Chapter 15

"We will not book some garden-variety flake!"

Ellis Jackson, manager extraordinaire, fashion advocate, and the bane of my existence, was glaring at me with a frown, along with a foot impatiently tapping one of her salmon-pink high heels on the ground. I gazed back at her with my best "patient" face, the one I'd cultivated for people like Lacie Lennard or my network provider.

"I told you, the musician you wanted for the intro made his assistant hang up on me in the middle of explaining the matter. And Bobby Daniles may be a bit of a wild card, I admit, but his previous performances had great reviews, and he wasn't above picking up the phone and answering my call."

"That's what the famous ones always do: play hard to get. Shows how much someone from the country knows!" Ms Jackson sneered at me over the desk in Casey's office. "You need to sweet-talk and flatter them until they do what you want."

Deep breaths, Hale.

"And as for that Daniles guy, I will not leave the fate of the exhibit to some unreliable, no-name hillbilly who can't even afford a personal assistant. It's far better to hire someone whose name can actually be found in the phone book!"

"Ms Jackson," I began, mustering my dwindling patience to make my voice calm and reasonable, "it's futile to chase after a musician who is so clearly not interested in performing for us. And we're running out of time. So, if you're unhappy with the option I've suggested, you need to offer a realistic alternative."

Emmanuelle's manager leaned over the table to give me a hard stare. "Excuse me for thinking you'd be capable of taking care of this minor detail. I see that Ms Renaud has clearly overestimated your competence after you booked that ridiculous transport company. Mathilda Uncles?" She snorted derisively. "The name alone screams out the boondocks. I hope they don't auction the paintings off in the fish market."

I had no idea how Casey had managed to deal with her before. Now, it just seemed that with each conversation she was getting more antagonistic. Still, if we didn't want to completely kiss the opening act of the exhibit goodbye, then I had to find some angle to convince this woman.

Think, you goof!

"So, you're telling me Mr Daniles doesn't at least deserve a chance to prove he's the real deal?" I set my jaw and gave her a challenging stare. "What if he turns out to be a rising starlet, just waiting to be discovered? Can you honestly say it's not worth a little bit of good faith to get a piece of that pie?"

Her glare was as cold as a Siberian winter while she clicked the pen she'd hidden in the crook of her elbow. Her crossed arms didn't manage to hide it from view if you knew what to look for, and right this minute I was thoroughly tempted to snap at her to stop.

Come on. Bite that nice, juicy bait. I know you want it.

"And you are sure he's had nothing but spectacular reviews?"

"Absolutely. Smashing and numerous, everyone agreeing on what a raw diamond he is."

"Hmm." The twist of her lips was scornful, but she was turning the thought over in her head. "If he's about to shoot up like a comet, it could help emphasize the public persona of Emmanuelle being the rising star, too, I suppose."

It's almost disgusting how predictable you are, dear Ellis.

"You may go forward with booking him." The woman's eyes turned to slits. "But if anything goes wrong, anything at all, be sure the responsibility for it will fall squarely into your lap. I'll be first in line to tell Ms Renaud just whose idea this was." Something about that thought seemed to please her greatly, at least if her saccharine smile was anything to go by.

I hid a nervous swallow. "Fine, I'll make the arrangements."

She nodded as if her acquiescence was the most generous gift in the world. At the same time, she acted as if she also expected her feet kissed in gratitude. For a moment, my irritation threatened to spill over. How could Emmanuelle be so nice and her manager such a fury? Thankfully, Casey would be back to work tomorrow. It saved me from committing bloody murder.

When I walked into class that afternoon, I'd almost recovered from the encounter, and the lecture further improved my mood. Talking about my most favourite art movement usually did.

"Impressionist artists wanted to capture the transient effects of sunlight," I said. "It was essential to depict the art of immediacy and movement, something that is not easily done as I'm sure you've already found out during your practical course. The most famous painter of this movement was Monet, of course. His painting Impression, Sunrise actually gave it its name, even if it was ridiculed at the beginning."

Two hands went up at my words.

"Hannah?"

"Is it true most painters worked at night to make use of the night-time's shadows?"

I nodded, rose from the edge of the table, and stepped to the whiteboard. "Interesting point." I wrote three words. "Impressionists wished to pay close attention to how the light and colour reflected from object to object, so they painted in the evening to produce the shadowy effects of evening or twilight. That's called effets de soir."

Hannah and several other students nodded, writing down some notes. As I was scribbling a few more key points onto the board, I could hear two students whispering heatedly. Looking around, one of them was Omar, Lacie's new assignment partner. The other was a student who looked a little bit like a pirate out of a bad movie, complete with a black beard, a scowl, and a golden ring in his ear.

Wait, this reminds me of something.

Wasn't that the same student who'd looked so unhappy when I'd asked Omar to pair up with the redhead?

