A Taste of Ice Read Online Free PDF Page A

same time. Heavenhelp anyone who told her no. “Let me tell you, I had my pick of up-and-coming artists, all wanting to get in front of the Hollywood crowd. Nothing truly jumped out at me. Then Michael Ray called. He may be an arrogant son of a bitch, but he has an amazing eye and a sharp business sense. I’m not doing him or you a favor by showing you. I have a reputation to uphold.”
    Cat swallowed and glanced at Michael, but he just nodded.
    “Then I saw your work.” Helen rolled her eyes. “Wow.”
    Michael beamed. Cat realized they were waiting for a response. “I can’t tell you how overwhelmed I am to have this opportunity.”
    Helen tilted her head as if Cat were the painting. “Let’s see how long that humility lasts when the who’s who of L.A. and New York walk in here and start clawing for your stuff.”
    Michael nodded. “She’s the real deal, isn’t she? And just look at her. Made for the media. Made to be big.”
    Cat stiffened but Michael didn’t notice. He probably wasn’t even aware he’d said it out loud or that he wore a disconcerting, hungry sort of look. He’d certainly never said anything like that to her face before. As a film producer, she supposed, he was used to treating people like products because to him, they were.
    With a quick, perceptive glance at her, Helen deftly turned the conversation. “It’s stunning, Cat, how you capture the personalities of various bodies of water and still manage to twist them. Oceans are intimate. Ponds are expansive. And the rivers—ah!” She pressed a hand to her chest. “I know Michael loves the
Pond
series, but the
Rivers
are my personal favorite. You give them all such mystery. Such melancholy. Like you love it and hate it at the same time. So tell me: why water?”
    Cat toed a folded drop cloth. That was the big question, wasn’t it? If she could answer that, she wouldn’t have started painting in the first place.
    A phone buzzed. Michael reached into his pocket, mumbling, “Sorry, sorry.”
    He’d never apologized before for taking a phone call, but Cat didn’t mind because it saved her from answering Helen. Michael listened for a second or two, his mouth drawing a grim line, then clicked off the phone. “I gotta run. First screening starts in fifteen then meetings all afternoon through dinner.”He turned to Cat. “Meet up tomorrow? There’s an actor I want you to meet. Big art collector.”
    She just stared. It always took a few seconds to track the speed of his brain.
    “What?” Michael tapped at his phone’s calendar. “Did we make plans?”
    “Well, no. But I have a reservation at Shed tonight.”
    She wasn’t really keen on having dinner with Michael—given that she’d made the reservation in order to stare at Xavier some more and try to figure out how she knew him—but she realized, as she said it, that she didn’t want to be alone her first night away from the ocean. Already the dryness and isolation of this place scraped at her skin and mind.
    He hissed through his teeth. “Sorry, can’t. Wait. Did you say Shed? How’d you get in there?”
    “Um. I asked?”
    Suddenly she feared he’d cancel his plans to go with her, because if Michael was about one thing, it was status.
    “Why don’t you go with Helen?” he offered. “You two could talk more about the show. Get to know each other.”
    Helen grinned, sliding on her glasses, the beaded chain catching the overhead lights. “Sounds good to me. As long as I can pick up the check. We can giggle and talk about Michael Ray behind his back.”
    Michael snorted. “You already know everything. I’m an open fucking book.”
    As he gave Cat’s arm an impersonal pinch, she wasn’t entirely convinced that that was the case.

THREE
    Michael kissed Helen on the cheek, gave Cat a squeeze on the arm that felt more awkward than it looked, and left the gallery. No one could rattle him like the gorgeous, modest, as-yet-unknown artist from Florida…despite the fact she