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The topic of his parents was a subject best avoided for as long as possible.
“Did you work for a sculptor?”
“Eventually.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets, his confident smile fixed firmly in place again. “But first I was assistant to a painter and then a multimedia artist. Then I went to work for a remarkable sculptor who worked with clay.”
“Your apprenticeships served you well. I can see the influence of all three mediums in your work.” Sasha turned her attention to an assemblage of scrap metal laid out on the floor. “Is this what you’re working on now?”
“It is. Commissioned for a corporate office headquartered in LA.” He gripped his chin, studying the metal fragments, as if seeing them for the first time.
Sasha walked carefully around the collection of metal scraps until she stood opposite him. When she looked up, he was no longer studying the metal pieces on the floor. He was studying her.
Electricity trailed down her spine and the room suddenly felt warm. She dropped her gaze to the assemblage of scraps arranged on the floor again.
“So a commissioned piece like this. How does it work? Does the client tell you what they want?”
“This isn’t color by numbers, love.” His smile widened. He was clearly amused by the very suggestion that he’d execute someone else’s design. “I don’t have anything against anyone who does work that way, mind you. It simply doesn’t work for me. Black sheep who has an uneasy relationship with rules, remember?” He poked a thumb to his chest.
“Good point.” She nodded sagely, her cheeks tightening in a smile. “So, what is your process? Do you sketch out your designs, then find the materials you need?”
“Only when an idea begins in my head. Perhaps I’m inspired by something I’ve seen, there’s a concept I want to express or I have a persistent vision I can’t let go of.” Jordan stooped, rearranging a few of the metal scraps. “Other times, I select salvaged pieces like these and play around with them. Try out different configurations until a design speaks to me.”
Jordan scrutinized the pieces intently, and Sasha assessed him.
“So how did you come by your remarkable studio assistant Marcus?”
“I met him during a workshop I gave for local high school students.” Jordan stood, dusting off his hands. He retrieved a clean rag from a nearby metal table and cleaned them. “Marcus was bright and incredibly talented. Eager to learn about art. But he was struggling with the rest of his schoolwork and he’d become a fixture in the headmaster’s office.”
“Then why’d you take a chance on him?”
Jordan shrugged, still focused on the configuration of items laid out on the concrete floor. “I see a little of myself in him, I suppose.” He raised his gaze to hers, then laughed. “And that is why I don’t normally tell people stories like this.”
“Why? What did I do?”
“You’ve got that face...as if you’ve just seen a baby take its first steps or something.”
“I do not.”
“Yes, you do. And I don’t work with kids like Marcus for recognition. Neither is it a wholly selfless act.” He gestured toward another metal table where a smaller piece was taking shape. “The boy’s got a good eye. And he’s a very hard worker.”
“Obviously.” Sasha surveyed the piece. An assemblage of metal pipes and fittings were arranged in the shape of legs and feet. “But if he was already struggling with school...won’t a demanding job make things worse?”
Jordan stuffed his hands in his pockets and assessed Sasha, as if debating whether he should tell her the rest.
“I pay him a decent hourly wage, but the rest goes toward a tutor. Like I said, he’s quite bright. He just learns a bit differently.”
“And he agreed to the deal?”
“He’s never missed a tutoring session and his grades have improved dramatically.” Jordan’s eyes twinkled with pride. He indicated the various machines along one wall. “And he’s learned to work all of the machinery here. Skills that would serve him well if he needed to go into a trade, for a time, at least.”
“It’s all a facade, isn’t it?” Sasha couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face or the fluttering in her chest.
“Sorry?” Jordan crooked a brow, puzzled.
“You behave as if you don’t care about anything or anyone but your art, but you do. You care about the environment—that’s why you use discarded wood and metal. You care about underprivileged youth—that’s why you do the workshops. And you obviously care deeply about both of your assistants.”
“I never purported to be a monster. And if you thought as much, I doubt you’d be here now.”
“Actually... I have a very particular reason for being here.” Sasha was reluctant to bring their lovely evening together to what would likely be an abrupt end.
“If the answer is anything other than you being taken with the art or the artist, I’ll be terribly disappointed.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets.
“You’re a brilliant artist, Jordan. And far more fascinating than I would’ve suspected.” Sasha’s heart beat faster. She reached into her small clutch, pulled out a business card and handed it to him. “But the reason I came tonight is because I’m a brand strategist, and I’d love to work with you.”
