Exposure - Kelly Moran Page 0,1

nature settings. He wasn't particular with his models either. Some were full figured, others thin as a rail. He made them all beautiful. Desired.

She owned one of his photographs from very early in his career, of a blonde in a white sheet, laying over a boulder near a waterfall in Argentina. What was he doing in Alaska?

"What does he want?"

Because, in honesty, Hoan Dwell was out of her league. Though they did work with established artists, none were of his caliber. He'd had shows in New York, Milan and Paris. Most of Elements' bookings were new, upcoming artists and very small market. They'd launched quite a few careers, but…wow.

"He wants to see you." Nicole bounced on her toes.

Raven closed the program she was working on and put her PC into sleep mode. "All right. Send him in."

As Nicole sashayed away, Raven blew out a calming breath and steeled her face to pleasantly neutral. He nodded once to Nicole and ate the distance over the bamboo floors to the open staircase. Smoothing her hands down her plain black dress, she rose when he reached the doorway.

"I'm Raven Crowne, and you are?"

He accepted her handshake with a firm, brief grasp and sat in one of the brown leather chairs across from her desk. "Michael Hawthorn. Agent for Hoan Dwell."

She nodded, as if this were an everyday occurrence. "What can I do for you today, Mr. Hawthorn?"

His eyes were a cold gray, but his smile was assuredly amused. "My client would like to discuss having an exhibit at your gallery."

She leveled him with a stare, raising her brows. "No offense, Mr. Hawthorn, but why would Mr. Dwell be interested in such a small gallery in Tartok Crest?"

"Can you not handle a showing for him?"

Her hackles rose, but she didn't take his bait. "Of course, we can. Elements has every means to accommodate his work. My question is why would he want to?"

"Mr. Dwell's quite enamored with your gallery."

He looked around her office, taking in the burnt sienna-colored walls and small prints she'd collected from new artists. Her tastes ran wide from surrealism to impressionist. If it struck a chord with her, it stayed. She designed the gallery below her second floor loft with clean, simple lines and naturist elements. Glass and wood. Wide open floor plans. Beams carved from indigenous birch. A frosted glass ceiling made to look like branches weaving out, as if standing on a forest floor with sunlight spilling down. She knew what she'd created was a work of art in itself, utilizing both the vast region that surrounded the location and new touches.

It had taken five years, but she'd paid off the investors. The gallery was hers now, and she was so damn proud. He seemed satisfied with what he saw, nodding his head.

And then she realized what he'd said.

She leaned forward and rested her forearms on the black walnut desk. "Mr. Dwell has been here before?" Surely not. She wouldn't have missed that. Then again, Hoan Dwell was an elusive mystery of a man. He didn't have his own portrait taken and he avoided media. Aside from his models, who supposedly signed a confidentiality agreement before posing, no one had laid eyes on him.

"He saw the article on your gallery in Architectural Digest this past fall. He came to one of your showings last month."

The information rattled around in her brain, and she came up blank in connecting the dots. She didn't know what the man looked like, so she wouldn't know if she'd seen him. "He didn't introduce himself."

One corner of his mouth quirked, not including her in the joke. "He's a private man."

"So private he can't strike up a conversation with someone he wants to do business with?"

Slowly, he unbuttoned his suit coat and reached inside the breast pocket, pulling out a business card. He slid it across the desk with one finger. "My card, Miss Crowne. Call me if you'd like to set up a meeting. Mr. Dwell is unconventional. I'm instructed to tell you he'd like to arrange dinner with you, at a restaurant of your choosing, to discuss…things. Soon." He rose from his seat and nodded. "Good day."

Good day? That was it?

She stood. "I need more information than this, Mr. Hawthorn. I don't just meet men I don't know for dinner…"

"Consider it a business transaction, Miss Crowne. You'll be meeting in public."

His tone suggested he knew about her fear of strangers, men specifically. And why. A bead of sweat trailed down her back.