The Inspiration (14 page)

“Really, the only wild passion I witnessed tonight was between you and Dylan. I saw those provocative looks he gave you all night. I promise you, Max isn’t interested in me in that way, so stop trying to get rid of your roommate.”

“Well, that’s a relief, but it doesn’t change what’s as clear as day.” Riley gets a faraway look in her eyes. “Mind my prediction, Ava, you’ll be in Max’s bed much sooner than you think.”

N
ewly inspired, I wake up extra early to get some writing time in before work. I finish the outline for Max’s book and write almost a page of text before I leave the apartment. On the way in, I call Jonathan’ office and arrange to come by during my lunch break to go over the procedures and paperwork. Jonathan has generously offered to bring lunch in, since he knows my time is limited.

Art+trA’s
West Coast offices are on the twenty-fifth floor in a sleek glass tower on Wilshire Boulevard. While I wait in the reception area, I marvel at the views of the city below. I can’t imagine what it must be like to work in a place like this every day.

Jonathan’s assistant leads me down a long corridor to Jonathan’s office suite. She motions to a leather couch on the far side of his office and tells me he’ll be with me momentarily. I study the various black and white framed prints around his office: Vasily Kandinsky, Kiki Smith, Louise Bourgeois, Paul Klee and Kara Walker. There’s also a beautiful Robert Graham nude bronze on a pedestal by the window. Although I’m pleased with myself for being able to identify all the artists, I’m fighting panic out of sheer intimidation. I’m not even a published writer; I’m just pretending to be one. I’m really out of my league.

Moments later, Jonathan sweeps in, looking polished in pressed jeans, a white button down shirt and navy wool blazer. His tortoise-shell glasses still make me swoon.

“Ava,” he says smoothly. He moves toward me as I rise off the couch, and he lightly kisses me on the cheek. “I’m so glad you could come by today.”

“Yes. I really appreciate your working me in on short notice.”

“My pleasure.” He places his hand on my lower back to guide me forward. “Let’s move to the table so we can get started.” I find his alpha presence appealing. He’s so calm and sure of himself.

“So Ava, have you met with Max yet? I do hope he’s cooperating since he was so insistent on bringing you on board for this project.”

“Yes, we’ve met a couple of times, and we’ll meet again this week to go over things. I’ve brought a copy of my outline, and I’m making progress with the text.”

“Very good, I’ll look at that in a minute. But first I want to make sure he’s being a gentleman. I hope you don’t mind my being frank with you, but I’m most concerned with that aspect of this collaboration. For some reason, you bring out the protective side of me.”

As he studies me, I can almost feel his protectiveness like a shield around me. It’s surprisingly comforting. This man, who appears to be in control of his career and his life, has taken a special interest in me. Affection swirls up in my emotions as I imagine what it would be like to be cared for by someone like Jonathan. He already makes me feel special and appreciated, and I’m happy I’ve earned such distinction by someone so notable.

“Well, I appreciate your looking out for me, Jonathan, but so far he’s been a perfect gentleman.” The scene where he held me tightly in front of the restaurant last night flashes in my mind, but I quickly refocus. “I don’t think I’m his type anyway, if you know what I mean.”

He laughs softly. “Yes, sadly Max has a propensity for women whose physical allure outweighs depth or intelligence. But don’t sell your enormous attraction short, Ava. He just knows you’re not an easy target. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s planning his strategy while he lurks, and he’ll pounce when you least expect it.”

Okay, that was over the top.

“Well, I’m not interested.” I hope I’ve convinced him. Do I hear a touch of competitiveness in his tone?

“Yes, and for a man like Max there’s nothing more alluring than a beautiful woman who isn’t interested. She’s a desired prize to be won.”

Convinced he’s being overdramatic, I open my folder to refocus the conversation. After a longer stretch of work, I look at my watch. I’m going to have to leave to make it back to the gallery on time.

I assure Jonathan that I’ll alert him if anything changes with Max and agree to meet him for drinks Thursday after work to go over the outline. As I ride the elevator down, I realize I’m already excited to see him again.

That afternoon, Everett’s assistant delivers four new paintings, and I catalogue and price them. There are already several clients lined up to come in and see them.

Jess calls right before six to check in. She’s on some type of health kick, so we’re going to a yoga class. “Are you ready to go?”

“I just wrapped up, but I still have to change. I brought my stuff here so it’ll just take a minute.”

“Okay, but hurry. We have to get there early, baby. Those fierce yoga bitches will take you down if you’re late and try to squeeze your mat in next to theirs.”

I laugh. “Okay, okay! Be there in fifteen!”

I grab my yoga bag and slip into the bathroom, then quickly change into my yoga pants, tank top and flip-flops. When I step out, Brian and Sean are talking a few feet away in the hall. They both stop and check me out.

“What, you’ve never seen yoga gear before?” I challenge, blushing furiously.

Sean smiles. “Is that what that is? Nice.”

“Yeah, those stretchy yoga pants make your ass look great,” Brian adds.

“Gee thanks, guys. I’ll remember that when my great looking ass is up in the air and I’m twisted like a pretzel.” I charge out of the gallery, the fear of Jess’s wrath fueling my fire.

I score a parking spot right in front of the Sun Moon Yoga Studio, dash inside, and find Jess. She’s already rolled out her mat near the front of the large studio, and I flop my mat down next to hers.