Jordan accepted the card and reviewed it. One eyebrow shifted upward. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Ms. Charles, but tonight’s event was packed. We cleared a half million dollars in sales and commissions tonight alone.”
“Impressive indeed.” Sasha nodded. “But I believe you’re capable of even more. I can help you double or triple what you made tonight. More importantly, I’ll work tirelessly to help raise your visibility internationally and smooth over some of the issues you’ve had in the past with bad press.”
“And exactly how do you plan to do that, Ms. Charles?” He’d reverted to formal address since they were talking business. Yet, there was unmistakable flirtatiousness in his tone.
“I can’t give all my trade secrets away for free, now can I?” She smiled. “But I would begin by honing your online presence. Currently, your social media real estate is either absent or lacking the brilliance and creativity worthy of a true creative genius.”
“I’m a creative genius, am I?”
“I don’t think anyone at the gallery this evening would dispute that.”
Jordan stepped closer, his heat enveloping her. “Including you?”
Sasha swallowed hard, her knees quivering slightly as she inhaled his delicious scent. “Me, especially.”
“Sounds tempting.” Jordan’s heated gaze left Sasha unsure whether he was referring to her or her proposal. Surprisingly, the former was more tempting than the latter. “But I confess myself nostalgic for simpler times. When one needn’t manage their brand or monitor their online presence. Life is too short to be consumed by the opinion of the faceless masses. Or even those much closer to home, for that matter.”
“Times change, and this is the reality of doing business now,” she stated firmly. “I know it seems like a hassle to manage your brand. But handled properly, it’s the key to achieving everything you want.”
“You presume to know what that is?” Jordan cocked a brow.
He was testing her.
“Yes.” Sasha raised her chin. “Money and notoriety are important to you. That’s obvious from the eye-catching cars and the occasional ‘wild child’ antics. But there’s so much more to Jordan Jace than you let on.”
Jordan folded his arms. “Such as?”
Sasha smiled, her confidence rising. “You use recycled and found materials in your work, and though you drive very pricey cars, they’re all eco-friendly. So obviously caring for the environment is a huge issue for you.”
“That one was easy.” Jordan narrowed his gaze. “You’ll have to do better than that to convince me.”
“All right.” Sasha nodded. If Jordan Jace needed convincing, she could handle that. “Your work with underprivileged kids is as important to you as bringing beauty into the world through your art.” When he didn’t reply, she indicated the table where Marcus’s sculpture stood. “This is the legacy you want to leave, isn’t it? A man who left the world, and the people in it, in a much better state than he found them.”
Jordan rubbed his chin and cleared his throat. She’d touched a nerve and it made him uncomfortable.
Good.
He had to be willing to get uncomfortable if they were going to work together. Evidently, she’d have to accept operating outside of her comfort zone, too.
“Well, Miss Charles, why don’t you let me think about your request and get back to you?” Jordan headed for the door.
Panic spread through Sasha’s chest. She’d pushed him too hard. Now she needed to play the card she’d been holding on to.
“You never did get an answer to your question.” She remained rooted in her spot, though her pulse raced.
Jordan turned back to her. “About?”
“Which member of Prescott George invited me here tonight?”
“No, I didn’t, did I?” He folded his arms, one brow raised. She’d gotten his attention. “Who do I have to thank for the lovely sales pitch?”
Sasha inhaled deeply. Tried to keep her limbs from trembling. “Jonathan Jace.”
“My father invited you here? Why? He doesn’t give one whit whether or not the gallery is successful.”
“I doubt that’s true.” She stepped closer, shrinking the gap between them. “But your mother obviously does. She’s the person who hired me.”
“Exactly when did you plan to tell me all this?” Jordan scowled.
“When it became relevant.” Sasha maintained his gaze and shrugged. “It just did.”
“So this entire performance tonight was an elaborate ruse at my expense?”
“No, it was a test.” She stepped even closer, forcing her gaze to meet his. “For both of us. I needed to know that you were someone I could work with. That your art and what you stand for are things I believe in. Without that foundation, there’s no way I can sell your brand to the world.”
“And what’s the verdict?” He folded his arms and stared down his nose at her.
“I was already a fan of the art. But now I’m infinitely impressed with the artist.” Sasha smiled, invoking his earlier statement.
Jordan shook his head and seemed to chuckle, in spite of himself. “Okay, Sasha.” He put emphasis on the use of her given name again. “I’ll make you a deal.”
She folded her arms and tipped her chin upward. “Let’s hear it.”
