Chapter 29

Happiness had a smell and a sound, not just a feeling to it. That's what I found out.

The smell was jasmine, coffee, and a touch of paint, while the sound was Emmanuelle's warm, melodious laughter when I said farewell to her at the door. The feeling of happiness, on the other hand, was so intricate, made up of so many different emotions, that it was hard to pinpoint. Excitement and tenderness. Anticipation and desire. I had to chuckle at myself—so much desire. But also playfulness, exuberance, and simple joy at being in her presence. Or thinking about her, like I was doing right now.

I had a tight schedule for the rest of the day, mainly due to the incoming preparations for a new job site and the associated mountain of paperwork. Yet, as I sat down to go over the contract, I was distracted by the phone.

None other than Professor Killian was at the other end, telling me that he was officially dissolving my suspension. I could tell that he was relieved that the dicey situation had been resolved without any further headaches. Still, he couldn't possibly be as happy about that as I was. Pete had come through for me. And although it had been him who'd got me into this mess in the first place, I dearly hoped he'd learned something from this, just like Lacie claimed to have.

A total of five messages went back and forth between Emmanuelle and I, but only because I somehow managed to keep myself from writing the twenty I would have liked to send. At noon I told her the paperwork monster had me firmly in its claws and I didn't know whether I'd have time to drop in later.

An hour of intermittently checking my phone later, she replied that she had plans to visit her brother in Boston tonight but would have really liked me to join them.

Late in the afternoon, after realizing there was nothing to be done about that damned paperwork, I texted back that I didn't think I could make it tonight. She seemed not to be cross about it, so I told her to have fun and say hi to Remi.

That night I slept like a baby, not even remembering my dreams.

The next day had me drop into Casey's office again, and I smiled at my friend when she greeted me in the open gallery space. "Hey, Case."

"Hey, Sam." My grin had her doing a double take. "You look…" She was searching for the right word. "Happy."

I chuckled. "It appears sometimes friends do give good advice."

Her eyes widened slightly, and there was a speculative glint in them. "So, I take it the talk went well?" she said.

"You could say that."

"Yeeess!" she exclaimed and did a little victory dance. "Tell me!"

"We agreed to take it slow, but I think it's safe to say that I'm no longer single."

"That I lived to see the day. That's fantastic, Sam. I'm so happy for you."

"Thank you. I appreciate all your support. And that you never gave up on me."

"I would never, Sam. You know that."

Clearing my throat, I couldn't keep from giving her a spontaneous hug. When she stepped back, her laptop pinged with an incoming email. After Casey walked to the desk, she glanced down at the screen and reached for the mouse. I heard a few click noises until she muttered, "Now, this is weird."

"Hm, what is?"

"I told you about the artist I want to exhibit here next, right?"

"Haley Grim?"

"Yeah, exactly. She just sent me her portfolio. I wanted to see it to get a better feel for her."

"And you don't like it?"

"Huh? Oh, no. It's not that. It's just…" Casey furrowed her brows, still staring at the screen. "I could swear I've seen these before."

"Seen them?"

"Yeah, even quite recently, because I remember thinking how great they are. It's weird because I'm very sure they weren't hers. If I could just remember…" Her eyes widened, and her head snapped up. "Holy shit! I know who showed those to me! How could I forget?"

"So, who?"

"Ellis fucking Jackson, that's who!"

I straightened with rising confusion. "So? Why is that so weird?"

"Why? How did she even get a hold of Haley Grim's artwork without being her manager? I'll tell you how. Grim is still a bit unseasoned but has been trying to gain a foothold in the community. She probably sent Jackson that portfolio because she wanted to become her client. But as we both know, Jackson doesn't take in just anybody. A Renaud is probably okay, but anyone else is below her."

"So, you never asked her which artist the pictures belonged to? Maybe, she gambled you would. You know I don't like her either, but showing Haley Grim's work to you, maybe she thought you'd take an interest, and she could later take credit for it."

"You don't get it," Casey pressed out through gritted teeth. "Those pictures were part of Ms Renaud's portfolio."

The revelation pulled my jaw down. "What?"

"I swear on Rambo's obnoxious furry ass that I saw these pictures wedged between Ms Renaud's."

"Jackson faked Elle's portfolio? What on earth would she do that for? Her artwork speaks for itself, as do the many exhibits she's done."

"Why? Come on, Sam! A little enhancement here, a few images there, and voila, every single one of her clients is golden. Because I bet you she didn't just do this with Emmanuelle. No wonder she has such a good reputation if every one of her referrals is a success." Casey pinched the bridge of her nose before muttering a few profanities. "I bet, too, that she only takes from poor, inexperienced artists who're talented enough but will never manage to rise into her lofty circles, taking advantage of those who can't fight back."

"How would that even work? And why didn't anyone notice?" Wearily, I sank onto the edge of her desk.

"Who says they didn't?" Casey snorted bitterly. "I bet some of these people are so blinded by ambition that they don't mind their managers doing it."

"What are you saying?"

"Just, well, that grandma of hers pushes her so far that, I dunno, I'm not saying it's true, it's probably not, but what if Emmanuelle knows?"

