“So he says,” she scoffed, angered by ex-boyfriend’s never-ending quest to paint himself as the victim. With a fierce squeeze on the shutter release button, she photographed Mitch pressing a wood block against the hot glass to form the goblet’s flat base.
Concentration ribbed the space between his eyebrows, entrancing her. His fluid movements made the art of glassblowing look deceptively easy. He switched tools and carved a design into the globe’s base while he spun the project, multi-tasking with ease. Even though this was the tenth glass Jaye watched him make, she had to work hard not to watch in open-mouthed awe. The muscled, broad planes of his body looked fierce enough to plow through any football team’s offensive line, yet this rugged man created delicate goblets worthy of gracing a queen’s table.
He carried the project to a smaller furnace, inserting the glass into the oven to heat.
Jaye twisted her lens to bring the bulge of his triceps into focus. The man had magnificent arms, loaded with muscle. She tilted the camera to ogle the handsome vee of his back as it narrowed to his trim backside. Her finger squeezed the trigger, capturing the sight of his taut ass in jeans before her conscious mind could discourage the impulsive act.
He brought the project back to the workbench and cut a rim into the globe. Inspecting the glass with a discerning squint, he handed the finished piece to Freddie and approached Jaye. “What is David getting treatment for?”
Her insides quivered like a cornered rabbit. She knew Mitch wouldn’t let her scamper away from his questions, but she hated talking about David’s bad choices like he suffered from some sort of a disease. “He is being treated for addiction.”
A blond brow arched into a forehead beaded with sweat. “Alcohol?”
“No.” Shame heated her cheeks.
The curiosity on Mitch’s features grew more pronounced. “Then what?”
She snapped the cap onto her camera’s lens. “Why do you want to know?”
“Because knowing will explain a lot.”
“You’re wrong.” She jabbed her finger into his hard chest. “Stay out of this.”
His brows knit together, forming a deep furrow. “Are you saying you can surf the Internet for crap about me, but I can’t look for anything about you?”
“There’s a big difference,” she fumed. “I wasn’t looking for details about your ex.”
He leaned so close the blunt bridge of his nose bumped hers. “My ex isn’t some addict who is trying to track me down.”
Jaye gasped and narrowed her gaze. “That’s a low blow.”
“Don’t walk away. Talk to me, Jaye. Tell me what David might do if he finds you.”
Her chin jutted upward. “I can take care of myself.”
“I know you can, honey, but why not use me? I’m six feet, two hundred pounds, for cryin’ out loud. I’ll stop anyone who’s stupid enough to come after you.”
Honey? The gruff affection in his voice made her brain crash. She frowned at him for a moment while her thoughts rebooted. Having trouble believing he’d protect her without demanding more information, Jaye shook her head. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t need a personal bodyguard.”
“How big is your ex?” Mitch leaned toward her. “Can you fight him off if he grabs you?”
“I can outrun him.”
“Are you sure?” Mitch captured her wrist in his hand. “He may be quicker than he looks.”
“What are you trying to prove? Do I have to watch out for David? Or you?” She snapped out of his grip and walked across the studio, unnerved by their exchange. Unzipping her camera case with an angry yank, she dismantled her camera with less care than she usually devoted to the task.
A glassblower sauntered toward her.
Jaye tried to remember his name. Pete? No, Phil.
He nodded toward the furnaces, where Mitch remained. “Don’t take a picture of him now. His scowl will break your lens.”
She bit her bottom lip to ward off a smile.
Phil tilted back his baseball cap and scratched his forehead. “Don’t worry. Mitch may look fierce when he’s frustrated, but he’s a reasonable guy. Need me to talk to him?”
“No, thank you.” She let out a tired sigh. “He’s upset with me because I won’t tell him about my ex-boyfriend, but I don’t want him to get tangled up in my personal soap opera.”
“An ex-boyfriend, huh? No wonder the vein is throbbing in Mitch’s temple.” Phil moved a couple of glassblowing tools out of Jaye’s way. “He likes to know what’s going on with the people he cares about. His concern about you is a compliment.”
“You’re right.” After flicking her bangs out of her eyes, she zipped up the camera case. “He is the type who’d solve every employee’s problems.”
“Your problems seem to interest him more than most.” Phil gestured to a hallway obscured by a large metal rack of shelves. “Have you ever been in his office?”
“No.” Her hands stilled. “Why?”
“Wander in there sometime. He makes some amazing stuff. If you get a chance to look, you might understand why he’s pressing you to trust him.” A shadow of sadness passed over Phil’s face. “Try to see the sculpture on his desk before he destroys the piece.”
Jaye jammed her hands into her back pockets and thought of the glass sculptures he routinely threw away. “Why does he destroy his work?”
“He’s terrified he’s got the soul of an artist.”
“I don’t understand. Artists are special. Creative people possess an incredible gift.” She lowered her voice, not wanting anyone else to overhear their conversation—least of all, Mitch. “Why doesn’t he want anyone to think of him as an artist?”
“Ever work with an artist? They’re temperamental, passionate, and prone to drop everything just to follow their heart.” Phil’s brown eyes grew somber. “Like
