by Harper West
On the front of the gate was a large cursive, “E.L.” representing not only Emanuel’s initials but the brand of art he had created over the years. He had come out of nowhere, beautiful pieces shown in some of the most affluent galleries in New York when I was in high school. From there, his compositions were studied, they were shown to prospective art students, and they quickly became famous. He became famous, even though no one but his agent had ever seen him.
I knew I had to at least attempt to get my work seen for the internship. I wanted my work in the galleries, but it took connection and instruction. Emanuel Livingston’s guidance would be a direct ticket to my own shows. I packed up my drawing tablet and easel and approached Mr. Partridge. “Are there any specific instructions on what should be included in my portfolio submission?”
“Choose your four best pieces,” he said. “They require the original pieces to be submitted, and they will be returned after the choice has been made. Along with that, a one-page bio with a picture. The chosen person will be announced at the assembly before our next class.”
I smiled excitedly. “Thank you! I’ll see you tomorrow for my turn in.”
He chuckled at my excitement, and I turned, rushing from the room. I had been looking for an internship, but I never thought I would have the opportunity to apply to one run by the visionary artist, Emanuel Livingston. It was very likely that I would not even be considered, but I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to get my work in front of him.
My mind was so wrapped up in everything that the stark New York cold didn’t seem to touch me as I hurried out the doors of the school. Tucking my bag under my arm and grasping my easel in the other, I hurried down Houston Street and into the 8th Street Subway Station. I was so used to taking the trains I barely even thought about the path. From 8th to Time Square, I rode, getting off with a pep in my step as I made my way to Shubert Theatre.
“Hey Henry,” I smiled as I approached the cast entrance.
Henry was the doorman, an older gentleman I had seen a million times growing up. “Miss Elise, you look quite happy today.”
I leaned forward and grinned. “Today has been an exciting day. Is my father in his dressing room?”
He looked at his watch. “Probably on the stage. Go on in.”
I grinned as he held the door open, heading through the quiet halls of the cast rooms. Approaching the backstage area, I took a right and quietly made my way out into the theatre, taking a seat in the floor seats, watching my father on the stage. He had been in theatre his whole life. At the age of six, he was in Peter Pan on Broadway, traveled as a child with the theatre, and eventually met my mother. She was a set designer, and my father couldn’t keep his eyes off of her.
The director was finishing up notes with the cast. When he was done, my father motioned toward backstage with a smile. As I entered his dressing room, a warm feeling washed over me. There was a particular smell to the backstage area, like coming home after a long day. I had spent more of my youth backstage of a theatre than any other place, and I loved it. My father was washing the make-up from his face in the bathroom as I wandered over to his dressing table. I smiled as I picked up a picture of him and my mother from the first play they had done together. She was so beautiful.
Sometimes I struggled to remember what she looked like, those ice-blue eyes and jet black hair, but as soon as I looked in the mirror, I remembered. She had died when I was nine years old, an unfortunate bus accident on her way back home after a show. My father had done the best he could with me. He was young, but we were best friends, and I shared my life with him.
“You look happy today,” my father yelled from the bathroom, shaking me from my own thoughts.
I set the picture back down and turned toward the bathroom as he walked out, rubbing his face with a towel. “I am excited.”
His brows lifted. “What’s going on?”
Plopping down on his couch, I set my things down on the floor in front of me. “They announced a new internship opportunity just for NYU Public Arts students. I have to turn in a four-piece portfolio tomorrow.”
“Mmm,” he said, tossing his towel to the side as he sat down at his table. “And who would you be interning with?”
I cleared my throat and sat up straight. “Emanuel Livingston.”
I could see my father’s brow furrow in the mirror. He turned around in his seat and tilted his head to the side. “The Enigma?”
I rolled my eyes. A few years back, the media had started to call Emanuel the “Enigma” because no one ever saw him. It was silly to me. It was about his art, not his face, but people were mesmerized by the whole thing. “Yes, Emanuel Livingston, the artist.”
“And how would you have an internship with a ghost?” my father asked.
I giggled. “He’s not a ghost. Whoever is chosen will go live at his mansion for six weeks, get to see him, learn from him, the whole thing.”
My father smiled at me. “And that would be an excellent way to get noticed for gallery showings.”
I nodded. “That and I would get to learn from him. He’s been my favorite since high school.”
“I know,” my father replied. “Well, what do we need to do?”
Rubbing my hands together, I jumped up. “I need your help picking out four of my best pieces.”
