“Exactly.” I nodded, walking over to an easel where a canvas was stretched out. I set it off to the side and grabbed a board for drawing. “It would be quicker.”
“And a good fit for your portfolio—a slight departure, but not entirely unexpected.”
I paused my movements, finally taking a moment to glance up at her. “You’re familiar with my work?”
She lifted a shoulder. “I saw an exhibit of yours a few years ago. I like your style. It’s so dynamic, so vibrant. So full of life.”
My chest warmed from the compliment, but then reality hit me as I replayed her words—a few years go.Beforethe accident. Before I’d stopped painting.
The blood in my veins turned to ice as I stood and turned away from her. What if I never painted at that level again? What if I’d never be as good as I was?
Chapter Six
With his back turned to me, I could see the tension he was holding in his shoulders.Crap. Did I say something wrong?
“I need to get to work,” he snapped, his words like a slap to the face. “So, are you in or what?”
What had happened to the congenial professor, the passionate artist? It was like a switch had been flipped, and Dr. Jekyll was gone, leaving surly and brooding Mr. Hyde in his place. His eyes were dark, dangerous. And tension and anger radiated from him.
I set my glass on the table. “I, um…”
I could understand why he might be stressed about his upcoming exhibit, but I sensed there was more to it than that. Still, that didn’t excuse his behavior. He was acting like a jerk, and I refused to be treated that way.
I straightened, lifting my chin. “If you want me to help you, you’re going to have to show me some respect. I’m not trying to waste your time. I’m just…” I faltered, some of my earlier bravado fading. “I’m nervous, okay?”
His expression softened. “There’s nothing to be nervous about. If anything, I’m nervous. And I’m sorry if I came across as gruff.”
I cocked my head. “Thank you. But why are you nervous?”
He was a famous artist, renowned for his work. And a professor at LA CAD. If anyone had reason to be nervous, it was me.
“I’m…” He glanced around as if searching the air for the right word. “I worry that I won’t do your figure justice.”
“Bah.” I huffed out a laugh. “First of all, with your talent, I’m sure you could make me look like a supermodel if you wanted.”
He opened his mouth to protest, but I continued talking.
“But more than that—art isn’t about drawing exactly what you see.”
“It’s not?” His brows furrowed, but I was more focused on the fact that he’d stepped closer to me.
“No.” I shook my head. “Art is about conveying a sense of movement, making the viewer feel something. If everyone painted exactly what they saw, art would be boring.”
His shoulders relaxed, and the corner of his mouth tilted upward. “Maybe you should be the professor.”
“Nah. Academia is way too stuffy for me,” I teased, though it was partially true.
I still wasn’t sure what I wanted to do after graduation, but professor wasn’t high on the list. Art teacher or therapist, maybe. I honestly didn’t care what I did as long as I got to create every day.
He coughed, though I heard the laugh hidden there too. “Stuffy?” he asked with mock outrage. “Am I stuffy?”
“Stuffy isn’t quite the right fit. Maybe just uptight.” I bit back a grin.
“Uptight? Wow.” He ran his hand over his scruff, which was longer today. He looked even hotter if that were possible. “This coming from someone who’s too afraid to pose for me.”
“Can you honestly say that you’d have no problem posing for me right now?”
He lifted a shoulder. “Would it make you feel more comfortable if I were naked?”
