Rock Solid

by Lisa A. Olech

  Dante met Maximo’s stare and gave him a nod of encouragement.

  “With your permission, I’d like to ease you into the public’s eye as soon as possible.” She swept her finger across the screen. Max’s stare turned into an angry glare.

  Dante leapt to his feet. “We discussed Vega’s reluctance—”

  “Yes, yes, I know, but look at him. The man has to be seen. I have the perfect solution and it will give us just the exposure we want without compromising your need for privacy.” She laid a hand on Maximo’s arm. “I have two tickets to Friday night’s opera opening. La Boheme. You love opera, and I have box seats. You won’t have to talk to anyone. We’ll arrive just before the curtain looking like this season’s ‘It’ couple, and your photo will be splashed all over the society pages before the curtain falls for intermission. All will assume we are agent and client, but they’ll secretly wonder if we’re more.” She squeezed his arm. “The odd lunch here, an intimate dinner there, and we can keep the rumor mill buzzing for weeks. Meanwhile, I’ll contact all the major galleries on the East Coast and see which one wants a Maximo Vega exclusive showing. For a price, of course. We can offer to hold a premiere reception with the artist for a handful of adoring fans who’ll pay huge amounts to be in the same room as you.”

  The words “adoring fans” tightened Max’s gut. There was a reason he kept a low profile. If she got too carried away with her plans, she’d learn that secrets and rumor mills could bite you when you least expected it.

  “You have nothing to worry about.” She crossed her heart with the tip of one painted fingernail. “I’ll do all the talking. You just have to show up looking handsome, and your work will sell itself.”

  She looked back and forth between him and Dante before reaching for Max’s hands. Her fingers were icy. “I’m your agent now. You need to trust me. I’d never put you in a situation you’re uncomfortable with.” She squeezed his hands. “So, Friday night, is it a date?”

  He looked past her to Dante. “A date? Was this your suggestion?”

  Dante raised his hands in surrender. “Not me.”

  “Wonderful.” She gushed.

  He hadn’t answered her.

  “Do you already own a tuxedo, or do we need to buy you one?” She was a runaway train.

  “He could rent one.” Dante rushed to point out.

  “No, he could not. I’ll send a tailor over with samples in the morning, and I’ll have the limo pick you up here Friday night at 7:20. We’ll make the opera house just before the lights go down so we won’t have time to speak to anyone.”

  She issued them a sharp nod. “Wonderful. It’s settled then. Oh, look at the time. Walk me out, Maximo?” Packing her briefcase, she flipped a hand at Dante. “Mr. Rizzoli, my office will fax over copies of our contract as well as the artist’s schedule. You’ll have no questions.”

  She ensnared Max’s arm again. “Ta-ta.” They left a stunned Dante and her heels clicked across the floor to the door. “Now, don’t you worry about anything.” Pressing firm breasts against his arm, she smiled at him. Her eyes were an odd shade of blue. Periwinkle? She must wear colored contact lenses.

  Beverly Lavender air kissed his cheek and left in a perfumed cloud.

  Dante was standing in the doorway to his office. “Wow. That was something. The woman’s a real tiger. That’s the kind of agent you want.”

  Maximo set his jaw and crossed his arms over his chest. “Promise me you’ll stop her before she eats me alive.”

  “It won’t be as bad as you think. Her plan makes sense, and you’ll get the exposure you need with the least amount of actual contact with the public.”

  “I just have to act like a trained monkey. I’ll have the suit! Add a giraffa and we’ll have the whole zoo.”

  ****

  Em finished sanding the delicate repair to the dancer’s finger. She’d forgotten her earplugs and, between the noise in the casting room and Crystal’s barking, she needed them. On her way back from her locker, she caught sight of Maximo and his mystery woman saying a cozy good-bye at the door. They looked like a photo-shopped couple clipped out of a magazine. Her blonde perfection. His dark sexiness. She would be the type of woman to drip off his arm.

  The cut of Em’s nails into her palm brought her up short. Was she jealous? That was crazy. It was just her rabid curiosity. That’s what it was.

