The Art House

By Scarlett Knight

Granted the opportunity to model for world-famous yet reclusive artist Edgar, journalist Janelle Ryan thinks she's finally landed the story of her career. What she doesn't realize is that by staying at Edgar's famous "Art House," her focus shifts from the news story to experiencing an unexpected personal awakening of her mind, body, and soul.

As a consequence, painful emotions she's been repressing for years begin to reemerge. Facing her demons head on, she realizes what is most important to her - how to forgive, and most importantly, how to love again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Painted Hearts Publishing
• Release date: Apr 13, 2016
• ISBN: 9781944054571

Book preview

PART I

Meeting the Associate

Chapter 1

Janelle hung up her cell phone and her right eye immediately started twitching. She had to think fast.

Lonnie? she called over her shoulder.

Yeah?

She turned to face the seasoned photographer whose gray T-shirt matched his salt-and-pepper ponytail. Elise just called. She isn’t going to have that apartment feature ready today.

Chewing on a pen cap, he muttered, Crap. Whatcha need?

"Did you get any pictures from the park this morning?

He reached for the Canon his desk, his lined brow furrowed, and pulled out the memory card. I got a couple decent ones.

We’ll run Rachel’s story on cyclists, she said, though she knew Rachel would be hopping mad when she found out.

I thought Rachel was still working on it.

She is, but she’s had enough time. I’ve extended her deadline once already on it.

Crapola. Crap on a stick.

I have the rough draft. I’ll clean it up and let her know.

Okay. You know she’s gonna be pissed.

I know. But I’m pissed at Elsie, and I feel like sharing the vibes.

Lonnie’s raspy chuckle made her grin. He spun around and inserted the memory card into his computer. Across the news room, Mark Harmon, the editor-in-chief, still had his office door shut. The smile quickly fell from Janelle’s face. He had his back to the window and gestured with his right arm as he spoke to someone on his cell phone. Interrupting him right now would almost certainly be a stupid idea, so she opened her email, and her fingers danced across the keys. After sending him a notice of the quick change in schedule, she wrote herself a Post-It reminder to clean up that cyclist story after lunch. She stuck it next to four other Post-Its on her desk then returned to what she’d been doing before she’d been interrupted by Elsie’s call.

Every day was a race to deadline. And Janelle Ryan loved every minute of it. The Dallas Enquirer was practically her home. Her official title was Managing Editor, but not only did she wear many hats there, she insisted on showing up at the office six days a week. She would have worked seven had Mark not insisted she take Wednesdays off to rest. But even on Wednesdays she defied him by doing social media promo all day from her apartment.

Today was a typical Thursday in that their upcoming entertainment section was fairly hefty. The familiar din of typing, printers producing paper copies for editing, and people chatting on phone interviews provided white noise while she worked. With a hawk’s eye, she simultaneously scanned a printed copy of this week’s movie reviews for mistakes and sipped on her lukewarm black coffee. Pale, slender fingers, whose nails hadn’t seen paint in years, tapped against the black lettering on her beloved white mug, which read, I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead.

Today was not a typical Thursday, however, in that Janelle had a secret meeting with someone. She was not interviewing this someone, nor was she meeting this someone for a date. In fact, she didn’t even know what this someone’s name was, whether it was a he or a she, or any other details. The whole thing was really pretty insane, but if it paid off, it had the ingredients to skyrocket her career.

From under feathery black-painted lashes, her forest green eyes peered over the rim of her coffee cup. As she sipped, she quickly glanced at her enormous Macintosh computer screen to look at the time: 11:46 a.m.

It took approximately ten minutes to walk from The Enquirer to Rosalie’s Café. She was meeting the mystery person in question at noon. Putting her coffee down next to her growing stack of copies, she looked out among the rows of white Mac monitors with their wires snaking to active scanners and printers.

Her heart started to thud, and her palms actually got a little clammy. Maybe too much coffee too fast. She wouldn’t admit to nerves. This meeting was no big deal, just a little something to get more details concerning this crazy idea she had. She’d been selected, but perhaps many others had, too. Plus, if the chat didn’t go well, she could walk out and forget the whole thing with nothing lost but a few minutes of her time. And after all was said and done, the person she was meeting might have his or her own reasons for not taking this any further.

She stood up, stretched, and rubbed her neck that had acquired a stiffness that never really went away. Mentally, she prepared herself for the usual onslaught of questions and comments that typically came her way when the staff sensed she was about to leave. The dozen or so crew present was made up of equal parts men and women from their mid-twenties to their late fifties. She imagined them watching her every move out of the corner of their eyes, like she was a felon. They had no idea where she was about to go, nor was it any of their business. She hoped nobody would ask. While she got along with them just fine, she didn’t consider them friends, really. Friends were one of those unfortunate luxuries for people who didn’t have the kind of goals she did. Her eyes fell on Carlos Alvaredo, sports editor. She had a way of capturing people’s attention when they weren’t looking at her, as if they felt her gaze. Carlos must have sensed it because he looked up and smiled.

