Chapter Three
It had been two months since Emily had left her job at the Art studio. Two months since Kurt had offered her the job as his ghostwriter/research assistant, and the book still wasn’t finished.
Not that Emily minded. To tell the truth, she looked forward to the writing sessions in Kurt’s small office at the school more than she looked forward to any other part of her week.
And, that wasn’t just because, as Audrey so bluntly put it ‘you want to fuck your boss’. Though, when Emily was completely honest with herself, she had to admit there was a hint of truth to that.
But, the subject of Paul Gaugin and Vincent Vangoh life and its effect on their work was more interesting than she could have imagined. As she spent time looking through biographies about the two men, she learned facts that had alluded her even in her graduate Art History studies.
Things like how Paul Gaugin’s paintings of native peoples in the places where he traveled were often subtle critics of colonialism. Or how certain psychologists posthumously diagnose Paul Gaugin with Narcissism.
Given all this interesting new information, it was almost easy to ignore the fact that she was spending hours alone with Kurt. Or, it would have been if it were not for this new habit he’d recently formed.
The one where he would laugh and touch her arm when she said something funny, or put a hand on her shoulder and lean in when she’d found an interesting fact.
Now, as he leaned over her chair, one warm hand on her shoulder, his lips just inches from hers, it was not as easy as it had been a moment before when they were on opposite sides of the room.
“You really think we could use that?” he asked. Emily felt his breath tickle her cheek when he spoke and a shiver ran down her spine when she felt the weight of his hand through her shirt.
She had to clear her throat before she could answer him.
“I think it is,” she said. “When he talks in this letter about the ivy circling around the willow tree, it’s clear he’s talking about sin circling around a man’s soul. More specifically his. Since this was written just after he was admitted to the mental hospital, I think there’s a pretty good chance he’s talking about the ear incident.”
“True,” Kurt said thoughtfully. “But, he could be talking about almost having stabbed his friend. That could be the sin. Not the prostitute.”
Emily shook her head and squinted her eyes, trying to focus on the letter and not on the way Kurt’s aftershave smelled, wafting right under her nose. And, she had to admit, it did smell exceptional.
“The stabbing was a moment of anger,” she said. “The ivy metaphor makes it seem like this sin started off as something small, even something nice and pretty. Then it grew until it almost choked him. That means it’s something that’s been going on for a long time.”
Kurt clucked his tongue thoughtfully and pulled away from her. As he began pacing the room Emily told herself it was stupid to miss the warm feeling of his hand on her shoulder.
“But, Vangoh lived with a bunch of artists in Paris,” Kurt said. “Those guys frequented brothels all the time! Why would he think it was sinful?”
“Well,” Emily said thoughtfully. “Vangoh was more religious than most of his contemporaries. Remember, he was studying to be a pastor at one point. And, maybe it wasn’t the sex that was bothering him?”
“What else could it be?”
“Maybe…he felt like he was getting too close to Rachel. The prostitute he was seeing,” Emily ventured. “Maybe he thought that his relationship with her was starting to hurt them both.”
“So, you think she was the ivy?”
“It’s a possibility.”
Emily turned back to the book open in front of her. Kurt’s eyes stayed fixed on her. She could see him watching as she highlighted the relevant passage. Something in his gaze made her feel strange. Like the right side of her body was being gently grazed by a roaring fire.
He’d been doing that more and more lately. Keeping his eyes on her even when she wasn’t speaking or looking back at him.
Now, she waited for him to start pacing again. He didn’t. His grey eyes remained fixed on her and the fire she felt on her side turned into a blush in her cheeks.
Emily bit her lip, wondering if she should say something.
Kurt beat her to it.
“Do all women do that?” he asked.
“Do what?”
“Analyze one sentence to death until it means something that makes sense to them.”
Emily let out a chuckle as she closed the book and turned to him.
“Does that mean you disagree with my theory?” she asked. There was a challenge in her voice and she raised her eye brow at the man across from her.
Kurt shrugged.
“Doesn’t really matter if it’s right or not, does it?” he asked finally. “We can’t get inside his head. As he’s dead, we can’t ask him what he meant. And, this fits the romance angle we’re going with. So, we might as well leave it in.”
Kurt turned away and whatever fire was in his gaze before was snuffed out. Heaving a sigh and turning back to the desk, Emily caught sight of the one, small picture in the office of Kurt’s wife. Cheryl.
“How’s your wife doing?” she asked before she could stop herself. Maybe she was trying to remind herself that Kurt was married. Maybe she was just looking for something to take her mind off sin and sex.
