“He’s a very special man, personally and professionally. You don’t have to know him long to see that.”

“No, you don’t. So second . . .” Maggie dusted her fingers with a napkin. “I’m going to ask what the hell’s wrong with you?”

Shannon’s brows shot up. “Excuse me?”

“Why the devil are you dragging your heels on this? The man’s offering you the moon and half the stars. An artist dreams about the chance of having what you’ve got right in your hands, and you keep bobbling it.”

“Bobbling is not what I’m doing,” Shannon corrected coolly. “Considering is.”

“What do you have to consider at this point? You have the paintings, you’ll do more.”

“It’s the doing more I’m considering.”

Maggie gave a snort and forked up more pasta. “What nonsense. You can sit there and tell me you could stop—just set your brushes aside and leave your canvas blank?”

“When I get back to New York, I won’t be free to indulge myself as I have here.”

“Indulge.” Maggie set her fork down with a clatter and leaned forward. “You have some warped idea in your head that your painting is an indulgence.”

“My position at Ry-Tilghmanton—”

“Oh, fuck that.”

“Is important to me,” Shannon finished between her teeth. “And my responsibilities there leave me little time to paint for pleasure—much less to paint for someone who you’ll agree is a demanding manager.”

“What of your responsibilities to yourself, and your talent? Do you think you have the right to toss away what you’ve been given?” The very idea of it was an abomination in Maggie’s mind and heart. “I’ve only seen your paintings of Ireland, but they show you have more than a good eye and a competent hand. You’ve got a heart that sees and understands. You’ve no right to toss that away so you can draw bottles of water.”

“You’ve been doing your homework,” Shannon said quietly. “I have a right to do what works for me, what satisfies me. And that’s just what I’ll do. If Rogan asked you to work on me—”

“You’ll not blame him because I speak my own mind.” They rose together, boxers meeting in the center of the mat. “He asked me only to come along so you’d have company when he was occupied.”

“I’m sure he thought that was considerate. Now get this straight, this transaction, however it works out, isn’t your concern. It’s between me and Rogan.”

“Transaction.” On a sound of disgust Maggie dropped back into her chair again. “You even talk more like a businesswoman than an artist.”

Shannon jerked up her chin and looked down her nose. “That fails to insult me. Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go out and get some air.”

Chapter
Nineteen

She was not going to let it get to her. Shannon promised herself that Maggie’s opinionated, out-of-line attitude was not going to sway her in any way, or put a shadow over her visit to Dublin.