CHAPTER THREE
He smiled when he recognized the caller. “Willa, I didn’t expect to hear from you. What’s up?” He opened his e-mail and began to scan it, prepared to listen half-heartedly to whatever Willa was planning on maneuvering him into doing for her.
“Max told me that you wanted to have lunch today,” she said. “What did you have in mind?”
His attention was immediately focused. “You spoke to him? I want to meet the guy and talk about future commissions, and I have an offer for him. Something big that I hope will interest him. Is he coming?”
“Maybe. Max is very shy and only agreed to meet with you if I’m there as the artist’s representative. I know a convenient place where we can get together.” Willa suggested a trendy bistro close to Max’s loft. “We can be there at one this afternoon. Max likes the morning light and always paints then. We prefer a late lunch. Does that work for you?”
He breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps he could wrest the artist from Oleg Cantwell’s moist grasp after all.
“There’s another thing, Willa.” He paused, searching for the right words. “It’s about the girl, the one who lives with Max. Ask her to come along and have lunch with us... with Max.”
“Why, Jon! Are you interested in Max’s girlfriend?”
He detected a suppressed giggle, though it was obvious she was covering the receiver with her hand. “I thought she might enjoy it.” He cleared his throat. “She seemed like a nice girl.”
A little trill of laughter spilled from the receiver. “I’ll ask her. See you at one.”
He stared at the phone, hoping the girl showed up. He didn’t even know her name but she’d kept him awake the previous night haunting his thoughts and preventing all possibility of sleep.
Max’s girlfriend. He frowned at that and moved a few papers around on his desk.
He couldn’t believe this girl made him feel so ill at ease. Her wry sarcasm was something he wasn’t used to. Apparently she didn’t have a clear idea of who he was or maybe she wouldn’t be taking potshots.
Then, she rummaged through her stack of clean clothes and realized that her wardrobe consisted of garments more suitable for paint rags than dining at a cool seafood restaurant with a handsome, if stuck-up, designer. She wanted to look her best when she told him that it was she who created the paintings he’d commissioned.
Max nodded. “I thought it best to go to a professional for help.”
The smell of perfume wafted on the refrigerated air as Willa rushed her through the glittering aisles.
A sales woman stood behind the jewelry counter grinning brightly, but Willa ignored her, forging ahead until she brought them to her intended destination: The Young Sophisticates Department. Here the lights were a bit more subdued; showcasing artistic displays with completely accessorized trendy little dresses.
“Of course,” Max sniffed. “I’m completely civilized, Willa, in spite of what you may think.” She peeked at a price tag and gasped. She dropped it like she’d been scalded.
Willa led her to the dressing room and demanded she try on the garments she’d selected. One after another Willa passed judgment as Max modeled for her.
Max gazed at her image, transfixed by what she saw reflected in the mirror.
Max hugged Willa, crushing her sunglasses sideways in the process. “I’d never have chosen any of these but I’ll have to admit, you nailed it.” She turned around to admire her derriere in the bias cut skirt of a silky blue dress. “I love this one and the peach print is gorgeous. Which one should I buy?”
“Which one?” Willa looked aghast. “You are going to invest in a few nice garments so you’ll be ready for the next occasion requiring you to look like a well-turned out young lady.”
“But the cost,” Max protested. “I can’t afford to dress like this.”
“I don’t think I can stand up,” Max protested.
Max wore the blue dress and flats, insisting she would fall on her face if she had to wear heels. She felt Willa surveying her critically.
“Speaking of faces,” she said, “you need to dig in my bag for blush and a little lip gloss. You might want to try the mascara. You have to look as good as your dress.”
“You look gorgeous,” Willa said, “and may I point out that you told me you couldn’t stand Jon Claude. Remember when you said he was a snotty, pretty-boy designer and you weren’t attracted to him at all. Remember?”
A flush of warmth rose from her neck to stain her cheeks. “I remember, but I don’t want to look bad even for someone I don’t like, especially when we’re going to tell him my name. He’s seen me at my worst...” She glanced at the dashboard clock. “Aren’t we running late?”
“We’re running right on time. It’s good to be just a teeny-tiny bit late. We don’t want to be the ones waiting for him, do we?”
“And, as for revealing your true identity, let me handle it. On the phone, Jon said something about an offer. He said it was big and I don’t want to alienate him when he may have a huge commission up his sleeve. You can remain anonymous a little longer for the right price, can’t you?”
“Just follow my lead.”
Heads turned when the two attractive women entered the restaurant. All eyes were on them. Max experienced a little flutter in her chest, like she’d swallowed a butterfly.
Head held high, Willa led the way to the table in the corner where Jon waited. He stood when he spotted the duo.
“I think you’ve met my friend, Jon.” Willa waved her hand in Max’s direction.
“My name is M...” She froze in mid-sentence. She turned to Willa, her face registering distress. Max pretended to cough.
“Millie,” Willa offered. “Jon, meet my friend Millie. We’ve been best friends forever. We met on the first day of kindergarten and we’ve stayed tight ever since then.”
He didn’t take his eyes off Max. “And you said you’ve both been friends with Max for a long time as well?”
“Yes,” Max whispered. “We’re all the very best of friends.”
He raised her hand to his lips and smiled as she colored prettily again before gently withdrawing her hand. He pulled out chairs for them and a waiter materialized immediately.