Lifting her chin, she gave him a forced grin. He waved and then went back to his typing, sitting up a little straighter. Her shoulders, however, slumped. The Carlos Thing was something she often wished she never had started.

Back in the spring, she’d made the mistake of drinking too much at one of the staff outings. It was one of those rare nights when she’d wanted a break from work and had wanted to enjoy someone’s personal company. As a result, she’d let Carlos have her full attention. He’d been flirting with her since her first day on the job and for her to finally respond to his advances must have given him a ridiculous amount of confidence.

He’d slid his barstool closer to her and ordered her another beer, which she’d been happy to accept. She’d been at that euphoric level of tipsy, just bordering on drunk but not quite there yet. Almost immediately, his hand had found her knee and it had stayed there for a while. Then he’d stopped the small talk and leaned in to whisper how attractive he thought she was. Finally, they’d ended up at his place, the rest of the night a blur.

That one encounter had expanded into half a dozen more, all fueled by too much drinking on her part. God knew why she’d let Carlos seduce her into his bed in the first place. She was usually smarter than that. With guys she met elsewhere, it was easy enough to break things off because they didn’t have to see each other all the time at work. She and Carlos, on the other hand, were co-workers, which made for awkward hellos the next day at the water cooler. Not that the rest of the staff cared. Nobody cared what you did as long as you met your deadlines.

Carlos was cute in that big teddy bear kind of way. Despite being twice divorced with teenage kids, he had no trouble finding dates with his deep chocolate eyes and Latin charm. And, sure, he was a little thick around the middle like most guys approaching middle age, but his smile was charming and innocent. He was also gentle (albeit a bit predictable) in between the sheets. The age difference didn’t matter either, though he often made a big deal about being too old for her, him at thirty-eight and she at thirty.

But like with friends, cultivating romantic relationships required a certain amount of focus and care. She’d been there, done that. The payoff sucked. Working for a cause, building her career, these were all the things she lived for today. She had a ladder to climb that reached into the stars and only so much time to do it.

She gathered the papers on her desk then stuffed them and her cell phone into her bag. Taking a deep breath, she brought all her focus to the moment. The secret lunch meeting was no big deal, she reminded herself. With one hand she pulled her mess of a pony tail out, red hair spilling onto her shoulders. With the other, she turned off her monitor and checked her face for any smeared mascara and her loose beige button-down blouse for any errant coffee drops. Approving what she saw, she rolled her thin sleeves up to her elbows. She wished she had some lipstick with her but didn’t carry it in her purse anymore. She dug around in her handbag for the usual colorless chap-stick.

Hey, Carlos said from behind the monitor, triggering her nervousness.

Hey, she said, giving him one second of eye-contact before grabbing her purse and slinging it over her shoulder. I’m just headed out for a bit. I’ll be back.

Where you going?

To lunch.

She tried not to look like a cornered animal. If he pressed her, she’d tell him the details. She was a private person, but there was a big different between private and being dishonest. Please, she thought, don’t make me go into it. They’d all know soon enough if it went the way she hoped.

Would you like me to bring you back anything? she asked.

No, I just ate. Sorry, I wasn’t trying to pry. I was just wondering if maybe you’re mad at me since you didn’t come out with the gang last weekend.

No, Carlos, you know how much I’ve got on my plate. I’ve just been busy.

You know, you don’t have to be so busy. You do the work of three people here. Mark wouldn’t care if you took a little bit of the load off yourself. Plus, he lowered his voice, I’ve missed you.

Red flags raised in her mind. Don’t be silly, Carlos, you see me up here all the time.

I know, but not like, he trailed off then cleared his throat. You know.

Carlos, she said, her shoulders tense, we’ve been through this.

I know, it’s just been a while, and I was just thinking—

Let’s not talk about this now. We’re at work. This is one of the reasons why maybe we should cool things off.

Fighting the urge to barrel past him, she instead gave over to guilt when she saw the pained look on his face, his eyes downcast, his mouth set in a tight frown. She sighed. Staring at his black T-shirt, trying not to sniffle from the cologne he wore too much of today, she gave his forearm a little squeeze.

I’m not mad at you, she said. You’re fine. She lowered her voice to a whisper. I thought I made it clear about me and relationships right now, and saying you miss me sounds an awful lot like you’re wanting more from me than I can give.

He nodded, quick little bobs of his round head. No, no, I totally get it and I respect it. I ain’t looking for anything serious either.