Either way, Kurt’s reply was as non-committal as it had been about Vangoh’s letter.
“She’s fine,” he said. “She’s at her dad’s condo in Malibu again. She says she’ll be gone for another two weeks.”
“Oh.”
Emily discovered that this was the only thing she could say in response as she glanced back at the photo on the desk.
In the picture, Kurt’s arm was draped around the petite, well dressed blonde woman. A tall, stately looking grey haired man stood just to the right of the couple. Emily knew that this was Warren Cleft. Retired real estate mogul, the town’s resident billionaire and Felusia College’s biggest donor.
Emily had met him once at a fundraiser. They’d done nothing more but shake hands and exchange ‘nice to meet you’s in a receiving line, but, the way Warren Cleft had gripped her hand, the entirely fake but intimidating smile he’d given her, made her feel as though this man was not to be trifled with.
“It’s getting late,” Kurt said, finally drawing Emily’s eyes away from the photo. “We should probably wrap up. I’m sure you’ve got places to be.”
“Not really,” Emily said closing the book. “Just another night of thesis writing.”
“Hope I’m not putting you too far behind.”
“No,” she said. “In fact, this research is giving me some good ideas for my paper. I should really be paying you.”
This time, it was Kurt’s turn to let out a chuckle.
“No money needed,” he said. “Though, I wouldn’t mind a co-author credit.”
“That would kind of defeat the purpose of a student thesis,” she said. “I’m supposed to write it on my own.”
She looked up at him and his eyes were glinting behind his glasses as he gave her a playful smirk.
“Well,” he said. “In that case, we’ll just keep this our little secret.”
He winked at her and Emily felt her face flush bright red. She gave him the best smile she could in return.
Emily grabbed the book from the table where she was working and moved across the room to put it back in its place on the shelf. When she moved past Kurt, her foot caught on the spine of one of the large books littering the office floor.
Just before she fell face first onto the ground, she felt a warm arm wrap around her waist, catching her. Emily turned to Kurt, a word of thanks or a joke about her clumsiness ready. Whatever she had half planned to say died on her lips. When she looked up at him, his eyes were boring into hers. Concern for her was present there but there was also something else. Something like a deep, passionate fire burning just underneath the calm, logical surface Kurt so often presented.
The look sent shivers down her spine. Knowing that, if they stayed like that one more second, she would do something she regretted, she gave an awkward chuckle and righted herself. She told herself that she had imagined the slightly disappointed expression on his face when she moved away from him.
“Thanks,” she said putting the book in her hands back on the shelf. “It’s getting a little cluttered in here, isn’t it?”
“I’ve got to admit, you have a point about that,” Kurt said. He’d turned away from her and taken off his spectacles. He rubbed his nose the way he always did when something had either frustrated or upset him.
“Maybe when we work on Friday a change of venue would be in order.”
“That’s a good idea,” Emily admitted. “A change of scenery would be nice.”
“It’s settled then,” Kurt said. He turned back to her and, whatever she’d heard in his voice before, the calm façade was back again. “I’ll see you at my house on Friday.”
Emily blinked as something strange twisted in her stomach.
“Your house?”
“Well, since my wife’s out,” he said. “And there’s a lot more room there, I might as well use it for something. Does that sound ok? Or would you rather meet here again?”
It was a more loaded question than Kurt realized.
On the one hand, when she thought about spending another two-hour session in this crowded office, increasingly cluttered with books, papers and Chinese takeout boxes, she could easily imagine another near trip where she ended up in Kurt’s arms. And, the next time it happened, she was not sure she would be able to stop herself from reaching up and kissing him.
At the same time, she’d never been to Kurt’s house. She knew it was a large, mansion type place in the foothills outside of town. Suddenly, she pictured herself in a slinky dress sharing a glass of wine across an elegant table from Kurt.
Even though she told herself this idea was more than a little silly, it was hard to shake it.
But, she knew she had to. Aside from the danger small quarters presented, it was getting difficult to find any books she needed in the cluttered office. And, if they wanted to finish this section of the book, being able to find books was imperative.
“Yeah. That sounds good,” Emily said before she could analyze the situation any further.
“Great,” Kurt answered as evenly as ever. “I’ll see you around four o’clock.”
Though Emily tried to smile and feel nothing more than relief at the venue change, she couldn’t help the uncomfortable little squirm that filled her stomach as she left the office that night.
Being alone with Kurt at his luxurious mansion was a more dangerous position than she’d ever anticipated.