Pop culture references? Owen looked back and forth between the two of them for some sort of explanation. Then he realized Brooke’s hand was still outstretched, waiting for him to take it. Quickly wiping his palm on his slacks, he took her hand in his and gave it a brief shake. He murmured an apology and averted his gaze before stepping back.
Tucking her hair behind her ear, she nodded. “My parents named me after Brooke Matthews, the model.” When he still didn’t react, she added, “She’s also an actress.” Still nothing. Looking at her uncle, she shrugged and let out a nervous chuckle. “Well, anyway…um, Uncle Howard, I’m afraid I was late to Dr. Shaughnessy’s class.”
Howard placed an arm around her and hugged her. “I knew pointing you in the direction of the art department was going to be a problem.” He chuckled and turned to Owen. “Brooke is an artist and looking to either intern here at the university or maybe get a lead on a gallery where she can work and perhaps get her paintings looked at.” He smiled lovingly at her. “She teaches painting classes during the summer semester at the community college, but she’s far too talented to keep doing it.”
“Uncle Howard,” she said shyly.
“What? It’s true!”
Owen still couldn’t quite figure out why Brooke was here or why Howard had thought she should come to hear him lecture. He was just about to voice the question when Howard looked at him.
“Brooke’s specialty is painting the night sky.”
For a moment, Owen wasn’t sure how to respond.
Brooke blushed and then looked at Owen to explain. “I know most people would say the night sky is simply dark—or black—with some stars, but I don’t see it that way. I see the way the stars reflect off one another and how it causes different hues in the sky.” She gave a small shrug. “Most of the time my work is a little more… Well, it’s not abstract, but it’s more whimsical than a true portrait.”
“Don’t just tell him about it,” Howard suggested. “You have your portfolio with you. Why don’t you show him?”
“Oh!” Brooke turned and took the leather case from her shoulder and laid it on the desk in front of her.
Owen watched in fascination as she worked, noting her slender arms and the music that came from her wrists as her bracelets gently clattered together. Her long hair fell over one shoulder, and it was almost impossible to take his eyes off her.
“I hope we’re not keeping you, Owen,” Howard said, stepping closer. “I probably should have asked you earlier about your schedule before we both sort of bombarded you like this.”
He shook his head. “I…I don’t have anything else scheduled for this afternoon. I had planned on heading back to the hotel and doing some reading before dinner. I’ll talk with Riley later.” Howard and Owen had known each other for so long that he didn’t need to specify anything regarding his family—Howard knew all about them.
“How’s he doing? Is he back in the studio yet?”
“Not yet. He didn’t want to do another solo project, but getting the band back together isn’t going as smoothly as he’d hoped.”
Hands in his pockets, Howard nodded. “That’s too bad. Still…I’m sure the time off is enjoyable. How is Savannah doing?”
Owen smiled at the mention of his sister-in-law. “She’s doing well. She found an agent, and she’s submitting proposals for a book she’s been working on.”
“Wonderful! Is it based on her work interviewing rock stars?”
Beside them, Brooke straightened and gasped.
“Are you okay, my dear?” Howard asked.
But Brooke was looking directly at Owen. “You’re Riley Shaughnessy’s brother,” she said. It wasn’t a question but a simple statement of fact.
A weary sigh was Owen’s immediate response. This was how it normally went—not that it happened very often. At least not to him. But he heard from his other brothers what usually occurred when a woman found out they were related to Riley. And it wasn’t as if Owen knew Brooke or was involved with her, but he braced himself for the disappointment of knowing that from this point on, she was probably only going to want to talk about his famous brother.
And for the first time in a long time—possibly since high school—he resented his twin.
Might as well get it over with.
Clearing his throat, Owen nodded. “Um…yes. Riley’s my brother.”
Brooke nodded, her smile just as sweet as it had been since she walked into the lecture hall. “How fascinating! I mean, I think it is, anyway, to see such diversity in a family.”
And here it comes, he thought.
“You’re both so talented but in such different occupations. Your parents must be incredibly proud of you both!” Then she turned and straightened her pictures.
Wait…that was it? She wasn’t going to obsess or go on and on about how talented Riley was or how much she loved his latest song?
“So let me ask you,” she began as she turned to face him, and Owen braced himself again. Now she was going to do it. Now she was going to gush. “What colors do you see when you look up at the night sky? Do you just see black, or do you see different shades of blue?”
He stared at Brooke.
Hard.
And his jaw was quite possibly on the floor.
“Owen?” Howard asked, stepping forward. “Are you all right?”
He shook his head as if to clear it and then focused on Brooke and said the first thing that came to mind. “Why aren’t you talking about Riley?”
She looked at him as if he were a little bit crazy and then turned to her uncle before looking at Owen again, shrugging. “I’m sorry. Did you want to talk about him? I thought I was going to show you some examples of my paintings.”
He blinked, still unable to believe what he was hearing. Glancing at Howard, he saw the older man smirking as if he knew exactly what was going on in Owen’s mind. People always wanted to talk about Riley. He was big news. People liked celebrities, and he was far more interesting than most. Certainly more interesting than Owen.