  Who was this woman? “Hey, Crystal?”

  “Now what’d you break?”

  Em narrowed her eyes. “Nothing.” She jerked her head toward the main studio. “The woman with Vega. Any clue who she is?”

  Crystal snorted. “That’s Vega’s new fancy agent. Did you get a load of her shoes? He gave her the royal tour and she had a fit that her precious pumps were getting dusty back here. Said her name was Lavender.”

  “Lavender what?”

  “No, last name’s Lavender. She’s some hotshot out of Boston. I heard one of her clients was that African elephant at the San Diego Wildlife Reserve. You know, the one who paints?”

  “The elephant paints?”

  “Yep. His trainer sets up a canvas, hands the beast a brush full of paint, a few swipes—boom, twenty grand.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “I never kid about twenty grand.”

  “Why would Vega want to sign on with someone like her?”

  “How the hell should I know? I’m thinking, if she can score thousands for some elephant crap, she can sell a Vega for huge bucks.”

  “It’s never been about the money for Vega.”

  “Wake up, princess, it’s always about the money.” Crystal went back to work.

  Em slipped in her earplugs. The sharp bite of noise dulled. Crystal was wrong. It wasn’t about the money for Maximo. It was always about the work. Why hire a woman like that? Unless it was more than a business relationship. That had been an un-business-like good-bye at the door. Fine, maybe she was a little jealous. She was protective, that was all. Although she did have green eyes.

  Her hands ran over the smooth lines of the sculpture. The dancer was on pointe and the muscle tone in the supporting leg was carved beautifully. Maximo didn’t need a fancy agent to market his work. The grace and beauty of his pieces did that.

  She swept an inspecting hand along the curve of the dancer’s back. In a few months would this be her? Maximo would want her answer soon. All signs were pointing to yes, but her pinball machine of emotions was making her a little crazy.

  She wasn’t a model. Modeling required skill and confidence and a strong sense of inhibition. Not that she was overly body-conscious. What was the direct opposite of that? Non-body-conscious? She didn’t care about all those things. Clothes were just something to throw on. Hair and makeup were alien concepts—to Trixie’s horror.

  Emily couldn’t understand some women’s obsession with all of it. The lengths they went to have bigger breasts, fuller lips, flatter stomachs. Maybe it would have been different if she was fighting a weight issue in this culture of thin, but she’d seen just as many skinny girls obsessed with their bodies.

  Maximo wanted her to pose for him, but it didn’t mean he was attracted to her body type. He said she screamed innocence. Did that mean he didn’t see her as a woman? Maybe he preferred Ms. Lavender’s lush curves. Ahhh! TILT!

  Jeremy was right, damn him. She wasn’t thinking rationally when it came to Maximo. She could be seduced by the man asking her for a cup of coffee. Did she think she could stand there naked and not melt into a steaming puddle of hormones? Then what, jump him when his back was turned?

  He did have a reputation for intimate relationships within his studio. Interns. Models. She’d be both. Emily looked at the serene face of the piece in front of her. “And who were you?”

  Her eyes were getting greener by the minute.

  It took Emily over an hour that afternoon to set up her own little bit of heaven in the Vega studio. She’d moved everything from her closet work space at home and pulled over her exhibit p
iece from school to work on along with some other smaller projects. The space and lighting here were perfect. The creative energy, phenomenal. The chance to think of something other than Maximo’s offer for an hour or two, well, that was a true blessing. Too bad she couldn’t stop watching the clock.

  Chapter Eight

  Emily stood in front of Maximo’s magic curtain. How was she supposed to answer the man if she wasn’t allowed to approach him? She kept hoping to bump into him again and made a point to casually walk past his area fifty or sixty times.

  Dante was starting to giving her the hairy eyeball every time she wandered by him. Between this and the pinkie, she was on borrowed time as it was. He’d save himself half a bottle of aspirin by showing her the door.

  Chewing a thumbnail, she studied the weave of the fabric. Should she slip a note under the pleats? That was ridiculous. The whole thing was giving her hives. She should just say no and face the consequences.

