Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Instead of introducing him, which Clay should have done as propriety dictated, the young man asked, “What are you reading?” He pointed at the book under Fernsby’s arm.
Fernsby held it up. “It’s the latest Mathilda Sullivan mystery. I’ve read all her books.” He did not extol the virtues of Mathilda Sullivan’s writing nor admit the books were marvelous. He had the entire series in hardback and had read each more than once.
Someday, perhaps, if the deity willed it, he might have them autographed.
Then he announced, “Lord Rexford and I—” He never called the long-haired dachshund T. Rex, the way everyone else did. “—were out for a stroll and decided to stop by to see Charlene Ballard’s latest creation.” He looked down his nose at Clay. “It would be mere politeness to introduce me to your lovely friend.” Again, after a pause, he added, “Sir.”
“Of course,” Clay said, as if he were so enamored that he thought Fernsby would naturally extract her name from his very thoughts. “This is Saskia Oliver. I’m negotiating a commission with San Holo, the famous street artist, and Saskia is his assistant.”
“And I am Fernsby.” No further explanation was necessary. He raised a brow, looked at the young woman, liked her without knowing another thing about her, and held out his hand. “So nice to meet you, Saskia.”
She shook with a good grip. He liked a woman who had a good grip.
He perambulated around the sculpture once more, stopping at a point where he could see the two of them standing close together. “Ms. Ballard’s latest work is once again amazing.”
Charlene Ballard patrolled junkyards and garage sales for bits and pieces she melded into the most intricate artwork. She was also engaged to Maverick media mogul Sebastian Montgomery.
When on earth would the two get married? Perhaps he needed to work his magic with them, as he had with Dane and Camille, and with Ransom and Ava, Clay’s older sister.
So many unmarried couples. So many unattached Harringtons.
His work was cut out for him.
But now he needed to give his unbiased analysis of the sculpture. He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “It feels as though the subject is angry. Throwing away his work because he thinks it doesn’t measure up.” He glanced at Clay. “Is that the message you hope to give the artists here?”
He gazed at the artist’s palette in The Discus Thrower’s hand. He couldn’t imagine that had been Charlene’s intention.
But instead of Clay defending his choice, the young woman stepped forward. Saskia. Such a lovely name. Hopefully she didn’t shorten it to something appalling like Sas.
“Look at the young man’s face.” She pointed to The Discus Thrower, his face in bronze while the rest of his body was metal gears and other odds and ends welded together. “He’s glowing. Look at the palette. It’s the only color in the entire statue. All the colors he could want to use. He’s not throwing away his art. He’s throwing everything into his art—all his energy, all his creativity. That’s what it represents to me.”
This incredible insight from an assistant? She was absolutely right. She had read its true meaning. While Fernsby, on purpose, because he’d wanted to gauge their reactions, had expressed the opposite view.
She was like Clay. He wasn’t an artist, but he lived in the art world, and he understood both artists and their work. Though she might be an assistant, this young woman knew the artistic temperament.
Fernsby gladly admitted his error. “Sometimes you believe art says one thing. But when you look closely, you find it says exactly the opposite. Thank you for pointing this out to me, young lady.”
She smiled, a radiant smile, which she then turned on Clay.
Shooting stars exploded between them. They’d spent the night together. Fernsby was absolutely sure. Because Clay Harrington had never looked at a woman like that.
This young woman was real. She had depth.
She was perfect for him.
Saskia met Adrian for lunch on Saturday at a trendy restaurant on Market Street, elegant with white tablecloths, crystal wineglasses, and busboys carrying little scrapers to scoop away breadcrumbs. The tables were separated by planters, giving the patrons a sense of privacy.
Adrian had chosen a window table, because she enjoyed watching the passersby. “This place is owned by Ransom Yates.”
Saskia gave her a gentle, “Mmm,” not terribly interested in who owned the restaurant.
Adrian raised one eyebrow. “Ransom Yates is now dating Ava Harrington.” She paused, waiting for Saskia’s reaction.
Saskia didn’t feel like giving one. She studied the menu instead.
“She’s Clay Harrington’s older sister.” Adrian sat back, giving Saskia a self-satisfied smile.
“Are you trying to worm information out of me about what I’ve been doing with Clay over the last couple of days?”
Adrian gave a dramatic eye roll. “I can’t believe I actually have to drag the details out of you.” She ended on a note of exasperation.