Work of Art ~ Book 3 The Masterpiece

by Ruth Clampett

  Work of Art Book 3~The Masterpiece

  Copyright © 2015 by Ruth Clampett All Rights Reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author or publisher.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  ISBN: 978-0-9893919-7-9

  Cover Photography: David Johnston

  Cover Design: Jada d’Lee

  Cover Models: Michael Senich, Patricia Ashley

  Editors: Angela Borda, Janine Savage of Write Divas and Janell Parque

  Interior formatting: Robert Reid at 52 Novels

  To you, dear reader

  for if you’re reading

  this final book of the trilogy

  I know you’ve held

  Max & Ava in your heart

  ♥

  And for that

  You are forever in mine

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One / Spread Your Wings

  Chapter Two / The Challenge

  Chapter Three / The Luckiest Girl in the World

  Chapter Four / El Hombre de mis Sueños

  Chapter Five / Beautiful Barcelona

  Chapter Six / Friends and Lovers

  Chapter Seven / Defy Gravity

  Chapter Eight / The Minefield

  Chapter Nine / The Deal Breaker

  Chapter Ten / The Push and Pull

  Chapter Eleven / We are Stars

  Chapter Twelve / Going for the Gold

  Chapter Thirteen / More

  Chapter Fourteen / Captain Fantastic

  Chapter Fifteen / The Flickering Light

  Chapter Sixteen/ On My Way

  Chapter Seventeen / Le Baiser

  Chapter Eighteen / Our Undeniable Destiny

  Epilogue

  Also By Ruth Clampett

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Chapter One / Spread Your Wings

  Art must be an expression of love or it is nothing.

  ~Marc Chagall

  The way I see it, I have two options. I can take Max’s phone out to the balcony and hurl it into the ocean, just to even the score. Or I can find him downstairs and throw my shattered phone at him. If my aim is good, nailing him in the head could be far more satisfying than the splash before the phone sinks to the bottom of the ocean. My initial devastation over my boyfriend’s outburst has flourished into a fiery rage.

  As my fury simmers, I can’t focus on any reasonable options for dealing with Max since he intercepted a text of mine and then destroyed my phone in a fit of anger. I look down at my screen and my hand tightens around the edges. I drag my fingernail across its surface, feeling the crackle of every break in the glass. My nerves are equally shattered.

  I perch on the edge of the bed and dig my fingers into the bedspread. I seriously doubt I have the patience tonight to go another round with my dramatic boyfriend. I take several deep calming breaths before forcing myself to face him. After searching the first floor, I find him leaning over the patio railing that faces the ocean. His shoulder and back muscles tense when I approach, and his grip on the wood looks as if he’s going to tear the top rail off its posts.

  I let out a long sigh and he flinches, then scowls and grits his teeth. The edges of his jawline are sharply rendered, despite the faint light.

  Something about his barely contained aggression changes the tone of my approach. I step toward him and hold up the phone.

  “Hey, Max. I got a text a few minutes ago, and I’m having trouble reading it. Perhaps you can tell me what it says.”

  His steely glare moves over me before dropping down to my phone’s screen. It shines its useless gray light on his face.

  “Don’t play with me, Ava. I’m not in the mood.” He turns back to the ocean.

  “Really? Not in the mood, huh? Imagine that.” My voice is laced with sarcasm as I set the phone down on the railing. “Are you at least going to tell me who the text was from?”

  “You know who.”

  “Actually, no, I don’t.”

  He glances down at the phone and then back at me with narrowed eyes. “I’m not up for this; you need to back off,” he says in a dark voice.

  “Oh, I will. Believe me, I don’t even want to be here having this ridiculous argument, but first I need to know if you’re sorry for being such an ass.”

  He kicks the rail. “I’ll tell you what…I’m sorry for leaving you alone at that party.”

  Ah, so Travis must be the one who texted and blew our happy, calm mood.

  “So, you’re not sorry for busting my phone and being such an ass?”

  “Are you sorry?” Max growls.

  I throw my hands in the air. “I have nothing to be sorry about!”

  “Well, we’ll just have to see about that, won’t we?”

  His hands grip the railing even tighter. This is going nowhere fast. I pull my shirt tighter around me and go back in the house. As much as I want to get in my car and leave, I know that isn’t the best choice.

  I also know I’m wound up and can’t just sit around and wait for him to cool off so we can talk. I pace the hallway a few times before I get the urge to take a walk on the beach. Who cares that it’s past midnight? The moon is almost full, so I won’t be stumbling blindly.

  I slip out the front door, march down the drive, and finish buttoning up Max’s shirt that I’d thrown on. I’m almost at the gate to the beach when his voice thunders from up above.

  “What in the hell are you doing?”

  “Taking a walk!” I yell.

  “Are you crazy? Come back here!”

  I ignore him, swiftly punch in the security code, and swing the gate open wide. To hell with him! I march along the shore and when the tide rises up and laps against my feet, I pause and take a deep breath. I’m glad to be away from the explosive tension back at the house, and my fury starts to calm.

  From this viewpoint, the world looks black and white with hints of the silver moonlight outlining the bumps in the sand and the silhouette of houses beyond the Malibu shoreline. I walk a little further to the section of the private beach where houses are spread farther apart, so there are dark patches across the sand with no ambient light.

  The stark silence echoes in my mind. Even the ocean seems quiet. I pull Max’s shirt lower on my thighs and wonder why a midnight walk on a deserted beach seemed like a good idea. Everything is starting to look a little creepy.

  I hear something behind me and my stomach lurches. I jump back when I see a figure approaching. As I try to decide whether to scream, run toward the house, or both, he steps into a patch of light from a neighboring house. It’s Max, his gaze piercing and wild.

  “Where the fuck are you going?” he yells.

  “I refuse to be treated like this!” I fire back before I continue along the shore.

  With his long gait, he catches up with me a moment later and grabs me by the arm. “Where, Ava?”

  “Quit being a bully and let go of me!” I insist, while trying to shake my arm free of his grasp. “I’m taking a walk.”

  “In the middle of the night, half naked? Are you nuts?”

  I look down at my sh
irt and realize that even though I’m covered, I don’t have panties on. The length of beach in the distance now feels black and looming. But my pride overrides my logic.

  “With the way you’re acting, it’s safer out here than back at your place.”

  “Ava,” he groans, as he lets go of my arm and turns his attention back to the house. He lets out a loud sigh, and before I realize what’s happening, he sweeps me up in his arms.

  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. M
y 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. This is going to be even harder than I thought. “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, Adam. 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 heard 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.”