Page 20 of Clashing

Chapter fourteen

Art Lessons and Texts

Scarlett

E arly afternoon sunshine illuminated the white tiles and walls of the gallery.

Floor-to-ceiling windows offered natural lighting for the front room, though a few spotlights aided in accenting artwork.

A curved, sleek black counter with a glass top served as the front desk off to the right.

To the left, I mounted my last painting.

Although it seemed even, I climbed on the stepladder and placed my little level on the top.

The bubbles inside the green liquid informed me it tipped to the left.

I adjusted the frame, then climbed down and stepped back.

René, the curator, approached, her straight, dark hair tied in an elegant ponytail. “Looks good. I’m excited for Friday. You’ve created a wonderful centerpiece.”

I beamed while I folded the stepladder. “Thanks.”

“Month after next, I’m doing a charcoal drawing theme centered on the human body. Have anything to show me?”

Sweat formed on my palms. Practicing human anatomy had gotten lost in my recent obsession with creating full scenes. However, I’d been drawing Ryker a lot. Nothing spectacular. I couldn’t capture that perfect body in a drawing, and despite what he said about that one charcoal he saw, it lacked.

“I’m not sure my stuff is up to your standards.

” I snapped a few photos of my painting on the wall for Dan.

More acrylic paintings hung beside it—some my work and some not.

The show would be for all kinds of paintings.

I had more over in the oil and watercolor collections, but this was my big one.

“I only recently picked up human anatomy again, and I have a lot to learn.”

“I have a friend who teaches a phenomenal class, if you want to brush up those skills. Hera’s a fantastic teacher. I’ve had people who couldn’t draw stick figures come out with incredible talent.”

A lightness spread in my chest at the thought of continued education. I missed my classes. Being around others pushed me to work harder. “Really?”

“Yeah. It’s a six-week course. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays from four to six. She has two openings left. Here, let me get her card for you.” She dug into a drawer on the inside curve of the glass desk. “It’s a little pricey, though.”

I picked at my phone case, and the aroma of roses and vanilla wafted from the glass bowl of potpourri on the counter. “How much?”

“Eighteen hundred.” My eyebrows shot up, and René offered a sympathetic smile. “I know it seems like a lot but trust me, she’s amazing. You know that new artist taking off, Marvin Jarkus?”

“Yeah, he’s skyrocketing.”

She handed me a colorful business card. “After he took her class.”

“Seriously?” I took the card and scanned the information. “Why haven’t I heard of her?”

The bangles on René’s wrists clinked together when she braced an elbow on the counter and rested her chin in her hand. “She’s a great artist but not an exceptional artist. She is, however, an exceptional teacher . Marvin credits her all the time. She’s a master at teaching and critiquing.”

“Damn.” I tapped the card against my palm. “Okay. I’ll try to get the cash together. When does it start?”

“In a couple weeks. She’ll give you up until a couple days before class starts to pay in full as long as you provide a small deposit up front to hold your spot.”

I nodded. “Thanks, René.”

“No problem.” She clicked her French-manicured nails on the counter. “I need all the artists here by five on Friday. I’ll see you then.”

I waved at her over my shoulder as I strolled out the front door. “See you Friday.”

So far, my art shows had been successful. Unfortunately, not successful to the point I had a spare eighteen hundred dollars. I did have almost a thousand saved. Could I pick up the difference in the next two weeks? Maybe if I got more commissions and shifts at the bar.

Retrieving my phone, I updated my social media, stating I’d give ten percent off commissions for the next week. That usually got me some business.

After a hot drive home courtesy of the awful summer weather, I sat at the bar near the register where the rumbling A/C offered respite from the heat.

Dan emerged from the kitchen and grinned when he spotted me. “How’d it go?”

“Good.” I tied my hair up in a messy bun. “Do you need extra help this week? I heard there’s a fight that a lot of people will be watching.”

“Yeah, on Thursday. I’ve been advertising. You want to work?”

“Please. What about the weekend or any other days this week except Friday?”

His lips tugged down. “Do you need money, Scar?”

Oh, God. Here we go. I squared my shoulders and looked him dead in the eye. “No.”

His chest puffed out more than it needed to. “It seems like it.”

“I don’t. What’s wrong with wanting a little extra money?”

“There something you can’t afford?”

“Oh my God.” I braced my elbows on the counter and dropped my head in my hands. “Nothing I want you paying for. Do you need help or not? And don’t cut any of Tammy’s hours to do it.”