  “Ms. Baskins?” The silk of Maximo’s voice slipped over her name. Part of her body turned liquid.

  She didn’t turn around. “Yes?”

  “You’ve come to give me my answer?”

  “Yes.” She held her breath. The heat of his body warmed her back.

  “Bravo. Return here at eight. I wish for your hair to be softened, si? Like the first night I sketched you.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Molto bene, very good.” he whispered as he passed her and slipped into his work space.

  The air left her lungs in a rush. Wait, what just happened? Emily covered her eyes and groaned.

  She’d just said yes to Maximo Vega. Twice.

  ****

  It was 7:50 when Em pulled back into the empty parking lot of the Vega Studio. She’d told Trixie she had a late class starting this semester that was part of her internship. Technically, she hadn’t lied. She debated calling Jeremy. For what? Moral support? “Hey Jeremy, hon, I’m getting ready to get buck naked with the sexiest man I’ve ever seen. Okay, talk to you later, bye!”

  Emily pulled in a deep breath. Come on. Be professional. Forget you’re naked. Forget it’s Maximo Vega. Ya, right! She’d easier forget she had legs.

  Grabbing the backpack, with her silk kimono robe shoved inside, she willed those legs to walk her into the studio.

  Many of the lights had been shut off for the night, but Maximo’s area glowed like daylight. Music played softly. Italian opera, but she had no clue as to which piece, or from which opera.

  Her heart tap danced in her chest as she stripped out of her jeans and T-shirt and slipped on her thin robe in the model’s dressing room. Bare feet on the polished concrete floor made her shiver as she moved into Maximo’s area. The chill made her nipples tighten into ice picks and her teeth chatter. Em wrapped her arms across her chest and rounded her shoulders. The room was warm. Emily recognized two portable heaters used for a model’s comfort. A dais was set and waiting. For her.

  Maximo was angling a work light when he noticed her. “Come, come. I am ready for you.”

  Legs. You have legs. Please move. A tenor was hitting a high note. The sound scraped against her spine.

  Maximo raised a remote and the music lowered. “You are on time. Very good.”

  Emily could only nod. Her legs were working, but walking and talking seemed beyond her. Why was she doing this? Oh yeah, fame, fortune, success. That was crap and she knew it. This was all to be close to him. The Great Vega. She hated when Jeremy was right. She hugged her arms tighter and shivered again. It was one thing to be close to the man. It was quite another to be naked and close.

  “You’re cold?”

  “No.”

  “Then your nerves are getting the best of you. Come. Stand here. We won’t begin until you are ready. Si?”

  “Si. Yes, thank you.”

  “There’s no need to worry. You are safe here. I don’t often use new models, but it is good for this piece. The shy reluctance will only add to the feel of innocence. You will do fine. I won’t rush you.”

  Emily wanted to scream she wasn’t innocent. She wanted to whip off her robe and strike a pose like she did this every day. To her, reluctance equaled cowardice, and that was something she just couldn’t abide. She stepped onto the dais.

  “I want your right side first. We’ll set your blocking that way to start with.”

  She bobbed her head and turned to the left. Cold fingers clutched the ties of her robe. She closed her eyes. The rush of the heaters fluttered the hem of her robe against her thighs.

  Soothing hands rubbed her arms and lifted to massage her shoulders. “You are an angel, mio angelo, to say yes to me. I wasn’t certain you’d agree.”

  “You didn’t give me much of a chance to say no.” If he kept rubbing her shoulders, she’d say yes to pretty much anything.

  “Si. I am selfish, no?”

  “No.”

  The roughness of his hands caught at the smoothness of the silk. “You will see when it comes to my work. I think only of myself.”

  “Maybe at first, but then you share yourself with the world.” The pressure of his fingers against the knotted muscles in her shoulders was a dance of pleasure and pain. She didn’t want him to stop.

  “Never me. I share the piece. I will share you with the world, but for this short time, you are only mine. My eyes alone. Molto egoista. Very selfish.” Warm hands ran down her arms.

  “May I ask you a question?”

  “Si.”

