Page 25 of For Your Love

Ben had been a big supporter of his and right now, Finn was grateful for his assistance, because it might be a rocky road ahead with Reed. “I’m flattered by Ben’s confidence in me.”

“I understand why you want to avoid public events, but you’ll have to be at the gala like everyone else, particularly if you’re interested in a leadership role here. I’ll do everything I can to keep you out of the spotlight but excusing you from attending will appear like preferential treatment. Reed would never stand for that, especially because of your father.”

“I understand,” he replied curtly. In fact, he had no doubt what this conversation was really all about. It was a polite warning to not only attend the event, but to avoid doing anything that would bring attention to himself as Patrick O’Connor’s son. He would attend the gala, but he had no control over the shit his father was capable of generating.

CHAPTER 9

COLLEEN

“All right. Let’s get started,” Colleen said, standing before her students in the forum classroom. “Today we’re going to finish up with student presentations about which artist impressed you the most this semester. Remember, it’s the why that matters, not just what you liked. Use the terminology you’ve learned and apply it to your example.”

The students got settled in their seats.

“Okay, Dylan Turner. You’re up.”

Dylan was the shyest student she’d ever had, and she smiled at him encouragingly as he approached the podium. Dressed in long cargo shorts and an old Billabong T-shirt, Dylan ambled toward the front of the classroom.

“Umm, I forgot my laptop at home,” he said sheepishly.

“It’s okay. I have mine here.” Colleen opened the class folder on her computer. “Who’s the artist?” She scrolled through her lectures, ready to do a search on the artist’s name.

“Thomas Kinkade.”

Colleen did a double take at Dylan. She never would have guessed Dylan was a Kinkade fan and she was curious to hear his presentation.

The classroom door opened at the top of the stairs. The bright light flooding in was distracting and Colleen looked up to see who had entered the classroom.

“Sorry for the interruption,” a familiar gruff voice said.

Robert Leventis took a seat in the back. Robert was her supervisor and department chair. Also a know-it-all, and all-around jerk. He was supposed to evaluate one of her lectures this semester, but he always blew her off. Of course, he chose the final day of class to appear. And worse, one of her students was about to discuss Thomas Kinkade, a popular artist she had mocked for years for making paintings that were overly sentimental. Including him in her course was a snarky move on her part, but more importantly in this moment, Kinkade was not one of the artists on the approved course curriculum. And Robert was known for insisting that the art history faculty don’t deviate from the rules.

“Welcome, Robert. Glad you could join us this morning. Everyone, this is Professor Leventis, and he’s here to observe our class.” Observe me, is more like it, she thought, standing up a little straighter.

Robert bowed his head in reply, the dim overhead lights glinted off the tips of his snow-white handlebar mustache.

“Oh, God,” Dylan muttered. He was ashen and looked like he was ready to vomit.

“Don’t worry about him.” Colleen found the painting of the cozy cottage she’d used during her lecture. “He’s not grading you, I am. Okay?”

He gave a nod.

“Good,” she said, patting his arm.

Colleen took a seat in the front row and picked up her pen, writing Dylan’s name at the top of her grading sheet.

Dylan cleared his throat, saying, “To be honest, I didn’t want to take this class, but my parents said I had to, or else they were going to take away my surfboards.”

A few students snorted and chuckled. This opening statement was definitely not an endorsement for her class.

“No offense, Ms. Murphy,” he said, looking shyly in her direction. “There’s only one artist you showed us that made a difference to me. And I think you meant it as a joke.”

Colleen winced. Robert is here to watch her be humiliated by a know-nothing surfer.

“Anyway, I want to talk about the painter, Thomas Kinkade. Ms. Murphy showed us this painting he called ‘Foxglove Cottage’ as an example of how he works with light. Normally, I don’t like this kind of picture. It looks like something my grandmother would buy.”

She couldn’t disagree with that assessment.

“But, the more I looked at it, the more I realized something,” Dylan said, glancing at his notes. “Ms. Murphy has said over and over again that the job of the artist is to take the viewer into the world of the painting.” He used the computer cursor to point to specific details. “The light coming from the windows is inviting. There’s a plume of smoke coming out of the chimney, like someone’s got a fire going. It’s as if you’re expected for dinner at this homey cottage.”

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