Read Online Sculpting Grace: A Light Romance Novel (Art of Grace Book 2) by Samantha Westlake - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Samantha Westlake
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still held in my hand.
Behind me, the door opened up a crack. "Oh, and if I don't hear from you in a week, I'm giving up on you!" de St. James shouted out after me. He slammed the door shut once again before I could respond.
"Great," I said once more. "Just great."
Chapter Nine
*
After a cranky Dean Benjamin de St. James pushed me out of his mess of a house, I decided immediately that the best place to read through this half-crumpled sheet of demands was going to be someplace with alcohol.
Fortunately, I knew just the place - and also knew who could help me decipher some of de St. James' handwriting, and would gladly kvetch with me about having to deal with this prima donna of an artist.
"Sure, I'm always down for a glass of wine to de-stress!" Portia Skye told me enthusiastically over the phone when I called her up, sitting in my truck and still parked outside of de St. James' house. "Meet you there right after work, girl!"
"You're not even going to ask me why I need a glass of wine?" I asked, teasing her a little.
She sighed. "With you, honey, it's usually one of a dozen different things, and it's impossible to guess which one."
"Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence."
"Becks, dear, it's because you take on so much that you have so many problems," Portia continued without missing a beat. "I'm amazed that you're not gulping down wine like water, with everything that you do!"
I couldn't help but smile a little at how easily Portia turned a slight around into a compliment. "You're just trying to butter me up so that I'll pick up the tab, aren't you?"
"You see right through me, honey," she replied, and I could practically hear her smile through the phone. "So wise. So incredible."
"Okay, okay, ease up!" I begged, laughing. "But you're definitely reminding me of why you're still my best friend."
"You know it!" Portia laughed along with me, a clear tinkling on the line - but then stopped abruptly. "Oh shit, my boss is heading over towards my office. He either wants to complain about my layout designs, or he found the ass print in the photocopier. I gotta go."
"Bye, Portia," I said, fighting against giggles at the thought of my best friend, all elegant and sophisticated, pressing her slender naked ass against the glass plate of the copier in her office. I couldn't imagine it; it was like trying to imagine an elephant fitting through a mouse hole in a wall.
Since I still had a few hours until Portia got off of work, I headed out to a local Mexican restaurant to indulge a little for lunch. I ate far too many chips and salsa, and then took pleasure in sitting in the booth for a few more minutes, just lolling back and groaning as I rubbed my stomach.
"A mistake," I told myself as I reached forward for another chip, the last one in the basket in front of me. "You're making a big mistake here, Becca."
I was probably telling myself the truth, but that last chip still tasted delicious, despite how my stomach felt on the verge of exploding when I staggered out to my truck.
After managing to climb back up to my feet after that big lunch, I went back to the Halesford Gallery and checked in with Lizzie. She was chatting with a customer when I walked by the front desk, but it looked like she had matters under control, so I continued back to the back room of the gallery. I settled in at the desk in the back area, looking at the piles of paper that covered every inch of the desk's surface.
"Time to organize," I said aloud, trying to muster up enough energy to get started, instead of just crawling under the desk and taking an illicit little nap.
The paperwork really was out of hand, I had to admit to myself. For years before I took over for him, my uncle, Preston Halesford himself, had run the gallery. As far as I could tell, his system of organization seemed to be along the lines of "drop it in a pile and deal with it never." I didn't understand how he managed to stay in business and not have the electricity turned off for
Behind me, the door opened up a crack. "Oh, and if I don't hear from you in a week, I'm giving up on you!" de St. James shouted out after me. He slammed the door shut once again before I could respond.
"Great," I said once more. "Just great."
Chapter Nine
*
After a cranky Dean Benjamin de St. James pushed me out of his mess of a house, I decided immediately that the best place to read through this half-crumpled sheet of demands was going to be someplace with alcohol.
Fortunately, I knew just the place - and also knew who could help me decipher some of de St. James' handwriting, and would gladly kvetch with me about having to deal with this prima donna of an artist.
"Sure, I'm always down for a glass of wine to de-stress!" Portia Skye told me enthusiastically over the phone when I called her up, sitting in my truck and still parked outside of de St. James' house. "Meet you there right after work, girl!"
"You're not even going to ask me why I need a glass of wine?" I asked, teasing her a little.
She sighed. "With you, honey, it's usually one of a dozen different things, and it's impossible to guess which one."
"Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence."
"Becks, dear, it's because you take on so much that you have so many problems," Portia continued without missing a beat. "I'm amazed that you're not gulping down wine like water, with everything that you do!"
I couldn't help but smile a little at how easily Portia turned a slight around into a compliment. "You're just trying to butter me up so that I'll pick up the tab, aren't you?"
"You see right through me, honey," she replied, and I could practically hear her smile through the phone. "So wise. So incredible."
"Okay, okay, ease up!" I begged, laughing. "But you're definitely reminding me of why you're still my best friend."
"You know it!" Portia laughed along with me, a clear tinkling on the line - but then stopped abruptly. "Oh shit, my boss is heading over towards my office. He either wants to complain about my layout designs, or he found the ass print in the photocopier. I gotta go."
"Bye, Portia," I said, fighting against giggles at the thought of my best friend, all elegant and sophisticated, pressing her slender naked ass against the glass plate of the copier in her office. I couldn't imagine it; it was like trying to imagine an elephant fitting through a mouse hole in a wall.
Since I still had a few hours until Portia got off of work, I headed out to a local Mexican restaurant to indulge a little for lunch. I ate far too many chips and salsa, and then took pleasure in sitting in the booth for a few more minutes, just lolling back and groaning as I rubbed my stomach.
"A mistake," I told myself as I reached forward for another chip, the last one in the basket in front of me. "You're making a big mistake here, Becca."
I was probably telling myself the truth, but that last chip still tasted delicious, despite how my stomach felt on the verge of exploding when I staggered out to my truck.
After managing to climb back up to my feet after that big lunch, I went back to the Halesford Gallery and checked in with Lizzie. She was chatting with a customer when I walked by the front desk, but it looked like she had matters under control, so I continued back to the back room of the gallery. I settled in at the desk in the back area, looking at the piles of paper that covered every inch of the desk's surface.
"Time to organize," I said aloud, trying to muster up enough energy to get started, instead of just crawling under the desk and taking an illicit little nap.
The paperwork really was out of hand, I had to admit to myself. For years before I took over for him, my uncle, Preston Halesford himself, had run the gallery. As far as I could tell, his system of organization seemed to be along the lines of "drop it in a pile and deal with it never." I didn't understand how he managed to stay in business and not have the electricity turned off for
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