And, she didn’t just dream about how amazing it would look on a resume when she applied for Art Museum curator jobs when she’d finished her degree. She’d also dreamed about spending hours alone with Kurt, going over research, deciding what incident should go where. That, she had to admit, thrilled her more than any hit on a resume might.
“Em! Can you help me get these bowls to the back?”
As though on cue, Audrey called Emily out of her Kurt Schmidt inspired reverie. She looked up at her friend who was staring at her with a glare and a raised eye brow.
“Yeah,” she answered. “I’ll be right there.”
“You can take mine back too,” Kurt said. “I think it’s finished.”
Emily looked down at Kurt’s bowl and smiled when she saw a very Vangoh image. The yellow and black swirls against the blue pot harkened back to his Starry Night painting almost exactly.
“We’ll talk more when you get back?” he asked sounding hopeful.
“Sure,” she answered.
“Em! Are you coming?” Audrey called, the glare still on her lips.
“Yeah,” Emily said before giving Kurt an apologetic smile and scurrying across the room.
“You know he shouldn’t be visiting you at work, right?” Audrey asked as soon as they moved to the back.
“I knew you had the ladies well in hand,” Emily said. “Besides, it didn’t take long.”
“Still. He can’t expect you to drop everything because he needs you for one of his little projects. You’ve got a life too.”
Though Emily didn’t say anything to that and the two girls didn’t speak as the bowls were heated and set, Audrey’s words punctured Emily’s little day dreams like a pin in a balloon.
Audrey had a point. Emily had a deadline for the first draft of her master’s thesis due in two weeks. She also had lessons to plan for Kurt’s class that he’d asked her to teach and that was not to mention work.
If she could give up one of these, she knew she would like to give up her job. While she certainly didn’t mind, helping people create little designs on pots, she couldn’t deny that there were other things she would rather be doing with her time.
But, giving up her job would mean an almost complete loss of income. The money she got for helping Kurt with his classes was more a stipend than a salary. And, without the money from the shop, there was no way she would be able to make rent.
So, when they went from the fire of the back to the main painting room, it was with a defeated air that she returned Kurt’s pot.
“So?” he asked eagerly. “What’s the verdict?”
“Kurt I…I just don’t think I can,” she said.
“Of course, you can!” he told her. “You’re good at this stuff! Much better than me.”
“Anyone would be better at romance than you,” she said with a small smile and an eye roll.
“You sound like my wife,” he said attempting a smile in return. “She says I don’t try. That’s why she spends most of her time away. And, that’s also why she stays in the guest bedroom when she is here.”
Though he tried to keep his smile in place, Emily couldn’t help but notice that it had become more than a bit forced. Something almost sad entered his expression as he looked down at his finished pot.
“Look,” Emily said, thinking it might be best to quickly change the subject. “It’s not that I don’t want to. I’d love to work on this. It’s just…with school and my job…I don’t have the time.”
“How many hours a week do you work here?” he asked. When he looked up at her, the vague sadness disappeared and he looked up at her again with that focused expression. He was, once again, the analytical professor trying to solve an academic problem.
“Twenty-five,” she said.
“What if you spent those hours working on the book instead?”
“Depends, are you going to pay me fifteen dollars an hour?” she asked a hand on her hip, fully expecting the answer to be no.
“I’ll pay twenty an hour,” he said.
Her eyes widened and the hand dropped from her hip. Was he offering her a job?
“You…really think I’m worth twenty an hour?” she asked.
“I’d pay more if you asked for it,” he said. “I just…this is really important to me. You’re the only person I can trust to care about this book as much as I do.”
He looked up at her with those clear grey eyes shining behind his spectacles. Emily searched his expression for some hint of the manipulation that Audrey seemed to assume was there when the professor asked for favors. But, she couldn’t find it. He looked entirely sincere.
And, if he was, she knew that twenty dollars an hour was more than enough to stop her work here.
So, with a sigh, she held out her hand to him.
“Ok then, professor,” she said. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”
His smile brightened as he took her hand, shaking it eagerly. Those grey eyes danced behind his spectacles and she couldn’t help but notice the way his longish hair fell across his face. Seeing his smile, so bright and genuine and happy, caused that little flip to settle back in Emily’s stomach.
“Thanks, Em!” he said finally letting go of her hand. “You won’t regret this. I promise.”
He gave her another smile which caused another flip in her stomach. As he left the shop, Emily prayed that he was right.
Chapter Three
It had been two months since Emily had left her job at the Art studio. Two months since Kurt had offered her the job as his ghostwriter/research assistant, and the book still wasn’t finished.
Not that Emily minded. To tell the truth, she looked forward to the writing sessions in Kurt’s small office at the school more than she looked forward to any other part of her week.
And, that wasn’t just because, as Audrey so bluntly put it ‘you want to fuck your boss’. Though, when Emily was completely honest with herself, she had to admit there was a hint of truth to that.
But, the subject of Paul Gaugin and Vincent Vangoh life and its effect on their work was more interesting than she could have imagined. As she spent time looking through biographies about the two men, she learned facts that had alluded her even in her graduate Art History studies.