So you say. Okay then. It’s settled. We can talk later if you want, but I’ve gotta be somewhere in a few minutes.

Sure, sure. He cleared his throat. I’d love to talk.

His eyes drifted to the ample cleavage peeking out from her shirt. She narrowed her eyes and reached up to button the top two buttons of her blouse. Meeting her angry gaze with a look of feigned innocence, he grinned and winked.

Just lemme know, he said. Then he turned to go back to his desk.

God. She never should’ve started this up. Maybe if things went well at lunch, she’d get a break from him, and things would cool off like they needed to.

Got these pics pulled up if you wanna take a look, Lonnie hollered at her.

Normally, she would’ve made a b-line to see his work, but today was different. Her cheeks felt hot.

I, uh, I’ll be right back, Lon. Got lunch plans.

He nodded and waved. No problem.

Truly?

Oh. Okay. Would you—would you tell Mark I’ll be back, when he’s done in there?

Yup.

Blinking, she stood for a moment in stunned silence. Everyone was working diligently on their assigned tasks. With Mark still on the phone, giving hell to whomever he was talking to, she could slip out without even having to tell him where she was going. This was definitely an anomaly. Usually, when she announced that she was headed out, it then took her forty-five minutes to an hour to help people with last minute requests before she could exit the building. She’d been prepared to tell them no and had been practicing the exact tone of voice so it wouldn’t sound conspicuous. This was too easy. It was like some cosmic force was conspiring to make sure she attended this meeting without a hitch. But she didn’t really believe in that kind of thing. She hadn’t for a long time.

Shifting her focus, she turned on her monitor long enough to check the clock. It was now 11:49 a.m. Placing one foot in front of the other, she exited the building, put her game face on, and headed toward the unknown.

***

Her phone pinged twice on her walk way to the café. Even amid the noise of downtown traffic, she’d developed the ability to detect the sound of an incoming email or text or social media notification on her phone. She looked just long enough to see she’d gotten an email from Rachel (no doubt a pissed-off one) and also a response from Mark (hopefully not-so-pissed). There wasn’t any time to read them. She had to physically fight the urge to see what they said, her arm trembling as she turned the phone on vibrate and stuffed it back into her bag. It could wait. This meeting would only last half an hour, an hour tops. It was a minute until noon and she was only a dozen steps away from the café’s entrance.

Buzzing from within her purse, her phone vibrated, tempting her to abandon the mysteries of today’s lunch and run back to the familiar chaos of the newsroom. Why all the nerves? Where was her usual confidence? Well, she normally didn’t do things in secret, for one. She didn’t like secrets. And secondly, this whole thing was risky.

She stopped in front of the café’s bright blue door and found herself unable to take that next step. The stench of the exhaust swirled around her from the cars driving past on her right. Beneath the wrought iron patio tables, pigeons nibbled at crumbs left on the ground from café patrons that had chosen to eat out front in the open but smoggy Dallas air.

This was a crazy idea. She didn’t even know the gender of whom she was meeting, only that it was an associate of one of the most famous and reclusive modern artists in the world. If she turned around now, she’d have time to grab a sandwich from the Subway she’d just passed, get back to editing the movie reviews, no extra time lost.

But then she’d never know what would have happened. She’d never get her curiosity met, forever wondering who the associate was.

She’d gotten into a habit of taking any and every opportunity to advance her career, even if it put too much on her plate. But this was the first real risk she’d taken in years. There was no guarantee she’d execute this elaborate plan of hers, no guarantee it would pay off, and she had a lot to lose. She had job security now, and she’d worked damn hard for it. Why would anyone in her position take this sort of gamble?

Because something compelled her, something she couldn’t put her finger on. It was almost like an obsession, the idea of responding to that ad. She hadn’t been able to think of anything else until she’d done it

From the moment she’d seen the call for models, the ad which her very paper had run, she had known she had to apply. She’d even known which picture to send. If she could land a modeling gig with Edgar, she might also be able to craft one of the most coveted feature story topics The Dallas Enquirer had ever seen grace its pages. Edgar was not only a local celebrity but the most renowned modern artist alive today. Even people who didn’t follow the trends in art knew his name. A feature story on this man might be her ticket to fame. She might not have to climb any more ladders at local newspapers. She might be able to take a sparkling elevator straight to the top of the journalism world. Even though she spent time working on other people’s writing, updating social media, and writing stories that didn’t exactly pique her interest, for instance, which celebrity got caught sleeping with another celebrity’s wife, there were still perks to being in her position. It took time to get to a goal. Someday, she’d write something truly important. It would happen. She felt it in her bones. There was some major story out there waiting for her to cover, a mystery to be solved, a secret to be revealed. She would start by taking the mask off of the elusive and enigmatic Edgar.

