Work of Art by abstract way.pdf

Work of Art by abstract way

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5882420/1/Work_of_Art

Brilliant artist Edward is celebrated in the art world, but are trappings of fame also destroying him? In

the lust filled world of art-whores & predators, feisty Bella knocks him off his pedestal. Will he realize

that she alone has the power to heal him?

Chapter One / The Artist Emerges

We are living in a storm where a hundred contradictory elements collide; debris from the past, scraps

from the present, scenes of the future: swirling, combining, separating, under the imperious wind of

destiny.

Adolphe Rette` La Plume 1898

"Get the fuck away from me Jasper. I'm not going to kiss your faux-art collector's ass!"

I looked up, startled, just in time to see the blur of a man charging into our exhibit pavilion. In his

fury, he slams the wall I am facing with his fist, and I jump up as the row of paintings quiver, finally

settling back down all askew.

The second man, who I assume to be "Jasper," is right on his heels, and he glances at me and rolls his

eyes as he follows his raging artist into our private viewing room. Not one to miss the drama, I jump

up and position myself on the edge of the entrance just in time to watch Carlisle slowly stand and

address his company. My boss, Carlisle, has a regal air accentuated by his black turtleneck, tailored

black wool slacks and silver shock of hair against his tan rugged face. Something in the way he carries

himself makes him a formidable presence. He steeples his fingers together in thought and turns to

study the large abstract painting to the left of his chair, wide black slashes of paint across a crimson

field, before he turns back to the two men.

"Edward, Jasper, the show has just begun and you are already at war." He pauses, waiting for them

to settle, and then smiles at Jasper. "I warned you Jasper not to have him at the show. Edward

doesn't suffer fools gladly, and there are plenty of fools here who think they know art."

Jasper's dark eyes narrow in frustration and he grumbles, "We can't exhibit at the most important art

show of the year and not have our star artist there. Carlisle, you know better then anyone that the

collectors want to meet the artists before they invest."

"Invest, fuck I hate that word!" Edward curses as he throws his head back in exasperation. "They buy

a work of art and they hang it in their home and make it part of their lives. There should be a passion

about it because it's a relationship they are having with their art. Investing is for buying god damn

real estate or government bonds!"

Although I still haven't seen his face clearly, I notice the muscles ripple across his back as he crosses

his arms defiantly. He is tall, clearly over six feet, with strong broad shoulders and a tangled mess of

bronze hair.

Edward turns back to Carlisle. "So Jasper serves me up on a platter to this tiny, irritating woman with

her face pulled so tight it looks like it is about to snap," he rants. "She keeps scraping her acrylic

fingernails up and down my arms going on about how she loves my work, while it is taking my entire

focus to keep my breakfast down. As if that isn't brain numbing enough, her flaming yippy designer

suddenly whips open a Hermes tote and starts pulling out fabric swatches."

"Why couldn't you have just gotten me, Edward?" Jasper interrupts in frustration. "That was Mrs.

Stanley, her husband owns the world's largest chain of sporting good stores and a chunk of New

Jersey, and they spend millions on art every year!"

"I don't give a fuck who she is," Edward exclaims his voice rising. "The little bitch told me she wanted

me to re-paint my major work Breaking Dawn in colors to match her bedspread."

I gasp in horror, and the room suddenly goes quiet as the three surprised men turn around to regard

me. "That is outrageous," I state angrily as I shake my head. "What an insult!" And as I look in

sympathy towards the artist, I gasp again to see the most stunning man, who is now also examining

me intently. Published pictures I have seen of Edward Masen just haven't done him justice. His eyes

are the most extraordinary shade of green, and his face the perfect chiseled combination of angles,

accented by full dark lips. Those very lips curl up, and his eyes spark as he regards me, his newfound

ally.

"And you are?" Jasper asks, irritated. I am being challenged for stepping out of my lowly station in

the business of art.

"Gentlemen, this is my Bella" Carlisle says affectionately. "She is new to this side of the art world and

still has so much to learn."

