“The studio.” She wasn’t lying when she said she needed to make some progress on her auction donation. Julia wiggled into snug jeans and a T-shirt before brushing her damp hair into neat waves and leaving it down over her shoulders to dry. Grabbing her cell phone, she skipped down the steps of the inn.
As she strolled along the streets of Sanctuary, she soaked up the unusual combination of paint colors on one Victorian and a quirky shingle pattern on another, the warm patina of antique handmade brick, and the pattern of light and shade under a tulip poplar. The town seemed to glow with the same satisfaction she felt.
Her relationship with Carlos was on a whole new footing. If her uncle was still hurt by the change, he had chosen not to reveal it, and she was grateful to him for that. For all her sense of betrayal, she loved him deeply and hated to cause him pain. There would probably be occasional skirmishes going forward, but she believed her uncle respected her right to make her own decisions now.
Her next hurdle—and it was a much higher and wider one—was Paul’s conviction that Sanctuary would somehow stifle her career. He couldn’t make her leave, of course, but she knew what a towering wall of easy, inconsequential cordiality he could raise between them. If he decided their relationship should end for her own good, he would slip right out of her fingers.
Her calm evaporated, and she banged open the screen door of her studio. “Stubborn, do-gooding man!” she huffed as she thrust her arms into the sleeves of her paint-splattered overshirt.
Stalking over to the easel where Darkside’s portrait sat, she felt a stab of panic. The auction was two days away and the painting had a long way to go before it was finished. Seizing her paints, she began squeezing colors onto the palette and shoved all thoughts of anything but a huge, troubled black horse out of her mind.
“Did you say Carlos Castillo wants to see me?” Paul said into the telephone receiver, not sure he’d heard Verna correctly.
“That’s right,” she confirmed. “No appointment, but…”
“I’ll be right there.” Paul stood and went to the coatrack to retrieve his suit jacket. He shrugged into it and straightened his tie before he pulled open the door. Striding into the reception area, he spotted a trim older man of medium height, his dark hair salted with silver strands. “Mr. Castillo? Paul Taggart. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He offered his hand.
Carlos took it in a firm grip and gave him a courteous smile. “I appreciate your willingness to meet with me when I have no appointment.”
“Of course, sir,” Paul said, escorting him into his office and closing the door. “I’m a friend of your niece’s.”
“Ah, I thought you were her lawyer,” the older man said, as he settled into the chair Paul indicated. Paul took the chair beside him, turning it to make the arrangement friendly.
“Contrary to popular belief, lawyers are capable of friendship,” Paul said, giving Carlos a rueful smile as an invitation to share the joke. He was treading carefully since he had no idea what Julia had told her uncle about him or why her uncle had chosen to come here.
Carlos did not return the smile, and Paul could see why Julia found him intimidating. The man wore his well-tailored suit with all the authority of a Fortune 500 CEO.
“Julia tells me you have drawn up the agreement for her new agent, Claire Arbuckle,” Carlos said. “I wish to see it.”
“Well, sir, I’d like to help you out, but there’s the matter of attorney-client confidentiality.” He kept his tone light to rob his words of any offense. He also hid his surprise, since no such agreement yet existed.
“But I am her uncle and stand in loco parentis to her.” The other man’s voice was even but held an undercurrent of command.
Paul nodded. “Julia has spoken of you with great respect and affection. However, she is my client, so I cannot breach my professional responsibility to her.” He knew he was stretching it to call Julia a client since they’d never had any formal arrangement, but it made a convenient excuse.
“Have you ever drawn up such an agreement before?”
“Yes, sir. There are several local artists whom Mrs. Arbuckle represents. I handled all of their agreements.” Paul tamped down his irritation at having his competence questioned.
Carlos leaned forward, his hands on the arms of the chair. “None of them are of the same caliber as my niece. She is an artist with an international reputation, which will only continue to grow. Her situation requires a sophisticated, airtight contract.”
As his temper began to simmer, Paul reminded himself that Julia had just fired her uncle, so he was probably feeling cranky and hurt. This was his way of compensating. His voice was calm as he said, “Believe me, I have Julia’s best interests very much at heart. I can draw on several resources at large law firms known for representing clients in the arts, if necessary.” He decided not to let Carlos get away with his veiled insults entirely. “May I add that I have known Mrs. Arbuckle for many years and can vouch she is a person of the highest integrity.”