“Oh…um. Yes. Yes. You were going to show me your paintings,” he said nervously, and he stepped forward to take a look.
And was rendered speechless.
Not that it was hard to do—Owen was already a man of few words—but the canvases Brooke had strewn across the desk were nothing like he was expecting.
The colors were bold and bright, and made with large brushstrokes. He thought of Van Gogh’s painting The Starry Night and admired how she had layered the paint.
He stepped closer to the desk, picked up the closest painting, and studied it. This one was darker—it portrayed gravitational waves—and Brooke had managed to capture all of the light and the colors, and make it feel as if you could reach into the painting and touch the stars. It was brilliant. It was compelling. It was… He put it down and picked up the next one. A shooting star. It was a little more whimsical than the previous one, but the colors were just as vibrant, and looking at it made Owen feel as if he were looking through his telescope and watching the stars fly across the night sky.
“So what do you…?”
He placed the painting down—ignoring Brooke’s attempt at a question—and picked up the third painting. This was the one that reminded him of Van Gogh. This had depth, texture. Owen wasn’t in the least bit artistic, but he knew what he was looking at was amazing. Gently he ran his hand over the canvas, taking in the feel of the paint, and was mesmerized. How many times had he wished he could reach out and touch the sky, to feel the heat of a star and study its contours? And standing here now, that was exactly what he felt he was doing. Unable to help himself, he looked at Brooke with wonder. “This is…amazing.” And then he wanted to curse himself because that description didn’t do her work justice.
And yet she looked pleased.
Relieved.
Her hand flu
ttered up over her chest as she let out a happy sigh. “Thank you. I know they’re all different. I’m trying to find the style that calls to me the most and reflects how I’m feeling, but they all do. It sort of depends on the night. Does that make sense?”
Owen had no idea if it did or it didn’t—he certainly had never tried this medium, so who was he to judge? But he was still confused. What did her artwork have to do with him? And again, as if reading his mind, Howard spoke.
“Brooke’s favorite subject is nature—particularly the night sky and sunsets, that sort of thing. She’s been talking about wanting to go out to the desert and paint, and I immediately thought of you and the Nevada project.”
It still didn’t make sense to him. “The Nevada project?” Owen parroted. “But…that’s to watch the meteor shower, and it’s for students and undergrads. I…I don’t understand.”
Beside them, Brooke cleared her throat and began collecting her paintings. “I should probably let the two of you talk,” she murmured. “I thought it was already—”
Howard cut her off. “I meant to discuss this with Owen sooner, but our schedules haven’t quite matched up. You don’t need to leave, Brooke. It’s good that you’re here and we can go over it together.”
Nodding, she continued to put her things away and then stood back silently while her uncle explained his idea.
“I fully support Brooke’s work and her desire to experience different places to paint. But her heading off to the desert alone just isn’t practical or safe. Her mother has some…issues, and Brooke is willing to respect them for the moment. So she needs to go with a group.”
Nodding in agreement, Owen offered a suggestion. “Perhaps she could find painters interested in doing the same thing. Make it an artist’s retreat.” That was a thing, wasn’t it?
“I want you to hear me out, Owen. I have a proposition for you.”
Dread sank like a lead weight in his belly.
“You and I both know you’re going to need help on your upcoming trip to Red Rock. An assistant. Someone to help you manage your time and keep you on task.”
“I don’t have a problem with staying on task, Howard,” Owen argued lightly. “I have excellent time-management skills—”
“No, what you have is excellent social-avoidance skills. You get too wrapped up in reading and studying, and you forget there are people around you are supposed to be interacting with. This project is going to require you to lead a group of twenty, and that means you have to be accessible to them and able to communicate with them without having a panic attack.”
All Owen wanted at the moment was to hide—especially from Brooke. While Owen knew of his own shortcomings, he didn’t appreciate them being pointed out to an audience.
Howard placed a reassuring hand on Owen’s shoulder and squeezed. “You are an amazing teacher and scientist, Owen. But your people skills could use a little…help. There’s nothing wrong with admitting that.”
Easy for him to say, Owen thought. The man was one of the most personable professors and scientists he’d ever worked with. “Howard—”
“Brooke is at ease in front of a class and working with people. She’s friendly and personable and very sociable. She would be an asset to your team and would free you up to concentrate on the science aspects. And while she’s in the desert with you, she could paint. It’s a win-win.”
“But…” And how did he put this without it coming off as arrogant or a put-down to Brooke? “She’s not a scientist, Howard,” he said softly, hoping to cushion his words. “I think it’s important to have someone working with me who understands the project and what we’re doing so if anyone has questions and I’m not available, that person can answer them.”
“Owen—”
“No, it’s okay, Uncle Howard,” Brooke said, her voice soft and not sounding at all offended. “I understand what Dr. Shaughnessy is saying.” Then she turned to Owen. “I know I’m not someone you would normally consider having as an assistant, especially here on campus or in the normal scope of your work. What my uncle is proposing is just for the time you’re working on this trip to Red Rock. I do have excellent organizational skills, and I’m comfortable working in an office environment and am proficient with all the computer programs you may need to get information ready for this trip. I can make phone calls and set up schedules for you and your group. And once we arrive in Red Rock, I’ll be there to help you with the group on a…social level. If that even makes sense.”