Even though class hasn’t started, she still whispers, “This class is a blend of restorative and hatha yoga, and it’s taught by the studio’s owner, Cheri. It’s the most popular class they offer. I’ve seen the class so full they’ve had to turn people away, and let me tell you, it wasn’t pretty.” She shakes her head, remembering.

Anyway, it’s supposed to be really good for de-stressing. I thought it’d be good for you right now.”

“You got that right,” I whisper with a smile.

The room has filled up with stressed-out women in stretchy clothes sitting on purple or blue foam mats. A beautiful, serene woman with long flowing dark hair glides to the front of the room and starts the class. As hypnotic Indian music plays, she talks in a sweet voice and guides us into different positions we hold and hold and hold. She encourages us to breathe into our tension and release it. She also walks around and helps people get into position.

When every pose makes me think of Max or Jonathan, and not in a
PG
kind of way, I realize how messed up I am. There’s the down dog, where I image Max behind me—no further explanation needed there. All that holding and deep breathing gives me lots of time to imagine things.

We move into the dolphin pose with our asses all the way up in the air. Next comes the bridge and open plow poses, which give new meaning to flexibility while spreading ones legs. But the last straw for me is the bound angle pose, which just sounds nasty as the ethereal Cheri explains how it opens the groin and hips. At this point, I’m a quivering mess on my little sheet of foam. Jess looks over and rolls her eyes.

I finally calm myself down by trying to remember my grocery shopping list one item at a time. Cheri then puts us in the final pose, savasana, which is essentially laying down flat—my favorite kind of pose. She does a guided meditation that’s so hypnotic the next thing I know Jess is waking me up because the class is over.

“You were snoring.” She shakes her head as we walk out the door.

We stroll the two blocks down Melrose to the Urth Caffe, a nearby eatery that caters to all the beautiful health-conscious people this city is overrun with. I’m glad that it’s warm enough to sit outside on the patio.

After ordering salads and organic green tea, we catch up with each other’s lives. Jess tells me she and Laura are researching a wedding ceremony. I’m surprised they feel the need for the formality, but she explains they are thinking about having a child, and it would be nice for their kid to know they’d made the commitment. She promises to make me maid of honor if they go through with it.

Our salads arrive, and as I tell her about my meeting with Jonathan, Max pulls into a parking space across the street. He gets out and slowly walks around to the other side of the car. It’s rather jarring to see my fantasy man in the flesh out of the usual context.

“Hey, look Jess, it’s Max.” I point him out right as he opens the passenger door and a blonde head pops out. Jess and I silently watch his passenger get out of the car while he puts money in the parking meter. She’s undeniably pretty, tall and lean with notably large breasts.

“Who’s that?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady even though I feel as if I’ve just been kicked in the stomach.

Squinting, Jess says, “Oh man. It’s that stupid bitch, Sheila. She must be visiting from up North. I can’t imagine what he’s doing with her again. I mean that chick is clueless, definitely one French fry short of a Happy Meal.”

Neither one of us makes any move to say hello or get Max’s attention. Instead we silently watch him lead her into the restaurant across the street.

I remember Max’s friends talking about her and decide to find out what Jess knows. “Is she an old girlfriend or something?” I ask once they’re inside.

“No, just another in the long string of bimbos he occupies himself with. He’s seen her more than once, so I guess you have to give her some credit for that.”

I can tell Jess is disgusted, and I take some satisfaction in that. As I tell Jess about my recent conversation with Max and his defensiveness against being called a womanizer, I silently wonder if seeing Max with sex goddess Sheila will finally push him out of my fantasy life.

“When was the last time you saw him in a real relationship?” I ask.

She takes a bite of her salad before answering. “There hasn’t been anyone he’s really cared about since Chloe. She was his girlfriend in art school, and he was wild about her.”

“What happened?” I ask, remembering Max talking about the girl he was obsessed with. Perhaps it was this Chloe.

“Oh, that’s a long sordid story. I’m not in the mood to tell it now. Another time, okay?”

“Sure,” I agree and take a sip of my tea, my mind churning with curiosity.

When I awaken the next morning, my first thought is,
I’m seeing Max today
. When I’d asked him about his formative years, and he came up with the idea of giving me a tour of where he grew up. He’ll pick me up at six at the gallery after work.

I’m interested about what I’ll learn tonight. There’s no question it’ll help me gain a better understanding of him.

When he comes to pick me up, he’s wearing his painting jeans and T-shirt with a worn leather jacket. The Ray-Bans complete the rebel look he has going. This is definitely going to be a distraction, since he’s the essence of raw sexuality.

He gives me a warm smile as he opens the passenger car door. I’m reminded of the last time I saw him. He had his arms wrapped around me at the Ivy. If I don’t push that image out of my mind, I’ll never focus on what he’s showing me tonight.

“Ready for the official Maxfield Caswell tour?” He winks.

“Can’t wait!” I wink back.

I slide into his Porsche with my notepad and folder, attempting to exude a professional air. I glance at him as he fires up the engine. “Were you working today?”

“Yeah,” he responds, looking down at his clothes. “Oh sorry, I’d lost track of time and didn’t have time to change. I didn’t want to be late.”

“Oh, I don’t mind. You look good actually.” I blush, realizing how that sounded.