Things like how Paul Gaugin’s paintings of native peoples in the places where he traveled were often subtle critics of colonialism. Or how certain psychologists posthumously diagnose Paul Gaugin with Narcissism.
Given all this interesting new information, it was almost easy to ignore the fact that she was spending hours alone with Kurt. Or, it would have been if it were not for this new habit he’d recently formed.
The one where he would laugh and touch her arm when she said something funny, or put a hand on her shoulder and lean in when she’d found an interesting fact.
Now, as he leaned over her chair, one warm hand on her shoulder, his lips just inches from hers, it was not as easy as it had been a moment before when they were on opposite sides of the room.
“You really think we could use that?” he asked. Emily felt his breath tickle her cheek when he spoke and a shiver ran down her spine when she felt the weight of his hand through her shirt.
She had to clear her throat before she could answer him.
“I think it is,” she said. “When he talks in this letter about the ivy circling around the willow tree, it’s clear he’s talking about sin circling around a man’s soul. More specifically his. Since this was written just after he was admitted to the mental hospital, I think there’s a pretty good chance he’s talking about the ear incident.”
“True,” Kurt said thoughtfully. “But, he could be talking about almost having stabbed his friend. That could be the sin. Not the prostitute.”
Emily shook her head and squinted her eyes, trying to focus on the letter and not on the way Kurt’s aftershave smelled, wafting right under her nose. And, she had to admit, it did smell exceptional.
“The stabbing was a moment of anger,” she
said. “The ivy metaphor makes it seem like this sin started off as something small, even something nice and pretty. Then it grew until it almost choked him. That means it’s something that’s been going on for a long time.”
Kurt clucked his tongue thoughtfully and pulled away from her. As he began pacing the room Emily told herself it was stupid to miss the warm feeling of his hand on her shoulder.
“But, Vangoh lived with a bunch of artists in Paris,” Kurt said. “Those guys frequented brothels all the time! Why would he think it was sinful?”
“Well,” Emily said thoughtfully. “Vangoh was more religious than most of his contemporaries. Remember, he was studying to be a pastor at one point. And, maybe it wasn’t the sex that was bothering him?”
“What else could it be?”
“Maybe…he felt like he was getting too close to Rachel. The prostitute he was seeing,” Emily ventured. “Maybe he thought that his relationship with her was starting to hurt them both.”
“So, you think she was the ivy?”
“It’s a possibility.”
Emily turned back to the book open in front of her. Kurt’s eyes stayed fixed on her. She could see him watching as she highlighted the relevant passage. Something in his gaze made her feel strange. Like the right side of her body was being gently grazed by a roaring fire.
He’d been doing that more and more lately. Keeping his eyes on her even when she wasn’t speaking or looking back at him.
Now, she waited for him to start pacing again. He didn’t. His grey eyes remained fixed on her and the fire she felt on her side turned into a blush in her cheeks.
Emily bit her lip, wondering if she should say something.
Kurt beat her to it.
“Do all women do that?” he asked.
“Do what?”
“Analyze one sentence to death until it means something that makes sense to them.”
Emily let out a chuckle as she closed the book and turned to him.
“Does that mean you disagree with my theory?” she asked. There was a challenge in her voice and she raised her eye brow at the man across from her.
Kurt shrugged.
“Doesn’t really matter if it’s right or not, does it?” he asked finally. “We can’t get inside his head. As he’s dead, we can’t ask him what he meant. And, this fits the romance angle we’re going with. So, we might as well leave it in.”
Kurt turned away and whatever fire was in his gaze before was snuffed out. Heaving a sigh and turning back to the desk, Emily caught sight of the one, small picture in the office of Kurt’s wife. Cheryl.
“How’s your wife doing?” she asked before she could stop herself. Maybe she was trying to remind herself that Kurt was married. Maybe she was just looking for something to take her mind off sin and sex.
Either way, Kurt’s reply was as non-committal as it had been about Vangoh’s letter.
“She’s fine,” he said. “She’s at her dad’s condo in Malibu again. She says she’ll be gone for another two weeks.”
“Oh.”
Emily discovered that this was the only thing she could say in response as she glanced back at the photo on the desk.
In the picture, Kurt’s arm was draped around the petite, well dressed blonde woman. A tall, stately looking grey haired man stood just to the right of the couple. Emily knew that this was Warren Cleft. Retired real estate mogul, the town’s resident billionaire and Felusia College’s biggest donor.
Emily had met him once at a fundraiser. They’d done nothing more but shake hands and exchange ‘nice to meet you’s in a receiving line, but, the way Warren Cleft had gripped her hand, the entirely fake but intimidating smile he’d given her, made her feel as though this man was not to be trifled with.
“It’s getting late,” Kurt said, finally drawing Emily’s eyes away from the photo. “We should probably wrap up. I’m sure you’ve got places to be.”
“Not really,” Emily said closing the book. “Just another night of thesis writing.”