"Sounds like she knows more then either one of you," replies Edward, as he slowly moves towards

me. I lower my eyes and can feel a blush burn across my cheeks as he reaches out and gently takes

my hand. "Bella, such an appropriate name" he murmurs to himself. "Bella, I'm Edward Masen, and I

don't paint to match bedspreads."

"Of course" I smile shyly, now realizing one of the most important emerging artists, according to the

last issue of Newsweek , is still holding my hand. You can feel the energy surging around this

magnificent man, and where our hands are linked his energy is flowing into me, igniting a fire

somewhere deep inside. I realize that I am not breathing, and for a moment I don't remember how.

I had just read an expose on Edward Masen in Art World News, which romanticized the fiery,

mercurial disposition of the young artist. Well, clearly they weren't far off the mark, but they

neglected to mention how incredibly charming he is as well. The longer he gazes at me, the more

aware I become of the absurdity of my instantaneous infatuation. This man is a god, and I am so

ordinary. Yes, I have a creative passion burning inside of me, but I haven't done a single notable thing

in my entire life. He, on the other hand, has already exhibited around the world. As I glance down,

aware of my conservative attire of a tailored white shirt and simple black skirt, I grimace realizing

that I even dress to blend in. If I hadn't boldly defended this artist just now, he would have never

ever have noticed me. You have to lay off the romantic novels, Bella , I think to myself. The prince of

the art world won't be sweeping you off your feet.

But I look up at Edward and he is still smiling.

"Carlisle, would you mind if I borrowed 'your Bella' for a bit? I want some coffee, and I sense she is

just the one to calm me down." He looks down and winks at me, and I shifted uncomfortably. As

Edward takes my arm and begins leading me out of the room, I look back at Carlisle, and although he

looks extremely displeased, he quietly nods for me to go ahead.

"Grab your coat" Edward instructs me, and I reach for my purse as well, wondering what I have

gotten myself into.

Although the aisles of the exhibition are crowded with people, Edward seems to easily clear a path as

he quickly pulls me away from the scene. I can feel people's eyes on us, I assume due to Edward's

striking good looks. I realize he must deal with this on a daily basis, and I shudder at the thought of

that much attention. He picks up speed, and I become entranced by the blur of colors and light from

the paintings and sculptures we pass before I suddenly realized that he is leading me out of the hall.

"Where are we going?" I ask just before we explode out the exit and into the crisp cold air of New

York City.

The sights and sounds of the city are now upon us, the jagged skyline of buildings against the vivid

blue sky. Overwhelmed in sensation, I take in the swirling sound of traffic and voices, the flash of

lights and people walking past. I am also intrigued by the mystery of where this man is taking me. I

close my eyes for a moment, and when I open them I realize that Edward has stepped forward and

hailed a cab and is holding the door open for me. "Your coach madam," he announces, smiling, as I

slide inside.

As he leans forward to give the driver directions, I catch his scent, a mixture of soap and a subtle

musk, some fragrance I don't recognize. I feel my insides clench. God he is good looking. I focus on

the strong line of his jaw and the rough texture of his unshaven face. I have an urge to scrap my teeth

along that jaw, and I press my legs together with the thought.

He flops back into the seat. "We have escaped Bella!" he laughs. "We are free!" and I laugh too,

delighted to see him so happy.

"You are a bad influence Mr. Masen," I admonish him with a teasing tone. "I am supposed to be

cataloguing paintings right now, not gallivanting off with you." I tip my head and gaze at him through

my eyelashes playfully.

"Well, fuck that," he announces, "gallivanting is the order of the day. Only the best for my defender

and savior, Bella" and he lifts my hand to his cheek and pulls it slowly across his face, lightly brushing

my hand with his lips before setting it back in my lap. My heart is doing a wild rumba in my chest and

I turn away embarrassed and gaze out the window.

The cab lets us off on a side street in the Village, and we descend a short flight of stairs before

entering a small Italian restaurant with dark wood paneled walls and soft lighting. There is a

weathered fresco of the hills of Tuscany painted on the far wall. It seems as though the patrons in the

restaurant are all whispering, as there is a gentle muted blend of voices floating through the air.