“Well, then let's get out of this dusty old theatre then,” my father grinned, grabbing his coat. “We should grab some pizza first, and then we can get down to it.”
My father was always so supportive of my art career. Money had never really been an issue. We weren’t rich by any means, but we never struggled. He wanted me to be happy above all else, whether it meant in the art world or business, or theatre, or anything else I wished to do. He worried about me, of course, but I always stayed close. My father and I had relied on each other to get through my mother’s death, and after that, we felt like it was just us. We had friends, but we could always rely on each other.
I envied the love my father had for my mother. It ran through his veins. He had stayed single after her death, never even going on a date. He didn’t seem lonely and lived his life the way he and my mother had always talked about. I had dated guys in college, but never anything serious. I felt like if I were going to find a love like my mother and father had, then I would know it when I met him.
We grabbed pizza at our favorite spot and then headed back to our warehouse-style apartment in the art district. The place was impressive, with high ceilings, two bedrooms, and the entire rest of it open and airy. Banners and posters from my father’s plays hung all over, with pieces of art in between. There were shelves of awards my parents had won, and racks of my paintings and canvasses on shelves my father had built me.
I made some coffee and started pulling pieces out, lining them along the walls. My father and I discussed every bit, talking about what they stood for and what I wanted someone like Emanuel Livingston to see. I would only have one chance to impress him.
“I believe The Crow should definitely be in there,” my father said, standing back.
I wrinkled my nose, staring at the canvasses. “Really? You don’t think its too abstract?”
My father shook his head. “No. I think it is a perfect representation of both your talent and your personal style. If you want to get the most out of the internship…”
“If I get chosen,” I reminded him.
He nodded. “If you get chosen, you want him to know who you really are as an artist when he brings you in. Otherwise, you will waste the experience by learning things you will never use.”
“You’re right,” I reply, taking a deep breath. “I’m just nervous. You know? I feel like I will never get anywhere. I feel like I do all these things, but I will always just be hoping for a break.”
My father chuckled, putting his arm over my shoulder and kissing the top of my head. “Patience, sweet girl. You’re twenty-four years old. You have your whole life ahead of you. And if you’re as much like your mother as I
think, you’ll do great big things.”
I smiled, leaning my head against my father’s chest. Maybe he was right, and maybe he was wrong, but I knew no matter what, I wouldn’t ever figure it out if I ignored the opportunities right in front of me. Emanuel Livingston was the key, I just knew it, deep in the pit of my stomach. I had no idea why I felt so strongly about it, but the reason didn’t matter. I was determined to give the best work I could muster.
Continue Reading The Dom and the Intern here! Available now!
Also by Harper West
The Pleasure Wars Trilogy:
1. The Dom’s Deal
2. The Dom’s Rules
3. The Dom’s Forever
Standalone Novels:
The Dom and the Intern: A Dark BDSM Romance
The Big Bad Billionaires and the Student: A MFM Billionaire Professor Menage Romance
The Billionaires and The Author: A MFM Billionaire Menage Romance
Doubling Down in Vegas: A MFM Mafia Bad Boy Romance
The Pleasure Contract: A Reverse Harem Billionaire Romance
The Billionaires and The Bookworm: A MFM Billionaire Menage Romance
The Billionaires and The BookNerd: A MFM Billionaire Menage Romance
The Billionaires and The Librarian: A MFM Billionaire Menage Romance
The Virgins Double Tycoons: A MFM Billionaire Menage Romance
Seduced by Her Royal Dukes: A MFM Royal Menage Romance
Tempting Her Royal Princes: A MFM Royal Menage Romance
Given to The Mafia Bosses: A MFM Bad Boy Menage Romance
Training Their Virgin Assistant: A BBW Billionaire Menage Romance
The Billionaires Surprise Baby: A MFM Billionaire Menage Romance
The Nanny and The Billionaires: A MFM Billionaire Menage Romance
The Virgins Billionaire Bachelors: A MFM Billionaire Menage Romance
FREEBIE:
Shared by Her Billionaire Bosses: A MFM Billionaire Menage Romance
About Harper
Harper West is a Cali girl through and through, and she’s hella addicted to iced tea. She loves some theme park time, visiting the ocean and the mountains in the same day, and spending time with her kitties as she explores this writing journey.
When she’s not enjoying everything Cali has to offer, she can be found on social media or sitting in front of a fire on a rainy day, staring at the mountains. Sign up for her newsletter to stay up to date on all of her journeys and new books!