Page 2 of His Apprentice

This piece is shit. I know it’s shit.

I count to ten, unsure if I can bear to break it down again. Weeks of work will be gone with nothing to show for it if I do. I glance at my pile of orders for smaller commissioned pieces, things I can do in my sleep even though they serve as opportunities to practice new techniques and perfect old ones. I’ve been ignoring them in favor of this giant piece of garbage, which has rewarded me with torment and time wasted. No one even knows about this piece. It’s just for me—the embodiment of a dream that has plagued me every night for weeks, a desire just out of reach.

I’m torn away from making my decision when the doorbell rings. What in the holy fuck? The only person who would dare to ring the bell is my assistant, Freddy, and there’s no reason he’d be ringing it now. I don’t want to murder a wayward door-to-door salesperson, so I just ignore it and go back to wondering if it would be better to let this dream go, if I want to tear down several weeks of work. And yet, I’m not sure I can bring myself to give up on it; its hold on me is too strong.

The damn doorbell rings again. I turn to look at the camera feed, which shows a girl waiting outside, bobbing from foot to foot. A few moments pass, and she rings it again. I call Freddy to demand he take care of whatever this situation is.

“Is it girl scout cookie season?” I ask, my tone dripping sarcasm. “Because there’s one at my door right now and she won’t go away.”

He sighs, as if I’m the problem. “She’s not a girl scout. That’s your new intern. I’ve sent you a dozen emails about this.”

“I haven’t checked my email in two weeks.” Not since I started waking up tormented by half-formed visions of a figure whose features I can never quite make out. “Why do I need an intern? I’ve never had one before. It sounds like something you just made up to torture me. A sculpting internship?”

“It’s good for taxes,” he assures me. “And the last time I was at the studio, I was worried for your safety. You’ve got so much crap piled up that if one little thing gets dislodged, you might get crushed under the ensuing avalanche.”

Nonsense.

When I look around my studio, however, I can see what he means. Small, discarded pieces are piled up on the kiln, tools are lying around in random places that make no sense, and there are papers scattered everywhere. Boxes both empty and full sit in random corners, just waiting to fall on the next person that walks by.

“Fine. I guess I could use someone to clean up a little around here.”

He snorts, and I hang up on him, then holler to the girl scout that I’m coming, since she’s now holding down the damn buzzer. As if I wasn’t already in a terrible mood. I throw a tarp over my latest failed attempt before heading for the door to let her in, shaking my head as I go.

I swing open the door and bark at her to get her ass inside, as if seeing the sunlight might actually kill me. Instead of listening, she stares at me, unmoving, with her mouth hanging open as her light brown hair blows in the breeze. Her skin is pale, almost as pale as the clay I’d been using just minutes ago. But unlike the clay, she’s full of life, of vigor, her cheeks pinkening under my gaze.

“Are you coming in or not?” I ask sharply, feeling strange under her wide-eyed scrutiny. I don’t do the whole starstruck fan thing. “I’m shutting the door in three seconds whether you’re in or not. I’ve got work to do.”

She snaps back to attention and blinks at me, a slow smile curling her rosy red lips. Something shifts in my chest, and I suddenly feel much too warm, despite the pleasant breeze outside.

“Yes, yes, I’m coming in,” she says breathlessly, scampering past me. When she brushes against my arm, she leaves a trail of heat on my skin in her wake. “I can’t wait to see your studio.”

I swallow hard and turn to follow her, letting the door slam shut behind me. As she flits around my studio, looking around at everything with wide eyes, I can’t help but check out her tight little ass underneath the clay-stained jeans she wears. With no small amount of effort, I force my gaze up to the back of her head. This bright, beautiful whisp of a girl is less a girl and more a full-blown catastrophe waiting to happen.

And she’s my new intern. Fuck.

Chapter 3

Wren

I have to race past him to keep from ogling him more, but luckily I get distracted by being in a real artist’s space for the first time. His materials and tools are scattered everywhere in the cottage, along with small pieces at varying stages of being finished. There’s something big in the middle of the work area, covered by a large canvas, so I can’t see even an inch of what it might be. Something amazing, I’m sure. I’m nearly overcome with curiosity.

Pierce grumbles something in my direction before pulling a fresh block of clay onto his table. He begins working it with his strong hands, and as hard as I try not to stare at him again, I’m mesmerized by those long fingers shaping the clay. It makes me feel a bit weak and woozy, like I’m on a ship in the middle of the ocean, rather than inside a surprisingly dark and gloomy studio. The more I force my eyes away from Pierce, the more I notice the place is a wreck, like a tornado somehow slipped in through shuttered windows and through everything into chaos. I would have never expected his studio to look like this. He has a reputation for being a perfectionist, after all.

While I pretend to inspect his tools, I sneak more glances at him. He an intense scowl on his face as he works. It’s downright scary, despite how good looking he is, so I concentrate on his hands again, just to study his technique. But instead of thinking about those dexterous, clay covered fingers forming something new, I’m thinking about what they would feel like stroking my face.

I can’t help scolding myself. I’m surrounded by the work of a truly brilliant artist, and I’m honestly wondering what his hands would feel like…on my body? Not even an hour or two after telling Maci that we need to focus on our dreams, here I am, getting very distracted from those dreams.

“Can you do something other than stare at me?” Pierce snaps.

I jump and feel myself turn red with embarrassment. I try to play it off like I’m only interested in his process. “Sorry,” I squeak. “I just admire your work so much and really want to learn from you.”

Oh, what I wouldn’t want to learn from him … No! That’s not what I’m here for!

I shake away my desperate thoughts. I need to stay professional and stop drooling over my new boss. His jaw twitches as he looks at me, his dark eyes straying from my face and trailing down my body. I swear, his gaze almost feels like a physical caress against my skin. His expression is so turbulent that he looks more like a storm about to break. By the time our eyes meet again, and his glare has intensified.

“Um, what do you want me to do?” I ask nervously. I knew he had a reputation for brooding, but he’s way more intense than I anticipated.

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