Seduced In San Diego. Reese Ryan

metals and reclaimed wood.

      “As did I.”

      “You? Doing grunt work?” Sasha stopped and turned to him, barely holding back an incredulous grin. “Why do I find that so difficult to believe?”

      “Doesn’t fit the millionaire playboy narrative, I know.” He chuckled. “But it’s true. I studied studio art in university for a couple of years. University life and rules didn’t quite agree with me. So I left.”

      “Now that, I can believe.” Sasha tried not to allow herself to be drawn in by those glittering eyes and that infinite charm, enhanced by a very sexy British accent. It was a losing battle. “I doubt your parents were very happy with that decision.”

      “They weren’t.” For the first time, there was a flash of darkness in his expression. “I’m the black sheep in the Jace family. The sole artist in a family full of bankers. My mum and dad thought I’d gone mad when I left university and went to work as a studio assistant for a mere pittance. Truthfully, they still think me a bit bonkers.”

      Sasha’s heart ached for Jordan. He behaved as if he was unconcerned about the opinions of others. Though clearly, he was wounded by his parents’ rejection of his career choice.

      The topic of his parents was a subject best avoided for as long as possible.

      “Did you work for a sculptor?”

      “Eventually.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets, his confident smile fixed firmly in place again. “But first I was assistant to a painter and then a multimedia artist. Then I went to work for a remarkable sculptor who worked with clay.”

      “Your apprenticeships served you well. I can see the influence of all three mediums in your work.” Sasha turned her attention to an assemblage of scrap metal laid out on the floor. “Is this what you’re working on now?”

      “It is. Commissioned for a corporate office headquartered in LA.” He gripped his chin, studying the metal fragments, as if seeing them for the first time.

      Sasha walked carefully around the collection of metal scraps until she stood opposite him. When she looked up, he was no longer studying the metal pieces on the floor. He was studying her.

      Electricity trailed down her spine and the room suddenly felt warm. She dropped her gaze to the assemblage of scraps arranged on the floor again.

      “So a commissioned piece like this. How does it work? Does the client tell you what they want?”

      “This isn’t color by numbers, love.” His smile widened. He was clearly amused by the very suggestion that he’d execute someone else’s design. “I don’t have anything against anyone who does work that way, mind you. It simply doesn’t work for me. Black sheep who has an uneasy relationship with rules, remember?” He poked a thumb to his chest.

      “Good point.” She nodded sagely, her cheeks tightening in a smile. “So, what is your process? Do you sketch out your designs, then find the materials you need?”

      “Only when an idea begins in my head. Perhaps I’m inspired by something I’ve seen, there’s a concept I want to express or I have a persistent vision I can’t let go of.” Jordan stooped, rearranging a few of the metal scraps. “Other times, I select salvaged pieces like these and play around with them. Try out different configurations until a design speaks to me.”

      Jordan scrutinized the pieces intently, and Sasha assessed him.

      “So how did you come by your remarkable studio assistant Marcus?”

      “I met him during a workshop I gave for local high school students.” Jordan stood, dusting off his hands. He retrieved a clean rag from a nearby metal table and cleaned them. “Marcus was bright and incredibly talented. Eager to learn about art. But he was struggling with the rest of his schoolwork and he’d become a fixture in the headmaster’s office.”

      “Then why’d you take a chance on him?”

      Jordan shrugged, still focused on the configuration of items laid out on the concrete floor. “I see a little of myself in him, I suppose.” He raised his gaze to hers, then laughed. “And that is why I don’t normally tell people stories like this.”

      “Why? What did I do?”

      “You’ve got that face...as if you’ve just seen a baby take its first steps or something.”

      “I do not.”

      “Yes, you do. And I don’t work with kids like Marcus for recognition. Neither is it a wholly selfless act.” He gestured toward another metal table where a smaller piece was taking shape. “The boy’s got a good eye. And he’s a very hard worker.”

      “Obviously.” Sasha surveyed the piece. An assemblage of metal pipes and fittings were arranged in the shape of legs and feet. “But if he was already struggling with school...won’t a demanding job make things worse?”

      Jordan stuffed his hands in his pockets and assessed Sasha, as if debating whether he should tell her the rest.

      “I pay him a decent hourly wage, but the rest goes toward a tutor. Like I said, he’s quite bright. He just learns a bit differently.”

      “And he agreed to the deal?”

      “He’s never missed a tutoring session and his grades have improved dramatically.” Jordan’s eyes twinkled with pride. He indicated the various machines along one wall. “And he’s learned to work all of the machinery here. Skills that would serve him well if he needed to go into a trade, for a time, at least.”

      “It’s all a facade, isn’t it?” Sasha couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face or the fluttering in her chest.

      “Sorry?” Jordan crooked a brow, puzzled.

      “You behave as if you don’t care about anything or anyone but your art, but you do. You care about the environment—that’s why you use discarded wood and metal. You care about underprivileged youth—that’s why you do the workshops. And you obviously care deeply about both of your assistants.”

      “I never purported to be a monster. And if you thought as much, I doubt you’d be here now.”

      “Actually... I have a very particular reason for being here.” Sasha was reluctant to bring their lovely evening together to what would likely be an abrupt end.

      “If the answer is anything other than you being taken with the art or the artist, I’ll be terribly disappointed.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets.

      “You’re a brilliant artist, Jordan. And far more fascinating than I would’ve suspected.” Sasha’s heart beat faster. She reached into her small clutch, pulled out a business card and handed it to him. “But the reason I came tonight is because I’m a brand strategist, and I’d love to work with you.”

      Jordan accepted the card and reviewed it. One eyebrow shifted upward. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Ms. Charles, but tonight’s event was packed. We cleared a half million dollars in sales and commissions tonight alone.”

      “Impressive indeed.” Sasha nodded. “But I believe you’re capable of even more. I can help you double or triple what you made tonight. More importantly, I’ll work tirelessly to help raise your visibility internationally and smooth over some of the issues you’ve had in the past with bad press.”

      “And exactly how do you plan to do that, Ms. Charles?” He’d reverted to formal address since they were talking business. Yet, there was unmistakable flirtatiousness in his tone.

      “I can’t give all my trade secrets away for free, now can I?” She smiled. “But I would begin by honing your online presence. Currently, your social media real estate is either absent or lacking the brilliance and creativity worthy of a true creative genius.”

      “I’m a creative genius, am I?”

      “I don’t