The only problem was this: Edgar didn’t do interviews. Nor did he do any public appearances.

Well, there was a first time for everything, wasn’t there? Janelle had become a bit of a legend in Dallas by getting normally tight-lipped people to go on-record for her. The locals all had their theories, which she came across in social media posts or happened to hear from coworkers’ conversations. Some said she was successful because she was a pretty redhead who knew how to turn on the charm. Others had said it was due to her natural ability to craft stories of perfection, and the people she interviewed wanted to be written about by her. She’d won awards in both high school and college for her creative fiction. Family members and friends pestered her to this day about writing the fantasy novel she never got around to writing. But that sort of thing was a pipe-dream. It didn’t pay the bills. Reporting did.

If anyone could get Edgar to agree to a feature story, it was she. And even if he didn’t agree, she would still be spending time in his hush-hush world, and she could write about her experiences there. As far as she knew, none of his models had ever done a kiss-and-tell. They seemed to be as private as he was. Well, things were about to change if she was allowed inside his gated mansion.

Her phone buzzed again, and she ignored it.

Let’s do this.

Chapter 2

She reached for the faded golden doorknob of the café. As soon as she opened it, a pleasant French accordion tune greeted her. Despite the butterflies in her tummy, a whiff of chocolate chip cookies made her mouth water as she passed the to-go cashier. As a marketing ploy, it happened to be placed next to the pastry display. The cashier also served as a baker; a round middle-aged woman, she wore her hair pulled up in a white chef’s hat, and her purple apron advertised the café’s logo. She smiled at Janelle then turned to close the oven on the wall behind her where the chocolate-chip smell emanated from.

Hi, welcome to Rosalie’s! Are you dining alone today? a cheery, skinny girl asked Janelle. She wore all black and didn’t look old enough to work. Or will you be meeting someone?

I’m meeting someone, she said, putting her friendly face on.

Sure! She handed Janelle a menu. Go right in!

Thank you.

The music was quieter the further she went in, the din of diners drowning it out. The place was packed. She scanned the eclectic mix of booths and tables upholstered in pale pink. Vines trailed down from potted plants placed on wooden wall shelves. The letter had said the associate would be sitting near a window and would bring a long-stemmed rose. Janelle suddenly felt as if she were on a blind date.

Luckily there were only four window tables, so that narrowed it down. Two of the tables had couples seated at them, so that marked two off the list. At one, an old, heavily bearded man sat reading a newspaper, but not The Dallas Enquirer; darn the luck. She looked there but didn’t see a rose. That left one table, the one where the tall, attractive woman in the long-sleeved, black dress sat with her back against the far brick wall.

Black horn-rimmed glasses sat atop a straight-edged nose. Her dark auburn hair, clipped into a flawless bob with blunt bangs, had a purple sheen. The tips brushed against her heart-shaped face just in between her cheeks and her jaw. She seemed absorbed in a copy of The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand. Janelle envied anyone who actually had leisure time to read. She missed getting lost in a work of fiction, especially the classics.

The rose lying above the woman’s face-down menu was long-stemmed, so long that the edge of its deep red petals draped off the side of the pink tablecloth. Janelle approached the table. The woman’s blue-green eyes, lined in dark brown with catlike tips, peered up over her glasses. She smiled and put the book down.

Janelle? she asked. Her voice was husky in that sexy way that made men weak at the knees.

Associate? Janelle replied playfully.

Trixibelle Evans. She started to stand up, but Janelle held up her hand.

You don’t have to get up, she said, pulling out the rustic wooden chair with a pale green cushion. You look comfortable.

Very well, Trixibelle said, giving her the once-over with those catlike eyes. And you can call me Trixi.

She reached out a lithe arm, her manicured nails painted the same blood red as her lips. A current of adrenaline rushed through Janelle as she took the woman’s hand. Trixi examined her as if she were looking at art instead of someone meeting her for lunch. Her eyes twinkled in a charismatic manner that made Janelle think of fairies. Charmed and a little embarrassed that she’d think of this stranger in a fantasy setting, she abruptly broke the connection and reached for the safety of her menu.

Very nice to meet you, Janelle said.

And you also!

So I’m just gonna go ahead and ask something because I’ve been dying of curiosity about this, Janelle said.

Shoot. She smiled.

Okay. So I have to know why Edgar only responds to hand-written letters of interest.

Trixi took a sip of her iced tea. Eddie has many quirks.

Janelle made a mental note of the pet name Trixi used. She and Edgar had to be close. Either that or it was a nickname that his close circle used.

He likes encouraging a more personal sort of contact, Trixi said.

I can appreciate that.

In another life, Janelle had loved sending and receiving hand-written letters. She’d held onto whole boxes full for years and years until finally getting