by Fae Mallory
She was being absolutely ridiculous. He’d seen everything that she had to offer and had evidently been less than impressed if his lack of a farewell was anything to go by. She’d stripped herself bare, and he’d left the room while her back was turned, finding her not even worthy of a proper leave-taking.
Still, it could have been worse. Some of her ex-boyfriend’s hurtful comments still echoed in her ears, but Ian hadn’t expressed any disgust with her body. Stripping for him hadn’t made her feel any better about herself, but at least it hadn’t made her feel worse. The best thing to do would be to simply forget that it happened at all.
She’d had mockups of the Madden paintings made so she could play with their arrangement on the gallery’s walls, but before she set Leroy to work tacking things up, she needed a plan. Sitting down cross-legged in the middle of the empty space, Violet picked up a legal pad and sketched a quick layout of the room, trying to determine the best way to organize the paintings.
The two purple-tagged paintings should clearly go against the far wall, the rest of the exhibit building to that climax, but for the other fifteen, she was at a bit of a loss. There were so many possible arrangements that even roughing something into her sketch felt like too much of a commitment.
“Just put something on paper,” she said aloud, but her hand refused to obey her. With a groan of frustration, Violet heaved herself off the floor and went to grab a candy bar from her desk, counting on the sugar to help her think. If that didn’t work, at least the chocolate would comfort her.
It took most of a week, but she finally managed to put together an arrangement that she was satisfied with. As Leroy tacked the mockups into place, she called Xavier to arrange for Ian to give his final approval. Once he did, she could finish the promotional materials and start contacting journalists to preview the show. The museum didn’t have much of an advertising budget, but this was a Hunter Madden exhibit. Word of mouth would do most of the work for her if she planted seeds in the proper places.
“Mr. Carlisle will meet you tomorrow morning at nine in the museum lobby,” Xavier told her, and Violet nearly dropped the phone.
“He’s coming here?” she blurted. Somehow she’d assumed that all she’d have to do was e-mail him a few pictures. Instead, she was going to have to actually interact with the man knowing that he’d seen her naked.
“Of course, Miss Fabre.” Xavier sounded puzzled by her surprise. “Mr. Carlisle is very invested in the exhibit’s success.”
“Great,” she said weakly, hanging up as soon as possible. If Ian was coming here, she had a busy afternoon ahead of her. The museum had to look its absolute best so he would sign off on the exhibit.
By the time she finished, it was nearly midnight and Leroy looked like he was planning to cut her brake lines, but every area of the museum that Ian could reasonably be expected to want to see was sparkling. Even the most shabby and out-of-date displays were neat as a pin, hopefully proving that she could be trusted with the Madden paintings.
Exhausted, Violet hit the drive-through on her way home, barely able to finish her French fries before she collapsed into bed where she dreamed of running naked through the museum while someone chased her with the war club from the Penobscot display. She was almost grateful when her alarm went off.
Frowning over the contents of her closet, she finally chose her most shapeless gray dress, pairing it with nude stockings and sensible black shoes. With her hair in a bun and next to no makeup, she looked severe and businesslike. One look at her would assure Ian that what happened in his gallery had been an anomaly that would not be repeated. The Violet in the mirror wasn’t interested in romance, only in putting on the best possible exhibit.
After brushing her teeth to banish any evidence of the chocolate muffin she’d had for breakfast, she headed for the museum, relieved that Ian was nowhere in sight. It was still early, but she wouldn’t have been surprised to find him waiting for her just to throw her off. The museum wouldn’t open until noon, so she was the only one there, and Violet took a moment to just breathe and enjoy the silence as she stepped into the Madden gallery.
She’d done a good job, she assured herself as she looked around. There was a nice variety of subject matter and canvas size, and the flow was simple and straightforward. The plaques with Madden’s biographical information were informative without detracting attention from the art. Overall, it was certain to be a successful exhibit.
As she turned in a slow circle, taking everything in, Violet realized that there was a reason the layout felt so familiar. Minus the paintings still in Ian’s gallery, she’d hung everything in the same order he’d had it in. Snickering to herself, she reflected that there was no way he could refuse to green-light the exhibit without calling his own taste into question. She was home free.
Feeling more secure, she arranged herself behind the front desk to do some paperwork and wait for Ian. At precisely nine o’clock, the door swung open. “Good morning, Miss Fabre.”
He’d traded his black shirt for a navy blue one that made his green eyes look even deeper, but otherwise, Ian looked much the same as he had a week ago. Although Violet had assured herself that there was no way the man would look as sexy in the mundane setting of the museum’s lobby as he did surrounded by priceless works of art, somehow the familiar location just highlighted his rugged beauty.
Trying not to think about it, she came around the desk and held her hand out for a brisk, firm shake. “Good morning, Mr. Carlisle. You’re here to see the exhibit.”
She was conscious of the quizzical look he was giving her as she turned on her heel and led him into the space, but he said nothing, falling into step behind her. “Obviously these are just mockups of the paintings, but they should give you an idea of how the exhibit is to be arranged.”
Ian followed her to the middle of the room and halted, turning to take in every aspect of the room. “Is everything else finished?”
