Infamous (Beautiful Idols 3)

“That you saw her work on a missing A-list actress’s wall when you broke into her house?” Ryan righted the car and killed the ignition. “Call me crazy, but I highly advise against it.”

Aster steeled herself against him. “I’m going to wing this. I’m going to march right up to that front door, ring the bell, and see where it leads. So if you’d rather stay behind and keep a lookout for . . .” She glanced around the safe and pretty neighborhood, which seemed impervious to any sort of immediate danger. “Whatever,” she said, already tiring of the argument. “Just—are you in or are you out?”

Ryan sighed in a way that let her know he remained unconvinced. “We’re both easily recognized. I doubt she’ll be fooled.”

“Well, at this point, I have nothing to lose.” Agitated, Aster popped out of the car, unsure if he’d follow.

Ryan raced to catch up and entwined his fingers with hers. “This okay?” He raised their joined hands. “Are we a couple?”

Aster stalled. Was he asking in regard to the story they were going to tell? Or did he mean on a more personal level? Although he’d invited her to stay with him last night, she’d ended up sleeping alone in his guest room.

His gaze glittered on hers, and she gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. Following the arrowed signs leading to the studio tucked behind the small cottage, they came across an older woman busily tending the garden.

“We’re looking for Roland? Roland Jennings?” Aster said.

Gripping a pair of pink-handled clippers in her right hand, the woman slowly rose from a kneeling position and glanced between them. “I’m Roland.”

Aster fought to hide her surprise. She wasn’t sure why, but she’d expected the artist to be younger. In the bright sunlight, the woman appeared to be well into her sixties. But what she lacked in actual youth, she made up for in vibrant energy.

With her petite frame, short-cropped white hair, Breton-stripe T-shirt, and distressed skinny jeans, she reminded Aster of a chic combination of a female Andy Warhol and a more mature Jean Seberg.

“Do you have an appointment?” Roland anchored her dark sunglasses onto the top of her head and squinted against the glare of the sun.

Ryan looked worried, but Aster kept her composure and said. “I’m sorry, we didn’t realize we needed one.” Then, hoping to keep from being turned away, she was quick to add, “We just drove down from LA.”

“Well, aren’t you brave soldiers?” The woman’s lips widened and lifted in a way that sent her blue eyes sparkling and lit up her whole face. “Are you on holiday?”

Aster glanced at Ryan, then quickly shook her head. Roland was talking to them like they were just a normal couple enjoying a beautiful late summer day. Like she hadn’t seen a tabloid or turned on the news since last spring.

“Uh, no. Just a day trip,” Aster said.

“Too bad.” Roland placed a hand on her hip. “There are loads of interesting things to do an

d see. And here’s a well-kept secret: our beaches are much prettier than yours.”

“Can’t argue with that.” Ryan grinned, causing the woman to narrow her eyes and study him in a way that made Aster nervous.

“You a surfer?” Roland asked.

Ryan nodded, and Aster turned in surprise. She hadn’t known that about Ryan. Then again, there was probably a long list of things she still had to learn. Or maybe he was just acting. It was impossible to tell.

“I try to catch a few sets every morning,” the woman said. “If you stay, let me know. I’ll let you in on some of my favorite spots.” She set her clippers on a small mosaic-topped table and wiped her hands down the front of her jeans. “So what can I help you with?”

“We’re interested in seeing your work,” Aster said.

“Oh, well, that’s easy. I’m currently showing at a gallery just south of here on Coast Highway.”

“We’ll be sure to check it out,” Aster said. “But I heard you also allow private studio visits.”

Roland nodded. “By appointment only.”

“Oh, okay, well, we were hoping—”

Before she could finish, Ryan jumped in. “We were also interested in possibly commissioning a piece.” He squeezed Aster’s fingers, warning her not to say anything to the contrary.

Roland lingered in silence. Then, without a word, she turned on her heel and motioned for them to follow.

She opened a door and led them inside a small but surprisingly warm and cozy space. Large windows punctuated the walls, and generous-sized skylights allowed a stream of natural light to pour in. There was a small kitchenette off to the left with a mini-fridge, a poured concrete countertop, and some pretty customized cabinets below and overhead. And a charming tiled fireplace was tucked away in the corner, surrounded by some comfortable-looking chairs and a carved wooden table piled high with various art tomes.