He turned his face away. “I’m no artist.”
“Wait.” She grabbed the back of Mitch’s T-shirt to stop him. “I know someone who owns an art gallery in New York. Can I send him pictures of your sculptures? He might want to buy them.”
“They aren’t for sale.”
She opened her arms. “What will you do with them? Keep them hidden away forever?”
“No. After a while, I’ll throw them into the furnace. Once the glass melts, I’ll use it for something else.”
“What?” She jammed her fists on her hips. “You can’t do that.”
“Yes, I can. And I do.” He stepped around her and continued down the path.
Jaye jogged in front of him and splayed both palms on his chest with a growl of irritation. “You’re walking away from me just like your father walks out on you in mid-sentence. I find the habit very irritating.”
“What do you want me to do, Jaye? Tell you outright to keep your pretty little nose out of my business?”
“Well, yes. I’d like to hear what you are thinking, instead of watching you storm away.”
“Fine, then.” He leaned into her palms, his flinty blue eyes flashing with anger. “Don’t call me an artist. I’m no flighty kook who listens to the fanciful pull of his muse. I don’t hunger for approval from a bunch of snooty art experts who don’t care what their stinging critiques might do to a person’s psyche. And I’ll never walk away from my responsibilities here to follow my heart like some artists I know.”
Animosity rolled off him like she’d just hit a very raw nerve. She had no idea what he was talking about. “Like who?”
“I might as well tell you, because everyone else knows the story.” He led her into the factory, not stopping until he pointed at one of the large canvas paintings on the lobby wall. “See this? My mother was the artist in the family. She painted every piece of art hanging in the lobby. She helped my father and I build this place. Then, out of the blue, she left.”
Stunned, Jaye brought her hand up to her mouth. “What happened?”
“Damned if I know. One day, she walked into the studio and told me she was leaving.” Mitch exhaled and rubbed the back of his neck. “She said someday, I’d understand. I never have.”
The studio door opened and Freddie peered into the lobby. “Oh, there you are, Mitch. I’m ready to get back to work whenever you are.”
“I’ll be there in a minute.” Mitch slid both hands into his back pockets and looked at Jaye. “Is there anything else you want to know before I walk away?”
Aware of Freddie watching them, Jaye shook her head. On impulse, she gave the hard band of his forearm a poke. “I won’t be around tonight for dinner. I’m playing poker with the girls.”
“Yeah, I know.” Lips pressed into a straight line, he pointed a finger at her. “Win enough money to buy me a juicy steak for tomorrow’s dinner, instead of serving me some lousy liver.”
She blinked, surprised he was willing to joke so soon after he exposed his private pain. An admiring smile crept onto her lips. “You are definitely an enigma, Mitchell Blake.”
“You mean a superhero, right?” he smirked.
“If you are a superhero, who is your arch enemy?”
His grin faded. “Anyone who hurts Blake Glassware.”
She felt a pang of guilt. Her virtual marketing plan met every one of Nick Blake’s specifications and none of Mitch’s. Would her allegiance to Nick hurt Blake Glassware? After seeing the incredible glass sculptures in the warehouse, she knew Mitch’s instincts should be taken into account, too.
Somehow, the balance of power between the two men had to be restored. What was stopping Mitch from speaking his mind?
When she spotted Mitch’s guilty look at his mother’s painting on his way out of the lobby, Jaye had a feeling he blamed himself for his mother’s departure. If he felt responsible for the rift in his family, he probably felt some measure of blame for their business problems, too.
Veronica shuffled the deck with the deft flair of a Vegas dealer and nudged Jaye. “You seem quiet tonight. What’s wrong?”
“Sorry. I’m a bit preoccupied.” Perhaps these ladies would have some answers. “Mitch said his mother left two years ago. He thinks she wants nothing to do with Blake Glassware, but Nick told me she still owns twenty percent of the firm. If she doesn’t care about the factory, why doesn’t she sell her stake?”
“There’s no easy answer to your question.” Veronica shook her head.
Abigail made a sound of agreement. “Mitch’s folks built this factory when he was in high school. He was there every day after school, laying bricks, doing whatever they needed. After the company got up and running, his mother handled all the administrative stuff while Nick did the glasswork. She was a terrific artist, but she sacrificed painting to run the factory. Creating jobs was important to her. She was always thinking about other people before herself.”
“So true.” Sarah rubbed her pregnant belly with a sigh. “After Mitch finished college, he became a glassblower like his Dad. I think he liked working with his folks, but he didn’t see how Liz became less a wife and more an employee. Nick treated her like a partner, for sure, but not like a wife. Had to be tough for her.”
“Why did she leave?” Jaye asked.
“Rumor was she met someone, but I don’t believe it.” Abigail picked up the cards Veronica dealt. “Things were strained between Liz and Nick, but I have no idea what caused the friction. They never aired their differences at work.”
“Which could’ve been part of the problem.” Sarah wiggled her eyebrows. “The day you stop fighting is the day you stop caring.”
“Mitch was furious she walked away from everything they worked so hard to build.” Veronica watched everyone to throw their chips into the center of the table before she raised the stakes. “He and Nick got into