  Emily looked over her shoulder. “Do you sleep with all your models?”

  He stepped away and tipped his head, appraising her. “What answer do you wish to hear?”

  “There are rumors.”

  “Rumors aren’t necessarily true.”

  “Unless they are.”

  “I make no habit of sleeping with my models or my interns. Does that disappoint you?”

  “No. I didn’t want to think you were fickle.”

  “And what of you? You, too, are an artist. Do you sleep with all your models?”

  “No.” Emily thought about the models she’d used in the past. Jagger Jones popped into her mind. He modeled at Stoddard School last year. He was gorgeous. Now him, she might have made an exception, but he had to go and fall in love with another artist, Zee Lambert. They got married last September. The only other male models left were paunchy Phil and skinny Alvin. “No, I’ve never slept with any of my models.”

  “Good.” Maximo pulled a covered cart of clay closer to his worktable. “The muse can be a curious thing. At times human, at times mystical. Elusive, yet consuming. She has been known to steal my heart.”

  “Mine too.” Something about coming to Maximo as an artist, not simply a model, made her relax. Artist to artist they experienced some of the same feelings. She loosened the ties of her robe. Turning to the side once more, she pulled in another deep breath and tossed her robe clear of the dais.

  “Ah, perfecto, at last.” He whispered “bella” under his breath.

  Maybe Trixie should get those language tapes. “What is bella?”

  “Sei bella. It means you are beautiful.”

  “Th-thank you.” She struggled to keep from covering herself. What the hell was she supposed to do with her hands?

  “Do you remember the pose you made two nights past? Think like the artist again. Your body is your canvas. Remember the first drawings, the pleading? Show me the moment when all is lost and you are reaching to the heavens for guidance.”

  Emily placed a fist between her breasts and started her reach.

  “Put your weight on the front leg. Si, si.” He was by her side with gentle hands, positioning her body exactly as he wanted it. “Tip the chin a bit more. This elbow down. Raise the fist higher.” The back of his fingers brushed the tip of her breast as he moved her hand.

  The jolt that ran through her made her gasp.

  “Si, relax the jaw as if you’re crying out.” Moving behind her he placed his hands on her hips and turned them in a subtle adjustment. “Good. E
ase the back. Perfecto.” Fingers raked through her hair, slipping it behind an ear. “Close your eyes. Good.” He stepped back. “Ah, there she is, my vision. Perfecto. Bella.”

  Her body hummed. Each nerve ending skipped along her skin where he’d touched her. She tried to control her breathing. If she dropped her fist, would he come adjust her again? Dear God, please! Adjust me, adjust me!

  “Si, si, that is the perfect expression upon your face. Whatever you are thinking is perfecto. Can you hold the pose?” He grabbed for clay.

  “Yes.” The word came out in a desperate rush.

  “Tell me when you need to break.” The rich swell of the music swirled around them. She wished she knew the names of the songs. Maximo sang along under his breath while he worked. Emily could only watch him out of the corner of her eye. She didn’t dare turn her head, but she was mesmerized by the way he laid in the clay and the ease with which he brought bone and muscle to life.

  The heaters pulsed warm air around her, but she still trembled. She tried to move her mind past the fact she was standing there nude and toward the feeling of freedom many models speak of. Nope, it wasn’t working for her. She was naked and as progressive as she’d like to believe she was, her every instinct was to duck and cover.

  The steel door to the studio made its opening squeak and slammed shut. Emily let out a squeal, turned her back and covered all she could with her hands. She stared in horror over her shoulder, waiting for whoever it was to come through the curtain. She snatched her robe off the floor and draped her front.

  “Dannazione! I told them all to leave me alone tonight!” He threw the clay in his hand onto the table. Maximo turned up the music and peered through the slit opening. Another door slammed before the main door opened and closed again. “It is Dante. He won’t disturb us. He’s leaving. I’ll go lock the door behind him.”

  The breath she was holding released with a whoosh. Did Dante know her Jeep? Let’s hope not. She didn’t even think to hide her vehicle.

  Maximo was back. “I’m sorry he startled you. Shall we continue?”