The whispering quickly rose to a hushed argument. Pretty much everyone seemed confused, except for our red-haired femme fatale, who just rolled her eyes in exasperation.

"Dude, I told you I'm not gonna switch pairs again," Omar huffed. "I didn't want to do it the first time, and now that we're halfway through, you can bet your bearded ass I'm not doing it again!"

"But you hate the topic Lacie picked anyway, and I happen to like it. Now, you're just making a mess of all her great ideas!"

"God, you're such a fucking liar, Pete!" Omar spat out. "I bet you couldn't care less about the assignment; you just have a hard-on for her and think I'm competition."

Pete shot up from his chair. Anger glinted in his eyes, and Omar must have seen it, too, because he gripped the back of his own chair and stood himself.

"Enough." At the sharp tone, both of their heads swivelled. "We decided on pairs at the beginning of the semester, and I expect you to be committed to your choice. The assignment relies on teamwork."

"But Omar switched too," the pirate look-a-like whined.

"Only because his partner is injured and can't attend," I replied coolly. "Not because he abruptly decided he wants to work with someone else, or because he didn't like the topic he chose himself anymore. This is not just about artistic achievement but about reliability. How can you expect to succeed if your peers don't trust you to stick to a course?"

The outrage ebbed from Pete's expression, but he was clearly not very happy with my words.

"Please sit down, so we can continue with class. And be advised that I do not tolerate any kind of physical argument, neither now nor at any other time."

I was a little surprised when both of them listened and sat down without protest. Actually, I was surprised that I had managed to defuse the situation at all, and in such a calm manner. Once it was quiet again, I moved back to the lectern, still ruminating on what had just happened. Had I just handled a socially tense moment in an acceptable way? Without feeling excruciatingly awkward or while fiddling with my hair? I unobtrusively checked my reflection in a window. Nope, the messy bun was still in place.

Huh. Not bad, Hale. Not bad at all.

When I caught Lacie's bored yawn, though, I could feel my forehead creasing. She looked completely unfazed, as if people fighting over her was a common occurrence.

We filled the last twenty minutes talking about the difficulties of capturing shifting images before I called an end to class. After, I hung back to make sure there were no more unforeseen altercations. Luckily, both squabblers seemed ready to get out of here. Lacie noticed me briefly focusing on her and decided to zip her jacket closed in an exaggeratedly slow manner. I decided to just wear my earlier frown. That displeased her, and her disappointed look seemed glued to my neck as I walked out of class.

I made my way to the teacher's lounge, dodging the noisy students surging through the hallways. I had finally begun to stop looking for Harry, but sometimes it was as if his gentle presence permeated the walls.

"Ms Hale?"

The voice caused me to halt on the steps of the main building. A small man with white hair walked down the stairs to catch up to me.

"Professor Killian?"

"It's good that I spotted you, Ms Hale."

He smiled through his long grey beard. As the Dean of the RISD, he was known for his no-bullshit policy as well as his legendary commitment to furthering the careers of those who put in the hours and had the talent. Courtesy of an impressive resume of distinguishing works and his position, Professor Alfred Killian had a lot of sway with the school administration.

"How can I help you, Professor?" I asked.

"I wanted to give you my condolences. It wasn't possible for me to attend Harry's wake, but I heard it was a very nice gathering."

"Thank you. It was."

Professor Killian tugged on the edge of his beard and eyed me with a more thoughtful frown. "I talked to Harry, briefly, before these unfortunate circumstances conspired to take him from us, and it was my impression he wished for you to continue teaching here."

It shouldn't have surprised me that he'd talked to the dean without waiting for my approval. Despite my exasperation, my lips quirked at the thought of dear Harry being able to seemingly manipulate events even from beyond the grave.

"We talked about it in passing, but I'm afraid I haven't been able to give it much thought yet."

"And that is completely understandable," he replied as he gave up on his beard. "I just wanted to inform you that I agreed with his opinion about you being a good addition to the faculty." Something must have betrayed my surprise because he added, "Don't get me wrong. We tend to look for teachers with a lot more experience, but Harry thought highly of you. His opinion has a lot of sway. Besides, this is your alma mater. You're one of us."

I blinked, then warmth spread in my belly. It was the nicest thing he'd ever said to me.

"I would need to know if you wanted it by the end of this semester," he continued. "I know that you already have a job, but lectures are only seven months in the year. I'm sure if you wanted, you could find a way to make it work." He paused. "I know Harry expected great things from you, Ms Hale. He's never been wrong about such things."

That was true. Harry would have loved me taking over for him. But how would Frank ever feel comfortable about retiring if I spent half my time doing something else? My life was fine the way it was, right? This teaching gig was just a temporary pastime. There was nothing more to it.

But if so, why did it feel like I had to convince myself of that?