the second he took a step forward she visibly pulled back, her body language screaming at him not to come closer.

Maybe he’d misread the situation when they had had dinner together.

“It’s no good.”

“I’ve seen your work, Wren. I’m sure it’s incredible.” God, who had treated her so badly that she thought so lowly of herself? Of her work?

“You seem to have a lot of blind faith in my abilities,” she said, her hands wringing in her lap.

“Well, I’m no expert but I know what I like.” He inched closer.

“It’s not finished,” she said with a note of resignation. Her eyes lowered to her lap and he peered around the edge of the canvas.

The image struck him. It wasn’t more than a collection of rough strokes, lacking the depth and shading that she’d no doubt add later on. But the image was unmistakable. He recognized his own deep brown eyes and broad nose, the warm tone of his skin and the heavy shadow along his jaw.

Words eluded him.

“You weren’t supposed to see this,” she said, pushing up from her stool.

“That’s the second time you’ve said that to me.” He tore his eyes away from his own image.

“I don’t know which one was more embarrassing,” she admitted, folding her arms across her chest. “But in any case, you’re not here to discuss my work. So ask me what you need to ask me.”

“Have you noticed anything strange going on in the studio? Any people hanging around that seem suspicious?”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Any odd phone calls?”

“Not that I can recall.”

“Have either of the other girls been acting strange? Asking questions about the storage room or security?”

Her delicate shoulders lifted into a shrug. “Well, they wouldn’t ask me those questions because I don’t have any more access than they do. We all share an email account and work out of this room, and we take turns at the front desk and help Sean organize his schedule.”

“So no one is in charge?”

“Just Sean. There’s no hierarchy among us interns.”

Wren had a good poker face, he’d give her that. He couldn’t be sure if she was telling the truth or hiding something, since her initial defensiveness seemed mostly related to the painting.

Excitement stirred inside him. Imagining her sitting at this very stool, her mind on him as she swept her brush over the canvas, caused a tight ache in his chest. Why would she choose him?

Drawing a deep breath, he shoved the questions aside. Right now he was on company time, so those curiosities would have to wait until later. He dug a card out of his jacket pocket. “Here’s my number. If you see anything out of the ordinary, give me a call.”

“Sure.” She took the card and turned it over in her hands. “I’ll do that.”

Silence hung in the air but he couldn’t tear himself away from her. Not yet. Not when she’d been the ghost in his mind for the last few days. The faint sound of Quinn’s voice floated into the room. She was still questioning the other intern.

“I haven’t seen you around much.” He jammed his hands into the pockets of his suit pants.

Her lips lifted into a rueful smile. “That’s because I’ve been avoiding you.”

“Honest. I like that.”

“Well, cat’s out of the bag now, isn’t it? You’re a smart man. I wouldn’t try to pull one over on you.” Her fingers toyed with her necklace, causing the blue stone to shift and catch the light. It was roughly cut, raw and natural in its beauty. Like her.

“I felt like we had unfinished business after the other night,” he said. That was putting it mildly.

“That’s what I’ve been avoiding.”

So maybe he hadn’t misread the signals. “Why?”

“I had a rough time back home and I came here to get away from it all. I’m still…wounded,” she said carefully, her eyes focused on the window that looked out into the alley behind the building. “I don’t want to get hurt again.”

“I guess it’s a good thing I’m not planning on hurting anyone. Well, other than the bad guys.”

“Of course.” A smile crossed her lips but it didn’t quite come up to her eyes. “Very noble of you.”

He cleared his throat. “If you feel like company tonight, I have a very comfortable couch and I’m not a terrible cook, if I do say so myself.”

It was probably wrong for him to engage with her outside the boundaries of the job, but hell, they were neighbors. This conversation could have happened anywhere. And besides, this was Quinn’s assignment, and other than supervising her site visits, she’d be doing the investigative portion. So it wasn’t like there was a conflict of interest.

Wren’s hesitation thickened the air around them. “A comfortable couch?”

“Yeah, that thing people sit on while they watch TV? It’s long and has cushions—”

She swatted him and laughed. “I know what a couch is.”

“So come and hang out on mine. We’ll eat, have a drink… We don’t have to address the unfinished business if you don’t want.”

The furrow of her fair brows tugged at his heart. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

“You don’t know anyone in the city, as you said the other night.” He shrugged. “I thought you might like the company.”

“Another noble gesture.”

“And my apartment is fully furnished, so there’s that.”

She tried to purse her lips but a grin broke through. “Are you judging the state of my apartment, Rhys?”

“Not at all.”

“I’m going for the bohemian-chic look,” she said unconvincingly. “It’s all the rage.”

“Is it?”

Her tinkling laugh echoed against the high, white ceilings and the sound barreled through him. Damn, that sound could put him on cloud nine. “No idea. I’m just making things up as I go.”

“That’s all any of us can do.”

At that moment Quinn stuck her head into the room. “Ready to go, boss?”

He stepped away from Wren, suddenly aware of how they’d gravitated toward one another. The space had shrunk between them until her shoulder was mere inches from his. She seemed to have that effect on him.

“Yes, let’s make a move. I’ll meet you out front,” he said. When Quinn retreated, he turned back to Wren. “If you decide to come over, I usually have dinner around seven.”

He actually had dinner precisely at seven every night, but he suspected that would sound a little type A if he said it aloud.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” She rolled her bottom lip between her teeth and a light flush crept over her cheeks.

As he walked out of the studio, he forced himself to keep his eyes forward. If she came over, great. If not, well, he wouldn’t push it. But his body was already coiled tight with the thought that she might want to pick up where they’d left off.

He’d just have to be careful to keep a clear demarcation between his work and his extracurricular activities. But it wouldn’t be an issue—he had no reason to suspect Wren was involved in the security breach. She had her own paintings—what could she possibly need with Sean Ainslie’s?