My fists clenched. "She wouldn't do that."

"Wouldn't she? Did you meet Marguerite Renaud?"

I shook my head so hard that strands of hair were flying around my face. "You're being ridiculous. This has Jackson's handwriting all over it. We both know what the more likely explanation is here."

But what if Emmanuelle…

I stamped down on that thought as soon as it occurred.

When I looked up, Casey was scrutinising her phone. "This needs to be handled with the utmost care. I wonder…" She trailed off thoughtfully. Then, her lips drew into a devilish smirk. "I wonder what the NAIA would say if they caught wind of this."

The National Association of Independent Artists, while just a non-profit trade organization, had a lot of members and as such a lot of reach. If the board of directors found out about Jackson's shenanigans, if the art community in general found out, she would be toast.

"Before you do anything," I cautioned. "You need to tell Emmanuelle."

"If she doesn't alrea—"

"Casey!"

"I'll talk to her first, I promise. And I'll be as tactful as possible, too." But the predatory smile on her face made my stomach drop a little. "In fact, as much as I abhor the circumstances, I'm a little looking forward to it."

***

In the evening, I walked in on Emmanuelle on the phone, and I was only momentarily surprised about her furious scowl. "You are unbelievable! Unbelievable! And you can bet your skinny ass that you'll be hearing from my lawyer! Faking portfolios? What the hell, Ellis? Do you have any idea what kind of damage this could do to my reputation? Do you?"

Hearing her acidic tone and seeing her expression, something inside me settled. Emmanuelle really hadn't known, and now I felt stupid for letting Casey's words create even a splinter of doubt.

I set my duffle bag on the chair and rummaged through it to get my sketchbook, and she strode into the kitchen to get out of earshot. It was only semi-successful because she was too upset to keep her voice down.

"This is the last time I ever want to have to speak to you. The way you treated Ms Morgan already raised warning bells that I shouldn't have ignored. In fact, your outrage about someone blabbing about my work to the media? It's fucking unbelievable considering what you did! We're done. No, we're done!"

I could hear a grunt and a second later, something thudded against a surface. I looked up from the lines I'd drawn, but no other sounds came from the kitchen. Carefully, I put down the coal and got up.

Emmanuelle stood with her hands braced against the counter, her head hanging low. On the ground lay a phone, just a couple of feet from the wall, and it didn't take a genius to figure out that she'd thrown it. Before I could say anything, she explosively blew out a breath. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to throw stuff. It's a bad habit I thought I'd grown out of."

"It's alright."

"Is it?" She exhaled again, deeper this time. "I'm really not winning any girlfriend awards today. I swear I'm not usually such a raving lunatic."

"I wasn't trying to overhear your conversation…"

"But you were hard-pressed to miss the yelling?" She gave a sardonic chuckle. "I don't even want to know what you think of me right now. Not just that I tolerated how badly she treated other people but that I was so damned blind I didn't even notice her faking my own work."

"Yeah, I know. Casey told me." I stepped close and wrapped my arms around her waist. "I'm sorry that this happened to you. I know how hard you've worked for your success."

Bitterly, she huffed, "It's not just me. All those artists that she threw under the bus and for what? To better place her clients? To prove to everyone that she has the biggest dick? And I was too stupid to see it because I was too wrapped up in my own stuff!" She slammed her hand onto the counter, but then anguish dropped her voice to a whisper. "What does that say about me?"

I tightened my grip. "It means that you care about your art, Elle. That you're willing to put up with a lot to achieve your dreams. And let's be realistic, except for catching her in the act, there was very little chance of you finding out what she was doing."

"I still feel like a fool."

"Yeah, because you care. You care about things just as much as I do, and you don't like it when people know. You never really let anyone get too close. I guess we're very much alike that way."

She was silent, but I could feel her ponder my words by how she drummed her knuckles on the counter. I was hurting for her for this outright betrayal. She was always under so much pressure to perform, being under a magnifying glass practically since birth, and stunts like these really didn't help matters.

I just held her and tried to provide some comfort. Finally, she exhaled her tension in a sigh. "My grandmother is going to blow a gasket about this."

"Yeah, I can only imagine."

She leaned back in my arms. "Thank you for listening to my ranting. I really do appreciate that."

"Of course. Anything else I can do for you?"

"You could help me find my woollen sweater. I misplaced it, and I hate not having it when it's so cold outside." She shivered in my arms, nestling closer against my chest.

I had to smile at her complaint. It was really cute how she kept losing things in a comparatively small space. Last week, it had been one of her favourite shirts that had gone missing. "I'll help look."

"Thank you. You could also let me take you out to dinner. I think I need to get out of the house for a while."

For a moment, I thought about it. It would be the first time I ever openly went to dinner with a woman. The first time I allowed people in this town to know private details about me. My insides squeezed.

Relax, it's not like you'll ravage her over the dinner table.

That was true. But it still meant that I would have to talk to Frank, and soon. It was surprising that it didn't feel so scary anymore.

"I'd love to," I finally answered.