“Hope I’m not putting you too far behind.”
“No,” she said. “In fact, this research is giving me some good ideas for my paper. I should really be paying you.”
This time, it was Kurt’s turn to let out a chuckle.
“No money needed,” he said. “Though, I wouldn’t mind a co-author credit.”
“That would kind of defeat the purpose of a student thesis,” she said. “I’m supposed to write it on my own.”
She looked up at him and his eyes were glinting behind his glasses as he gave her a playful smirk.
“Well,” he said. “In that case, we’ll just keep this our little secret.”
He winked at her and Emily felt her face flush bright red. She gave him the best smile she could in return.
Emily grabbed the book from the table where she was working and moved across the room to put it back in its place on the shelf. When she moved past Kurt, her foot caught on the spine of one of the large books littering the office floor.
Just before she fell face first onto the ground, she felt a warm arm wrap around her waist, catching her. Emily turned to Kurt, a word of thanks or a joke about her clumsiness ready. Whatever she had half planned to say died on her lips. When she looked up at him, his eyes were boring into hers. Concern for her was present there but there was also something else. Something like a deep, passionate fire burning just underneath the calm, logical surface Kurt so often presented.
The look sent shivers down her spine. Knowing that, if they stayed like that one more second, she would do something she regretted, she gave an awkward chuckle and righted herself. She told herself that she had imagined the slightly disappointed expression on his face when she moved away from him.
“Thanks,” she said putting the book in her hands back on the shelf. “It’s getting a little cluttered in here, isn’t it?”
“I’ve got to admit, you have a point about that,” Kurt said. He’d turned away from her and taken off his spectacles. He rubbed his nose the way he always did when something had either frustrated or upset him.
“Maybe when we work on Friday a change of venue would be in order.”
“That’s a good idea,” Emily admitted. “A change of scenery would be nice.”
“It’s settled then,” Kurt said. He turned back to her and, whatever she’d heard in his voice before, the calm façade was back again. “I’ll see you at my house on Friday.”
Emily blinked as something strange twisted in her stomach.
“Your house?”
“Well, since my wife’s out,” he said. “And there’s a lot more room there, I might as well use it for something. Does that sound ok? Or would you rather meet here again?”
It was a more loaded question than Kurt realized.
On the one hand, when she thought about spending another two-hour session in this crowded office, increasingly cluttered with books, papers and Chinese takeout boxes, she could easily imagine another near trip where she ended up in Kurt’s arms. And, the next time it happened, she was not sure she would be able to stop herself from reaching up and kissing him.
At the same time, she’d never been to Kurt’s house. She knew it was a large, mansion type place in the foothills outside of town. Suddenly, she pictured herself in a slinky dress sharing a glass of wine across an elegant table from Kurt.
Even though she told herself this idea was more than a little silly, it was hard to shake it.
But, she knew she had to. Aside from the danger small quarters presented, it was getting difficult to find any books she needed in the cluttered office. And, if they wanted to finish this section of the book, being able to find books was imperative.
“Yeah. That sounds good,” Emily said before she could analyze the situation any further.
“Great,” Kurt answered as evenly as ever. “I’ll see you around four o’clock.”
Though Emily tried to smile and feel nothing more than relief at the venue change, she couldn’t help
the uncomfortable little squirm that filled her stomach as she left the office that night.
Being alone with Kurt at his luxurious mansion was a more dangerous position than she’d ever anticipated.
Chapter Four
Emily sat in the car outside Kurt Schmidt’s large, red brick house, trying to work up the courage to go inside.
She knew, intellectually, she shouldn’t be so afraid. This visit wasn’t anything untoward, after all. They were going to work on the book. Just like they’d been doing for the past two months. Even if she wanted something else to happen in there, she knew it wouldn’t.
They were only meeting here so that her clumsy feet wouldn’t trip all over the room. His house was much larger than his office, after all. And, she knew that no one was likely to disturb their work at his secluded home.
Emily blushed when she thought that no one disturbing their “work” also meant no one interrupting the flirty jokes they’d started to make to one another. No one to interrupt the movement of his arm across her shoulder when he leaned into check her writing.
With an admonition that she was, once again, being stupid, Emily forced herself up and out of the seat of her car. Marching straight to the front door and ringing the bell, she told herself that she was here to work and that was all.
When Kurt opened the door, his normal tie gone and his usually buttoned shirt unbuttoned so that she could just catch a glimpse of the hard, smooth chest beneath, work was getting harder and harder to remember.
“Emily!” Kurt said beckoning her inside. “I’m glad you’re here. This section’s giving me a lot more trouble than I thought it would.”
He led her through a bright, airy entry way with stylish white furniture and marble floors into an equally bright kitchen area.
The large wooden table overlooked the backyard with an exceptionally inviting balcony lined with giant pine trees.
The wooden table had been cluttered in the same way Kurt’s desk at the college was. Papers and books lay out on top of it and clusters of notes sat crumpled on the seats.
“You’ve started without me, I see,” Emily said dryly, eyeing the papers and books scattered around the table.
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