As we step further into the restaurant, we are greeted warmly, and it is apparent that Edward

charmed everyone who works here long ago. They fawn over him like a long lost brother and treat

me like his adored queen. I don't even notice him ordering but quickly a bottle of Ruffino Chianti and

platters of bruschetta, calamari and antipasto are laid before us. So much for coffee , I think to myself.

This is much more grand, and I am secretly delighted.

Edward settles back, stretching his strong arms across the top of the booth and watches me intently

as I sip my wine and twist my napkin nervously with my free hand.

"So I've never seen you at the show before Bella, how long have you been working for Carlisle?"

"Well," I hesitate trying to determine how much I should edit my story. "Carlisle had offered me a job

seven years ago when I was in a very tough spot, and he and Esme ended up bringing me into their

family. As a matter of fact, while I was finishing up my degree at UCLA, I even lived with them with

them, in a guesthouse on their property. I also help Jacob Black run their print studio, but recently

Carlisle has been getting me involved in various aspects of the business."

"Well, they must think a lot of you," Edward responds thoughtfully.

"Believe me," I answer solemnly, "the feeling is mutual. I'm not sure what would have happened to

me if it hadn't been for them. I owe them a lot."

He looks at me intently. I assume wondering what I'm not revealing. "And what did you study at

UCLA?" he asks.

"My major was Art History with a focus on Contemporary Art, and I minored in literature. Literature

because of my passion for reading, both classic and current authors, but I also have a particular

interest in writing about art. "

I then quickly change the topic by asking Edward about his recent work. As he explains his recent

exploration of technology and the decline of society and its effect on nature, we then get into a

heated dialogue about the significance of the Internet and mobile media in how we relate to the

world at large.

"Do you live in L.A. full time?" I ask hopeful.

"Yes," he smiles. "There is a large group from L.A. at the show this year. It seemed like half of my

plane on the way over was an artist or dealer." He lifts his glass and takes a sip of wine. "I'm staying

through Wednesday, but most people are leaving Tuesday after the show closes. How about you

guys?"

"Yes, all of us are on a later flight Tuesday evening." I feel a surge, wishing I was on his Wednesday

flight.

Before I know it we have almost emptied the bottle of wine and I'm feeling how the effects have

softened all my edges. At this point I am probably sounding like an idiot, but Edward doesn't seem to

notice. Edward is still engaged in the conversation, and I note that he definitely looks more relaxed as

well.

"You know Bella," Edward whispers to me, "You have the most beautiful brown eyes, but they are

hiding behind those glasses." He pauses taking in my reaction. "I see that you are going for that

whole severe, serious-lady look, but I'd like to see you loosened up a little." He grins at me widely.

"Can I do something?"

I swallow nervously and nod my head. Very slowly he reaches over and removes my glasses carefully

folding them and placing them on the table. He waits a moment, perhaps to see if I will object but I

remain quiet, my eyes focused down on the tablecloth. He proceeds next as he reaches just above

the back of my neck and pulls down on the hair tie until my hair falls loose around my shoulders.

I take a deep breath and slowly look up at him, noticing that there is a glint in his eyes. He looks very

pleased, and I wonder if he knows how much he is provoking me. I gaze at his full lips and wonder

how they would taste.

"One more thing," he murmurs as he lifts his hands and holds them in mid-air between us,

considering his next move. Finally he stretches over and brushes his fingers along my collar, then

slowly unbuttons the top button of my blouse. I quietly gasp, and my eyes widen as he undoes the

following two buttons. He pulls back, taking in the changes, and nods his head satisfied.

"Much better," he affirms. "I bet you don't even realize how lovely you are."

Is he kidding? I am doubtful due to the intense look he is giving me. God, does this man know how to

unravel a woman. I know my face is on fire, and I can feel the flush burn across the top of my chest

below my now exposed collarbone. I smile at him while trying to control all the impulses surging

through me.

My mind wanders and in my imagination he is leaning back against the booth, his head tipped

towards the light while I undo each one of his shirt buttons slowly, and then pull his shirt open. I start

with my lips pressed just under his jaw, and I slowly burn a trail of kisses across his chest, over his

nipples and then down his abdomen. He tangles his fingers in my hair as he holds me gently, his soft

moan encouraging me on.

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