“We’re going to give the floor a good polish, but other than that, yes,” she said with satisfaction. “Do we have your approval?”
“No.”
“Thank you—wait, what?” Violet blinked rapidly. She’d been so prepared for him to agree that she had no idea how to handle a no.
“I do not approve. Neutral walls, a conventional arrangement—it’s passé,” he explained, his mouth twisting with distaste. “I was expecting something with more flair.”
“I set everything up the same way you had it!” she blurted.
“Exactly.” Ian nodded as if she’d proved his point.
“So, it’s good enough for your gallery but not for an exhibition?” she challenged, folding her arms across her chest.
“Miss Fabre, you’re a professional curator with a degree in the fine arts. I’m just an amateur.” He sighed, looking regretful.
“An amateur,” she repeated in disbelief. Ian’s house was a damned museum, and he was calling himself an amateur.
He gave her an infuriating smile. “I look forward to seeing your next attempt.”
Without another word, he headed for the door, leaving Violet to chase after him. “Wait! That’s it? You’re not even going to give me any suggestions?” If replicating his own choices didn’t please him, she had no idea what would.
“Do what you think is best, and we’ll take it from there.” With a friendly nod, he was gone.
“Oh for—” Swallowing a curse, Violet stalked back into the exhibit. When she was in school, she’d been accustomed to harsh critiques, but those had at least been specific. Ian hadn’t even given her a hint about where to start.
Well, he hated the wall color and the arrangement of the paintings. That was something. “Right,” she muttered. At least she hadn’t made any public announcements about the exhibit because at this rate, they wouldn’t open for another year. Of course, by that time, they wouldn’t be able to pay their electric bill, so sooner would be better than later. “Back to the drawing board.”
* * * *
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Violet stood at her easel, glaring at the blank canvas that had been sitting there gathering dust since her return to Owensport four years ago. She’d hoped that being back in her hometown would spark her creativity back to life, but all the art supplies that she’d so carefully lugged up three flights of stairs remained untouched. More than once she’d been tempted to throw everything into the garbage or at least hide it away in a closet, but some inner demon had always stayed her hand. Instead, one corner of her living room remained set up as a miniature art studio, a perpetual reminder of her failures.
With the Madden exhibit, she was failing again. This was the opportunity of a lifetime, but since Ian shot down her plans four days ago, she’d been adrift, unable to come up with a better idea, or any idea at all. She’d driven Leroy crazy moving the mockups around, but she kept hearing the echo of Ian’s voice condemning her choices as passé.
Her mind was as blank as her canvas, and both seemed to mock her. Picking up a tube of cerulean paint that wasn’t completely dried out, she squirted a dab onto her palette and poked at the blob with her favorite brush. “Paint something,” she whispered. Maybe getting something onto the canvas would open up the floodgates of inspiration. “Paint anything.”
Casting her gaze around her living room, her attention fell on the glass vase that had been the first piece she ever bought at a gallery. Back then she’d been a poor college student, and spending five hundred dollars for a knickknack was incredibly irresponsible, but she’d wanted it, telling herself that soon enough she’d be selling enough of her own work to make up for the hit to her bank account.
She’d lived on ramen noodles for three months afterwards, but Violet had never regretted her purchase. Now, she let her brush glide over the canvas, rendering the vase’s curves in a new medium. For an hour she painted, tinting the cerulean to perfectly capture the vase’s highlights and shadows, and when she was done, she stopped to look at her work.
Technically, it was perfect, the brushstrokes layered with precision. It was also utterly soulless. The painting said nothing because Violet had nothing to say. It was flat, lifeless, and passé, just like her exhibit.
Cursing under her breath, Violet raked her hand through the wet paint, smearing cerulean from one side of the canvas to the other, obliterating her attempt at art. Hunter Madden could reproduce an entire meteor shower, and she couldn’t even paint a vase. What business did she have trying to exhibit his work?
She had none, but if the museum was going to succeed, she was the only chance it had. Flopping onto the ground, she glared up at the smeared painting, laughing to herself when she realized it had far more energy now in its ruined state. At least now it said “anger” when before it had said nothing at all.
Feeling too drained even to bother standing up, she crawled over to her coffee table and grabbed one of her old textbooks, flipping it open to the dog-eared page showcasing Madden’s Mountain Sunrise. The painting had always soothed her nerves, and now was no exception. Taking a few deep breathes, she concentrated on the swirl of pink and orange that spoke of hope and wide open spaces despite the tiny canvas.
Jerking her head up, Violet looked at her own smeared canvas and then back down at the book before jumping to her feet. When she held the page in front of her canvas, her instincts were proved right. The cerulean offered the perfect contrast to Madden’s painting, the airy blue supporting his vision instead of distracting from it. If it were solid, it would be too much, but the smearing broke up the color just enough to keep it from being oppressive.
Closing her eyes, Violet tried to picture the exhibit space, imagining the far wall painted in swirls of cerulean with the tiny canvas hanging directly in the middle, beckoning people in. Mountain Sunrise, which she’d chosen due to her personal fondness for the piece even though it was impractical to display, would be the centerpiece of the entire exhibit.
