Reese Ryan - Seduced In San Diego

“As you wish.” He opened the door, which led down a narrow corridor.

Sasha halted in her tracks and took a deep breath. Her eyes met his. “Look, Jordan, I appreciate the chance to tour your studio. But if the invitation is really just the modern-day equivalent of offering to ‘show me your etchings’...”

Jordan’s deep belly laugh made her cheeks burn, but she couldn’t help chuckling, too. He raised his hands, his palms facing her.

“I have every intention of being a gentleman tonight. I assure you.” He grinned. “I just thought you might like to see the method behind my madness, so to speak. Of course, after tonight...well that, love, is up to you.”

Sasha exhaled and headed down the brick corridor. Her heels clicked against the concrete floor as Jordan walked beside her.

Finally, he opened another door and turned on the light. The unfinished brick walls, stained concrete floor and steel beams overhead gave the cavernous space the same spare, raw feel as the gallery.

“My assistant hosed down the floor this morning, but it is still a working studio. So perhaps you should be careful with that lovely dress.” Jordan held the door open.

“Lydia hosed down the floor?” Sasha gathered the hem of her dress in one hand and followed Jordan into the studio.

“No, Lydia is my gallery assistant,” Jordan clarified. “A young man named Marcus Whitten is my studio assistant.”

“I see.” Sasha surveyed the space. It smelled of welded metal, but it was surprisingly clean for a studio that housed rolls of sheet metal and industrial shelving bearing metal pipes, buckets of nuts, bolts, chains and a variety of other cast-off pieces of metal. “And what does a sculptor’s assistant do? Besides hose down the floor?”

“Thankfully, quite a bit.” Jordan beckoned her farther into the space. “When I started out, I did everything myself. The salvaging, the cutting and prepping and all of the welding. Sometimes I worked on more than one piece at a time, but it could take weeks or even months to complete them.”

“And now?”

“Now I have Marcus. Quite the promising sculptor in his own right. But for now, he helps me out with the grunt work around here. Frees me up to focus on the artistic bits.”

“He’s paying his dues, I suppose.” Sasha strolled along the space with Jordan. Past heavy tools and stockpiles of salvaged metals and reclaimed wood.

“As did I.”

“You? Doing grunt work?” Sasha stopped and turned to him, barely holding back an incredulous grin. “Why do I find that so difficult to believe?”

“Doesn’t fit the millionaire playboy narrative, I know.” He chuckled. “But it’s true. I studied studio art in university for a couple of years. University life and rules didn’t quite agree with me. So I left.”

“Now that, I can believe.” Sasha tried not to allow herself to be drawn in by those glittering eyes and that infinite charm, enhanced by a very sexy British accent. It was a losing battle. “I doubt your parents were very happy with that decision.”

“They weren’t.” For the first time, there was a flash of darkness in his expression. “I’m the black sheep in the Jace family. The sole artist in a family full of bankers. My mum and dad thought I’d gone mad when I left university and went to work as a studio assistant for a mere pittance. Truthfully, they still think me a bit bonkers.”

Sasha’s heart ached for Jordan. He behaved as if he was unconcerned about the opinions of others. Though clearly, he was wounded by his parents’ rejection of his career choice.

The topic of his parents was a subject best avoided for as long as possible.

“Did you work for a sculptor?”

“Eventually.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets, his confident smile fixed firmly in place again. “But first I was assistant to a painter and then a multimedia artist. Then I went to work for a remarkable sculptor who worked with clay.”

“Your apprenticeships served you well. I can see the influence of all three mediums in your work.” Sasha turned her attention to an assemblage of scrap metal laid out on the floor. “Is this what you’re working on now?”

“It is. Commissioned for a corporate office headquartered in LA.” He gripped his chin, studying the metal fragments, as if seeing them for the first time.

Sasha walked carefully around the collection of metal scraps until she stood opposite him. When she looked up, he was no longer studying the metal pieces on the floor. He was studying her.

Electricity trailed down her spine and the room suddenly felt warm. She dropped her gaze to the assemblage of scraps arranged on the floor again.

“So a commissioned piece like this. How does it work? Does the client tell you what they want?”

“This isn’t color by numbers, love.” His smile widened. He was clearly amused by the very suggestion that he’d execute someone else’s design. “I don’t have anything against anyone who does work that way, mind you. It simply doesn’t work for me. Black sheep who has an uneasy relationship with rules, remember?” He poked a thumb to his chest.

“Good point.” She nodded sagely, her cheeks tightening in a smile. “So, what is your process? Do you sketch out your designs, then find the materials you need?”

“Only when an idea begins in my head. Perhaps I’m inspired by something I’ve seen, there’s a concept I want to express or I have a persistent vision I can’t let go of.” Jordan stooped, rearranging a few of the metal scraps. “Other times, I select salvaged pieces like these and play around with them. Try out different configurations until a design speaks to me.”

Jordan scrutinized the pieces intently, and Sasha assessed him.

“So how did you come by your remarkable studio assistant Marcus?”

“I met him during a workshop I gave for local high school students.” Jordan stood, dusting off his hands. He retrieved a clean rag from a nearby metal table and cleaned them. “Marcus was bright and incredibly talented. Eager to learn about art. But he was struggling with the rest of his schoolwork and he’d become a fixture in the headmaster’s office.”

“Then why’d you take a chance on him?”

Jordan shrugged, still focused on the configuration of items laid out on the concrete floor. “I see a little of myself in him, I suppose.” He raised his gaze to hers, then laughed. “And that is why I don’t normally tell people stories like this.”

“Why? What did I do?”

“You’ve got that face...as if you’ve just seen a baby take its first steps or something.”

“I do not.”

“Yes, you do. And I don’t work with kids like Marcus for recognition. Neither is it a wholly selfless act.” He gestured toward another metal table where a smaller piece was taking shape. “The boy’s got a good eye. And he’s a very hard worker.”

“Obviously.” Sasha surveyed the piece. An assemblage of metal pipes and fittings were arranged in the shape of legs and feet. “But if he was already struggling with school...won’t a demanding job make things worse?”

Jordan stuffed his hands in his pockets and assessed Sasha, as if debating whether he should tell her the rest.

“I pay him a decent hourly wage, but the rest goes toward a tutor. Like I said, he’s quite bright. He just learns a bit differently.”

“And he agreed to the deal?”

“He’s never missed a tutoring session and his grades have improved dramatically.” Jordan’s eyes twinkled with pride. He indicated the various machines along one wall. “And he’s learned to work all of the machinery here. Skills that would serve him well if he needed to go into a trade, for a time, at least.”

“It’s all a facade, isn’t it?” Sasha couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face or the fluttering in her chest.