Sculpting Grace: A Light Romance Novel (Art of Grace Book 2) Read Free Page A

head.
    "'May you live in interesting times,'" Carter quoted.
    "And that's a curse?"
    "Yes, in fact. It sounds like a great thing - until it happens to you, and all you want is for things to relax, calm down, and go back to boring old normal."
    Still with my head down, I considered this proverb for another minute or two. "Nope, I don't see it," I finally said, lifting my head back up and brushing my forehead in case any of the papers decided to cling to my skin. "I would still rather be in interesting times than boring ones."
    And as if on cue, waiting for me to speak those very words, my phone started to ring in my purse.
    Both Carter and I paused, and exchanged a glance with each other. "The curse!" he whispered to me, wiggling his fingers in a manner that might have been intended to appear spooky (although in truth, it reminded me of an attempt at doing "jazz hands" from my old high school drama teacher).
    "Knock it off," I told him as I reached for my purse. I felt around until my fingers closed on the hard, vibrating rectangle, and I pulled it out.
    "Who is it?"
    I frowned, looking down at the caller ID. "It's my Uncle Preston," I responded.
    "As in Preston Halesford, the owner of the gallery?"
    "One and the same." I swiped my finger across the phone to answer the call, turned and shushed Carter by holding that finger up to my lips in the universal gesture for "quiet," and then lifted the phone up to my ear. "Hello?" I said.
    "Hi there, Rebecca! How are things going?"
    "Um, hi to you too, Uncle," I replied, not sure why he decided to call. "Things are going fine; there's not much new. It's pretty quiet here."
    Had Uncle Preston heard something bad about the gallery? Was I in trouble? He'd never called me before, so I wasn't sure what might have changed.
    "Great, great. So you're not too busy then, are you?"
    "No?" I answered, feeling like this might be the wrong response to give. Maybe he was going to give me some unenviable task, like cleaning out the mess of disorganized papers that he'd left behind in the back storage area, or trying to figure out which members of the artists' collective had died and were no longer coming in to pick up their residual checks.
    "Great, that's good to hear. I mean, not particularly, but it's good in this case." Preston paused, muttering something to himself.
    "Uncle?" I asked. "What's going on?"
    "An opportunity, that's what's going on!" he responded. "And as soon as I heard about it, I knew that you were just the right person to put in charge of this new task."
    "Oh. Great."
    Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of Carter raising his eyebrows. "May you live in interesting times," he mouthed at me.
    If he wasn't so damn sexy when he smiled at me, I would have punched him.
     

Chapter Three
    *
    "So, Uncle Preston, what's this exciting new opportunity?" I asked after another minute of waiting, while my uncle pattered on about how he'd instantly known that I was the right woman for this task.
    "Oh, yes, didn't I say? There's a new artist who's making big waves, and I want you to recruit him!"
    Oh no. This definitely sounded like a recipe for disaster. "Recruit him?" I echoed back hollowly. "Uncle Preston, are you sure that this is really a job for me? I don't know the first thing to say to someone to convince them to let us sell their artwork for them!"
    "I'm sure that you'll do fine," Preston replied with confidence, although it didn't quite make it across the phone line to buoy my own outlook. "Here, got a sheet of paper and a pencil ready? I'll give you the details."
    I scrambled through the pile of papers sitting on top of the desk until I found a blank notepad and a pen. I gave a little scribble in the corner, confirming that the pen actually wrote and wasn't some sort of decorative artwork that issued a statement on the limitations of free speech or something like that, and then stuck the phone between my ear and my shoulder. "Okay, go ahead."
    "His name is Dean Benjamin de