It was a risky move, but no one could argue that she was making boring choices. Laughing to herself, Violet grabbed her sketchbook and the photographs of the other paintings, trying to come up with complementary backgrounds and positioning.
By the time she was finished, the sun was coming up, making her eyes feel gritty, but she had a design. Instead of a formal, austere presentation, she pictured the two side walls wallpapered with clippings about Madden’s life and work, providing a lively backdrop for his paintings which she would display at various heights, requiring the viewer to stretch or stoop to fully appreciate each one, adding an interactive element. In contrast, the far wall would be an oasis where the eye could rest.
When she presented the sketches to Leroy, he looked at her as though she’d proposed setting the paintings ablaze. “Are you insane?”
“It’s not boring,” she defended.
“I feel like I’m going to have a seizure just looking at it,” the burly man complained. “The paintings are going to get totally lost.”
“No, they’re not because we’re going to use extra wide mats to offset them.” That would be costly, but Violet was certain the finished effect would be worth it.
Leroy shook his head. “Can we see what Carlisle says before I start making a mess?”
“Of course,” she soothed. Ian might well tell her that she’d gone overboard in the opposite direction, but her gut was telling her that she was onto a winner.
However, she had to wait another four days to know for sure. When she called Xavier, he informed her that Ian was in New York on business, but he’d check on her as soon as he returned. That gave her time to assemble the collage of news clippings that she planned to blow up and use to wallpaper the room so she could present Ian with as close to a finished product as possible.
Trading out her dresses for jeans and a baggy T-shirt that could withstand the onslaught of glue and ink, Violet turned her small office at the museum into a studio, spreading clippings related to Madden out over the floor as she tried to work out the best placement for each. She wanted the overall product to be exciting without overwhelming the eye, which meant that she had to be very careful about combining text size.
A sharp rap at her office door made her look up as she tried to determine the best location for a headline regarding Madden’s debut show, and when she did, she found Ian peering in at her. “Hey, you’re back!” she greeted, blushing when she realized how happy she sounded to see him.
“I’m back,” Ian agreed with a faint smile, stepping into her office.
Violet had to clench her teeth to keep her jaw from hitting the floor. The previous two times that she’d seen Ian, he’d been casually dressed. Now he was wearing an impeccably tailored suit that did nothing to disguise the strong lines of his body, the restrained ensemble only emphasizing the sensual grace of his posture as looked down at her. No man should be able to look that good in business attire.
Conscious of her own sloppy outfit, Violet lurched to her feet, seeing his outstretched hand too late. “Oh, sorry.”
“Xavier said you had something to show me?” he prompted.
“Yes!” She fluttered her hands, feeling breathless. Telling herself in no uncertain terms to calm down, she grabbed her sketchbook and handed it over.
For long moments, Ian just looked at her sketch, and then he nodded slowly. “Very interesting.”
“This is what I plan to use for the side walls,” she explained, gesturing down at her unfinished collage.
He didn’t respond, staring down at the collage as if he was trying to read each article. “And how are you planning to pay for all of this?”
That was an excellent question. The museum had enough money left to handle the reframing and pay Leroy’s salary. It would probably also stretch to buying a few more cases of toner for the printer, meaning that she could collage directly onto the walls and finish it off with a sealant to hold the whole thing together. It would take forever, but she’d pulled more than one all-nighter in college. The end result would be worth it. “We have some money in the operating budget.”
Ian nodded. “That’s what I thought.”
Sinking her teeth into her lower lip, Violet tried not to curse. He was going to say no again, and she had no idea where she was going to go from here.
His words, when they came, weren’t what she expected. “Send Xavier the bill.”
Violet was certain that she’d misheard him. “Excuse me?”
Reaching out, he tweaked one of her curls. “You impressed me, Miss Fabre. I knew you could. I’ll foot the bill for your design.”
“Really?” she gasped. When he nodded, Violet threw her arms around his neck, hugging him hard. “Thank you!”
As soon as she realized what she was doing, she stepped back, blushing furiously. “I mean, the museum is very grateful for your generosity, Mr. Carlisle.”
His lips twitched. “In that case, perhaps the museum could do me the favor of calling me Ian.”
The gentle offer of his first name only made her blush harder. “Ian,” she repeated obediently.
“And I can call you…” He trailed off, letting the words dangle in the air.
She swiftly remembered her manners. “I’m Violet.”
“You have a keen eye for design, Violet,” he complimented her.
“I used to paint,” she confessed, the words bypassing her brain as they spilled from her lips.
Ian gave her a sharp look. “Used to?”
“It was a long time ago. College,” she deflected, wondering what had possessed her to tell him that.
He nodded. “I would be very interested in seeing your work.”
Unbidden, her mind conjured up an image of the smeared cerulean canvas still sitting on her easel. Oh, yes, a man who collected Hunter Madden’s work would be very impressed by that. She wished she’d kept her mouth shut. “No, you wouldn’t. It’s not at all impressive.”
He raised a speculative eyebrow, but when he spoke, he didn’t press her. “We’ll agree to disagree. If you ever change your mind, you know where to find me.”