After they perused the small select menu and placed their orders, Jon turned to Max. “So, what is this close relationship between Max and you two beautiful women? You’re his girlfriend and Willa is his agent?”
“No,” Max hurried to say. “We’re friends. Just very good friends.” She gave Willa a cool glance as if daring her to say differently.
She sipped her tea, aware that Jon was staring at her. She cast him a glance under her long lashes, determined not to blush again. He looked nice and not as stuffy and full of himself as in their previous meetings. She decided she’d been mistaken and he probably wasn’t gay, but how did a straight man learn to dress so well?
“Where is Max? Has he decided not to join us?” he asked.
Max couldn’t bear to refer to herself in the masculine gender. “Max was painting this morning,” she said. “Max loses all track of time. When Max is painting everything else ceases to exist.”
She inhaled deeply, rationalizing that she hadn’t actually lied about that part.
The waiter brought their food. Max leaned back so he could slide the oversized serving of seafood with marinara pasta in front of her. She had a momentary vision of the sauce landing in her lap and vowed to be extra careful with her new dress. She picked up her fork and stabbed it into a shrimp.
Jon smiled at her, his eyes warm and inviting. “I must admit, I’m disappointed that Max couldn’t make it, but I appreciate that he’s concentrating on his work. An admirable trait for an artist.”
Jon’s dimpled grin clutched at Max’s insides. “I want to sponsor a one-man show for him at a major gallery.”
Max almost spewed out her mouthful of shrimp. She clasped her hands together over her mouth and swallowed it whole. “A show? That’s wonderful. I can’t wait.” A gurgle of excitement spiraled around her insides, threatening to choke her if she didn’t get to stand up and scream.
Jon tore his gaze from Max’s face and turned to Willa. “It’s always exciting to discover a truly talented artist. Max paints from such a strong masculine point of view. I want to mentor him. I plan to use this showcase to introduce his work to all my past and current clients and make sure the entire Houston art world is made aware of Max’s genius...Men of Vision: Jon Claude Donnell presents Max Foster.”
Max swallowed. Men of Vision?
“That’s so generous of you, isn’t it, Millie?” Willa nudged her under the table.
“Yes, very generous.” Max nodded mindlessly, recalling the hand puppet Willa had mimed. Masculine viewpoint, indeed.
He picked up his glass and took a sip of wine. “Max doesn’t have as many completed abstracts as I would like. I think he should paint a few more to strengthen his portfolio.”
“But what do you expect in return, Jon.” Willa placed her perfectly manicured hand on his arm and leaned toward him. “How can we make this event beneficial to you as well as Max?”
“I’d like to have exclusivity. You’re his agent, but I’d like to be the only designer he works with. I’d like to be aligned with him, shoulder to shoulder. I can see myself designing whole projects around his art. Does that seem fair?”
“That seems fair to me. I’m sure Max will be excited about it,” Willa said. “What do you think, Millie?”
Her heart beat pulsed in her ears. She shook herself out of her stupor. “Max is currently working on a project with a designer named Oleg Cantwell. What about that?”
Jon’s brows drew together in a frown. “I know about the Cantwell commission, but in truth, he wouldn’t have learned about Max if I hadn’t worked with him first. Cantwell is always looking over my shoulder. He’s never had an original thought in his life. After Max completes this work, I would ask that he not work with any other designers. I can keep him as busy as he wants to be and I’ll guarantee the rates will be astronomical.”
“Oh, I like the sound of that.” Willa bounced slightly in her chair.
Max tried to control the tremor in her voice. “What about gallery sales?”
“Not a problem. Max can paint his heart out and sell through any other venue. He can sell online or through a gallery. I want to be the only designer with exclusive access to Max for commissioned works.”
She took a deep breath and nodded. “Yes, I’m sure Max will agree to your request. It will be an honor to work with you as the exclusive designer.” She put another bite in her mouth although her appetite had vanished the moment he’d said the word show.
“Are you sure?” Jon asked. “Don’t you need to talk to him first? You could call him.”
Willa shrugged her elegant little shoulders. “There’s no phone in the studio and Max hates to be interrupted while painting.” She took a sip of her water. “I’m completely confident when I assure you that Max will be happy with this arrangement.”
Max quirked her dimples at Jon, hoping her smile covered her confusion. How could this sexy man be a mentor to Max Foster? She hadn’t fared too well under the guidance of her former mentor, Malcolm Reed.
He nodded absently, staring at Max. “I’m leaving town tonight. I’ll be gone all weekend. Can you confirm with me Monday if Max agrees to the arrangements?”
Max took a cue from Willa and leaned closer to Jon, inhaling his crisp masculine scent. “Tell me about the gallery. Where do you plan to hold the show?”
He gazed into her eyes, seemingly lost in the denim blue depths. “Gilman Galleries. Cherise Gilman has a gallery in the Heights and one in Galveston. I thought we could use the one in the Heights. It’s central and she has an affluent clientele.”
“I know Cherise,” Willa said. “I’ve attended her openings in the past.”
“I’ll provide for the catering so it will be first class all the way.” He turned to Willa. “I’ll invite everyone of note in Houston. We can select a date far enough in advance to allow Max adequate time to produce a few more abstracts.”
Max pursed her lips before breaking into a wide grin. “You really do like those abstracts, don’t you?”
“They’re phenomenal,” he said. “I like his representational work as well, but the abstracts are unique. Very bold and masculine. I can’t wait to meet this guy.”