Bare (Just This Once 2)

I’m envious. I know it takes a great deal of talent to reach the level of fame that Brighton Beck has. His watercolor paintings have been displayed in some of the world’s most notable museums and galleries and they fetch over six figures at auction.

“Will I get to meet him?” I ask with hope. “I’ve admired his work for years. Obviously, I’ve admired your work too.”

That lures a subtle smile to her lips. “I promise when he’s around, I’ll introduce you.”

“Have you known him for a long time?” I ask because I don’t know the backstory between them. He’s been a big deal in the art world for more than a decade. Bridget has emerged as a name in portrait drawings just in the past few years.

“We met at a pub.” Her smile stays soft. “I knew who he was instantly. I was in awe but was completely intimidated by him.”

I know that I’d feel the very same way. We don’t create in the same medium, but I draw inspiration from many different artists.

“He met my best friend that night too,” she goes on. “We were both working at the pub. He fell head over heels for her. They got married, he encouraged me to explore my art more and here we are today.”

“You never really know what’s waiting around the corner,” I say quietly.

“That’s true.” She looks around the gallery. “I never would have imagined that I’d own a place like this and that I’d help new artists learn their craft.”

I never thought I’d be offered a job in Manhattan teaching an art class. I’m only twenty-five-years-old. Two weeks ago I was still working at a community center in Denver teaching drawing to whoever wandered in from the street.

“I’m eager to get started, Bridget.” I grin. “This is my dream come true.”

“You’re incredibly talented.” She looks up as the door to the gallery opens and a middle-aged man walks in. “He was in yesterday looking at a sculpture. I’ll go help him, but consider this job a step toward your future. You’re going places. I can sense it

.”

Teaching at this gallery is going to change my life. I feel it.

Chapter 5

Piper

“Your class will be in the evening.” Bridget skims her fingertips over the screen of the tablet in her hands as she sits back down after helping the customer purchase a small sculpture. “We have three other teachers besides you and I. Most of them work Saturdays. I’ll introduce you to them at our next staff dinner.”

I’m surprised to hear there’s a gathering for staff. I’m excited too. I don’t know anyone in this city, so I’m eager to meet people who share the same interests that I do. If they are art teachers, I know that we’ll at least have that in common. “The staff dinner sounds fun.”

“It’s a potluck.” She looks up from the tablet at me. “We have it at my house on a Sunday afternoon every couple of months. It’s very casual. You can bring a plus one and hang out for as long as you want.”

I don’t bother to mention the fact that I don’t have anyone to bring. Bridget knows that I’m new to the city. On the phone when we were discussing the position I told her that I was eager for a new adventure.

I got that, and more, during the past twenty-four hours.

“I’ve set you up for Monday and Wednesday evenings.” She points out the dates on a calendar app on her tablet. “We’ve had a lot of interest in your class. It’s almost full already.”

“People are signing up to take my class?” The words sound foreign coming from my lips. “You’re sure they know that you’re not teaching the class?”

“I’m sure,” she answers with a laugh. “There’s a page on the studio website devoted to your work. Your students know what you’re creating, Piper. Your drawings are captivating. I’m tempted to sit in on a class or two for pointers.”

“You?” I raise both brows. “You’re not serious? You’re Bridget Grant.”

“Bridget Beckett.” She looks down at her wedding ring. “Grant is for professional purposes. The point is that I’ve always wanted to feel confident enough to draw nudes, but I don’t. If you can teach me how to do it, I’ll be in your debt.”

“This day has been surreal. I feel like I’m living someone else’s life.”

“Are you talking about more than just your job here at the gallery?” She brushes her hand over mine. “I’m not a stickler on time, but you were late getting here. I know the city can be complicated to navigate if you’re new here. I also noticed your cell phone’s screen is cracked. Did that happen today?”

I draw in a quick breath to steady my voice. “I was robbed last night.”

“What?” Her gaze darts over my face. “Are you okay? What happened?”