“I wouldn’t. If anything, I’d take more days off.”

I arched a brow as he limped to a glass and a bottle of amber liquid. “As you should.”

“I will for you.” He slammed the glass in front of me and poured a shot of whiskey. “Not because I need to.”

“Whatever.” I rolled my eyes. “Which days?”

“I’ll look at the schedule. If you tell me what you need money for.”

“I don’t need money. I want it for an art class. That’s all.”

“What art class? Who’s going to teach you anything?” His brows pulled together. “You’re already the best.”

I sipped my whiskey and fought a smile. “Says the man who only has my art in his house and never looks at anyone else’s.”

“It’s because I’m a distinguished man of taste and yours is the only art that measures up to my standards.”

I laughed. “You’re so full of shit, Dan.”

“How much does the class cost?”

I inclined my head to the water pitcher behind him, and he obliged, pouring me a glass. “None of your business.”

“How much, Scar?”

I gulped the icy water. “Eighty cents.”

“Eighty dollars?”

“Sure. Eighty dollars.”

He sighed and stroked his beard. “Come on, honey. Why can’t I help you out sometimes?”

“You already do too much for me. You’re letting me live here for ridiculously cheap, and you keep buying my art supplies when I tell you not to.” He pouted. I covered his hand with mine. “Okay, tell you what. I’ll let you help me if you let me take you to the doctor for your knees.”

He scowled. “A doctor can’t tell me what I need.”

“Sure, I mean, they only have doctorates and machines that can tell you why you can barely walk, and medicine and therapy to help, as well as years of experience, but yeah, I get your point. What do they know? The silly bastards, trying to help people.” I scoffed. “The nerve .”

He pointed at me as he scooted toward an approaching customer. “Watch the sass.”

“What are you going to do? Chase me around the bar? Which bad knee is going to hold up the best?”

He threw me a dirty look before greeting his customer. Swirling my drink, I considered what I could sell to get the money. Dan welcomed a few more customers, then returned with a determined glint in his stubborn hazel eyes.

“If you tell me, I won’t pay the whole thing.” He held his hands up in a false show of surrender. He would absolutely pay the whole thing. “Why don’t you tell me how much you’re short?”

“Not happening. I’m an adult, and I like taking care of myself. Like you taught me.”

“I didn’t think you were actually paying attention,” he muttered. “You were always painting your nails.”

“Painting my nails and listening?” I gasped. “I pursued art when I should’ve been performing acts. No one would believe I could multitask those two things.” I leaned across the bar dramatically, my hand to my chest. “Could you imagine the ticket sales?”

His flat expression showed no amusement. “Definitely more than you’d get going into comedy.”

“Oh, come on, you used to love the comedy nights I did!”

“They were cute when you were nine and had much less attitude.”

I stifled a laugh and arched a brow.

He sighed. “All right, you always had an attitude. But it was less directed toward me.” He gestured to himself as if he were mortally wounded. “You get pictures of your wall for me?”

“I did.” I snatched my purse.

“Send them to your mama too.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I dug through every crevice and pocket of my purse but came up with nothing. “Crap, I think I left my phone in the truck.” I handed him my bag, and he tucked it behind the bar. “I’ll be right back.”

Summer heat slouched my shoulders when I stepped out into the alley and hurried to my car.

Unsurprisingly, my phone sat in the cup holder.

Retrieving the device, I stuck it in my dress pocket with a stupid grin.

This sundress was my favorite because it was cute but also had pockets.

I sunk my hands in them because I could, and my phone vibrated.

Maybe someone already ordered a commission.

A message notification from an unknown number stilled me. I didn’t recognize it, but I did recognize the area code. Unknown: Did you get my letter? I want to talk.

Screenshotting the text, I then sent it to the officer I’d been in contact with about Todd trying to get ahold of me. Once it sent, I blocked the number and dropped my phone in my pocket like it infected me. Like he did.

No. I refused to allow him to control me through fear. I took a few deep, shaky breaths until my heart stopped trying to escape. Everything would be fine. He can’t hurt me anymore. One more meditative breath later, I entered the bar through the rear door.

Ryker exited the men’s bathroom as I made my way down the hallway and we almost collided. I stumbled and he steadied me, his gaze doing a full body appreciation. It’s ridiculous how easily this man distracts me. I clenched as his eyes darkened.