“I’ll listen to your proposal for expanding my brand...over dinner. My treat.”
Sasha inhaled deeply. Tried not to let him see her blink or how her knees were trembling. She gripped her clutch tightly with both hands and exhaled slowly. “A working dinner?”
“If it makes you feel better to call it that.”
“What would you call it?” The brooch on her silk clutch dug into her skin.
“A date, of course.” Jordan chuckled in response to her opened mouth and widened eyes. His nostrils flared and a sexy-as-sin smirk curved one side of his sensuous mouth. “Careful, love. Now I can see you a bit more clearly.”
“What do you mean?” Heat crawled up her spine and the space between them seemed to evaporate.
“You’re Miss Prim and Proper. The one who can’t bear the thought of breaking the rules.” He walked around her, studying her as if she were a museum piece. He leaned in closer. His warm breath tickled her skin. His tone was teasing. “I doubt you’ve ever knowingly broken a single rule.”
Heat filled her cheeks and a knot tightened in her belly. Yes, he was definitely testing her.
If Jordan Jace thought she’d be run off by a little teasing and a lot of flirtation, he had no idea whom he was dealing with. Unlike Jordan, Sasha hadn’t come from money. But she knew how to play the game, and she wasn’t easily intimidated. And dealing with a difficult client? That was just her average Tuesday.
Sasha lengthened her spine, her eyes meeting his. “Just tell me when and where.”
Chapter 4 (#u5554e811-bb65-5c5a-850c-781c1f420bfc)
Jordan pushed in Sasha’s chair, then settled in the seat across from her. The woman was even more mesmerizing than he remembered. A remarkable feat, since he hadn’t been able to get her face and memorable curves out of his head for the past three days.
Sasha Charles had been all he could think of. He’d even taken out his charcoal pencils and sketched the face and form that had kept him awake late at night. Tossing and turning with the desire to have her in his bed.
Tonight, he’d pulled out all the stops to impress her.
Secured reservations at the hottest French restaurant in town, despite their customary thirty-day waiting list. He’d insisted on picking her up in his Porsche Panamera Sport Turismo. And he’d placed their orders in perfect French.
Still, Sasha seemed unaffected. As if it were a run-of-the-mill Friday night.
She pulled out two black folders with gold lettering on them and handed him one. “You asked to see my plan for growing your brand? Well, here it is.”
“You want to do this right now?” Jordan opened the folder emblazoned with the name of the marketing agency Sasha worked for.
“I appreciate the lovely gesture, of course. I’ve been wanting to try this place since they opened six months ago.” Sasha glanced around the elegant restaurant. “However, I thought it best to establish the tone at the outset. Whatever you might call it, for me, this is very much a business dinner.”
“Point taken.” Jordan nodded sagely. “And maybe you’re right. Best to get all of the business out of the way so we can move on to more...fun aspects of the evening.”
Sasha’s eyes widened and she blinked several times. “Jordan, I don’t want to give you the wrong idea about tonight. I want to work with you, of course. But not if that means you expect me to—”
“Oh God, no.” Jordan held his hands up. “I know that I made this dinner a requirement for me to consider working with you, but I’d never...” He couldn’t even say the words. “That isn’t even remotely my style. I assure you. However, I am quite taken with you, Sasha. I’d like to get to know you better. I don’t see anything wrong with that, do you?”
Sasha sank her teeth into her luscious lower lip, the wheels turning in her lovely head. She didn’t respond to his question. Instead, she took a sip of the mineral water she’d ordered instead of wine.
Finally, she raised her eyes to his. “In that case, I should tell you that you don’t need to try so hard to impress me.”
Jordan leaned forward. “And why is that?”
“I’m already impressed. You’re a brilliant artist, Jordan. I know that your pieces will be in museums all over the world within five or ten years. Kids will be studying them in art classes in twenty.”
Sasha paused as the server put their appetizers on the table. A warm puff pastry filled with Camembert cheese and served with a side of fruit chutney. She asked for her water glass to be refilled, repeating her insistence that she wouldn’t be drinking.
That affirmed two things. One: Sasha felt it imperative that she remain stone-cold sober. Two: she didn’t trust what she might do if she wasn’t.
All the better.
That way there’d be no question of impropriety when they tumbled into his bed.
“Thank you for your vote of confidence.” Jordan put a piece of the warm, flaky pastry oozing with cheese on each of their plates and handed her one. “But I know bloody well you didn’t come to that conclusion from speaking to my parents.”