It did. It seriously did. But Owen wasn’t sure he was comfortable with it.
Brooke must have sensed his hesitation because she smiled and then looked at her watch. “I’ll tell you what, why don’t you think about it and let Uncle Howard know? I have an appointment to get to.” She held out her hand to Owen, and this time he didn’t hesitate quite so long to shake it. With a quick wave to Owen, she gave her uncle a hug and wished them both a good day.
Owen watched her leave and immediately felt as if the sun had gone behind the clouds. The lecture hall felt dark and quiet and…lonely. He stood and watched the empty doorway for several minutes until Howard cleared his throat.
Damn.
He looked over at his mentor and hoped he didn’t look like some sort of lovesick puppy.
“Think about it, Owen. I believe Brooke is the perfect person for you.” He paused. “And for this project.”
And then he was gone too and Owen was completely alone and left wondering if Howard’s words were somehow a double entendre.
* * *
Brooke slipped into the first empty lecture hall she could find, feeling completely defeated.
Not sure what to do with herself, she walked over to the first row of desks and took a seat. A long, slow sigh came out as she sat there and replayed the last several minutes. It wasn’t as if she had been expecting Owen Shaughnessy to jump at the chance to have her work with him, but she still couldn’t help but feel…disappointed.
It shouldn’t have come as a surprise. She looked down at herself and shook her head. What serious scientist would want someone who looked like her to help him on such a prestigious event? She looked like some sort of bohemian. Why hadn’t she thought of that sooner?
Dress for the job you want, not the job you have.
Ugh. How many times had that phrase been thrown at her? Too many. And honestly, the job she wanted was to be an artist. Well…to be taken seriously as an artist. But so far, no such luck. Sure, Uncle Howard supported her, but he was the only one. Which was why she had relocated to Chicago from Long Island—because her parents just didn’t get it. And they never would.
In their minds, Brooke was wasting her time and energy by pursuing her love of painting. Not that they had high expectations for her in general, but they certainly had been vocal about her need to find a suitable husband from a “good family.”
Not interested.
The thought of settling into the type of marriage her parents had was beyond unappealing. The last thing Brooke wanted to do was get married—especially to someone chosen because he looked good on paper and would impress the country club set. It almost made her shudder with revulsion. And her parents were getting even more vocal about their desire to have grandchildren. Right. Like she wanted to inflict the kind of relationship she’d had with her brother on kids of her own.
Again, not interested.
Growing up, she hadn’t been particularly nice to her brother—as a matter of fact, she had been out-and-out bitchy. While she had been popular in school and seemed to make friends wherever she went, Neal had been the object of teasing and bullying because he was a computer geek. A nerd. Completely unpopular. While Brooke had been winning beauty pageants, Neal had been tucked away with his nose stuck in a book. It was both comical and sad how their parents had pushed them toward such typical—and outdated—gender roles. The beauty queen and the brainiac.
>
Just the thought of it made her entire body tense up.
It wasn’t until recently that she’d had the epiphany about how unjustly her parents had treated them. It was more than the roles she and Neal had been put in; it was the way they were taught to view one another. She was never allowed to focus on her education, mainly because her mother was busy entering her in pageants. And Neal? Well, he had been encouraged to study hard and make something of himself since he was old enough to read.
Which was at age three.
Her brother was a genius—no one could doubt that—but for the longest time, he had been a major social outcast, and even though he was older, Brooke and her friends had teased him about his social status mercilessly.
Not her finest time in life.
As an adult, things had changed, and Brooke came to realize how being the captain of the cheerleading squad and waving to a crowd while wearing a sash and tiara were only enviable when you were in high school. Out in the real world and dealing with everyday life, her former status didn’t benefit her in any way, shape, or form. Yeah. Reality had hit her hard when she went to college and found out there were dozens of girls on campus who had the exact same titles. There was no one to ooh and aah over her. There was no special treatment from her professors.
And no one was impressed.
As her star was fading, Neal’s had started to shine. He’d finally hit his stride, had stopped looking like he was a young boy and grown into a man. He’d gained confidence, and all the people who had once scorned him were now praising him. And while her brother had been making a name for himself, Brooke had been floundering.
Was still floundering.
When her uncle had offered her the chance to come and stay with him in Chicago to look for work, she had grabbed it like a lifeline. Out of all of her relatives, he had always been the one to see how she was more than just a shallow, spoiled girl with a pretty face. She couldn’t remember a time when he’d even talked to her about her pageants. He’d always talked to her about school and things that made her think.
It hadn’t been easy to ask him to help her get a meeting with the head of the art department here at the university—she didn’t want to take advantage of his generosity. It was one thing to encourage her to find work. It was quite another for him to actually have to get personally involved and risk looking foolish to a colleague if she wasn’t any good.
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