was more than that. She was a widow, and therefore available, so perhaps that meant he’d moved beyond his compulsion to seduce women already involved with other men. Whatever the reason for his urge to stray—boredom, the thrill of conquest, the need to prove his own masculinity—he wanted to overcome it. Besides, he was genuinely interested in Shirley and impressed by her talent.
Will wandered over to his desk. The Harbor Street Art Gallery was doing well, better than he’d expected. That was due, in no small way, to Shirley. She’d given him some excellent suggestions, many of which he’d used. The idea for the new display cases had come from her. They’d cost more than he’d budgeted for, but they were worth it.
In appreciation for all her help, he’d made Shirley, who worked with fabrics, the featured artist for January and would be pleased to inform her that over the weekend he’d sold the largest piece she had on display. He had a check for her, and he thought she’d be as excited about this sale as he was.
When he picked up the phone, he did so with a sense of anticipation. Aside from his pleasure in her success and consequently his own, he felt challenged by her. And not merely as a potential lover. This was the perfect opportunity to get to know her better. She hadn’t revealed any interest in him, however, which was puzzling. Not to brag, but he knew he looked good; at sixty he’d gaineda stateliness that suited him. He was intelligent and had a natural charm, as so many other women—including Georgia—had told him. The possibility existed that Shirley was still in love with her dead husband. From what Will understood, it’d been a year or so since the accident that had claimed his life.
Will knew his own strengths and his weaknesses. He hadn’t gotten this far without identifying his assets and using them. He didn’t mind admitting that he was a man who generally got what he wanted; he’d also admit that this trait hadn’t always been to his benefit. Georgia had called him a “serial philanderer,” claiming he only wanted women he couldn’t have—and when he got them he lost interest. He didn’t deny it but he believed that Shirley would change all that.
He dialed her number and waited for her to answer. After four rings the answering machine came on. Then, just as he was about to leave a message, he heard someone pick up.
“Hello.” Shirley sounded a little breathless.
“Hello,” Will returned, smiling, glad they’d been able to connect.
“Who is this?” she demanded, irritation in her voice.
“It’s Will. Will Jefferson from the Harbor Street Art Gallery,” he told her. That she hadn’t recognized his voice stung his ego. He’d hoped, despite her previous reticence, that she’d been thinking about him, too. Apparently that wasn’t the case.
Her hesitation was just long enough to be noticeable. “I apologize if I snapped at you.”
Will was more than willing to forgive her. “I’m guessing I phoned at a bad time.”
“I usually try to work while Tanni’s in school.”
Tanni was Shirley’s teenage daughter. He’d met her twice. The girl was dating a young man with an unusual first name. Shank? Shiver. Shaw…that was it. Shaw.
The kid had talent. So did Tanni, although she was the one who’d brought Shaw’s work to Will’s attention. Shaw’s portraits, especially, had a lot of promise. He’d shown the kid’s work to an old friend of his, Larry Knight, who was a successful and influential artist, and who happened to be in Seattle recently. Larry had confirmed Will’s assessment. The way Will figured it, Shirley would be grateful for his help. And Will most definitely wanted to obtain Shirley’s gratitude.
“I understand,” he said smoothly. “I’ll remember to call either early in the morning or closer to dinnertime.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
“Your exhibit’s done well,” he told her.
Silence.
Since she didn’t seem inclined to
Will wandered over to his desk. The Harbor Street Art Gallery was doing well, better than he’d expected. That was due, in no small way, to Shirley. She’d given him some excellent suggestions, many of which he’d used. The idea for the new display cases had come from her. They’d cost more than he’d budgeted for, but they were worth it.
In appreciation for all her help, he’d made Shirley, who worked with fabrics, the featured artist for January and would be pleased to inform her that over the weekend he’d sold the largest piece she had on display. He had a check for her, and he thought she’d be as excited about this sale as he was.
When he picked up the phone, he did so with a sense of anticipation. Aside from his pleasure in her success and consequently his own, he felt challenged by her. And not merely as a potential lover. This was the perfect opportunity to get to know her better. She hadn’t revealed any interest in him, however, which was puzzling. Not to brag, but he knew he looked good; at sixty he’d gaineda stateliness that suited him. He was intelligent and had a natural charm, as so many other women—including Georgia—had told him. The possibility existed that Shirley was still in love with her dead husband. From what Will understood, it’d been a year or so since the accident that had claimed his life.
Will knew his own strengths and his weaknesses. He hadn’t gotten this far without identifying his assets and using them. He didn’t mind admitting that he was a man who generally got what he wanted; he’d also admit that this trait hadn’t always been to his benefit. Georgia had called him a “serial philanderer,” claiming he only wanted women he couldn’t have—and when he got them he lost interest. He didn’t deny it but he believed that Shirley would change all that.
He dialed her number and waited for her to answer. After four rings the answering machine came on. Then, just as he was about to leave a message, he heard someone pick up.
“Hello.” Shirley sounded a little breathless.
“Hello,” Will returned, smiling, glad they’d been able to connect.
“Who is this?” she demanded, irritation in her voice.
“It’s Will. Will Jefferson from the Harbor Street Art Gallery,” he told her. That she hadn’t recognized his voice stung his ego. He’d hoped, despite her previous reticence, that she’d been thinking about him, too. Apparently that wasn’t the case.
Her hesitation was just long enough to be noticeable. “I apologize if I snapped at you.”
Will was more than willing to forgive her. “I’m guessing I phoned at a bad time.”
“I usually try to work while Tanni’s in school.”
Tanni was Shirley’s teenage daughter. He’d met her twice. The girl was dating a young man with an unusual first name. Shank? Shiver. Shaw…that was it. Shaw.
The kid had talent. So did Tanni, although she was the one who’d brought Shaw’s work to Will’s attention. Shaw’s portraits, especially, had a lot of promise. He’d shown the kid’s work to an old friend of his, Larry Knight, who was a successful and influential artist, and who happened to be in Seattle recently. Larry had confirmed Will’s assessment. The way Will figured it, Shirley would be grateful for his help. And Will most definitely wanted to obtain Shirley’s gratitude.
“I understand,” he said smoothly. “I’ll remember to call either early in the morning or closer to dinnertime.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
“Your exhibit’s done well,” he told her.
Silence.
Since she didn’t seem inclined to
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