An Uncertain Confidence

By Allie Potts

Living happily ever after is a full-time job.

Charlotte's life is on an upward swing. She's in business with her best friend and her art is finally getting noticed.

Nothing could possibly go wrong ... until everything does.

One disastrous night out ends with the sudden collapse of her best friend's husband, putting him in the hospital and leaving Charlotte to manage things alone.
Uncertain about her ability to keep her business and her aspirations for artistic stardom afloat, Charlotte enlists the help of a stranger who promises to make her dreams come true. But in doing so, Charlotte may learn just how dangerous trusting the wrong person with your dreams can be.

Will Charlotte's confidence prove to be her greatest strength or will it be her greatest mistake yet?

An Uncertain Confidence is a sweet contemporary story and fast read about friendship, trust, and the lengths we often go to protect those we love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Allie Potts
• Release date: Oct 24, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463511459

Allie Potts

Allie Potts, born in Rochester Minnesota was moved to North Carolina at a very early age by parents eager to escape to a more forgiving climate. She has since continued to call North Carolina home, settling in 1998 in Raleigh, halfway between the mountains and the sea. When not finding ways to squeeze in 72 hours into a 24 day or chasing after children determined to turn her hair gray before its time, Allie enjoys stories of all kinds. Her favorites, whether they are novels, film, or simply shared aloud with friends, are usually accompanied by a glass of wine or cup of coffee in hand. A self-professed science geek and book nerd, Allie also writes at www.alliepottswrites.com.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Cadmium Red Light and Yellow Ochre acrylic paint used in the evening’s lesson speckled her fingers and hid the small pale pucker of a burn scar. She’d been marked by worse. Even so, Charlotte held her cell phone high while trying to avoid touching the glass. Everyone raise your masterpieces and say Cork and Canvas, she called out. The group of smiling women in front of her did as instructed, each displaying their version of the demonstration painting located on the center easel. Charlotte clicked the button on the screen with her thumb, leaving a smeared print behind in spite of her effort. Great. You all look wonderful.

She’d post the group shot on the studio’s social media channel after she finished cleaning up. Charlotte’s smile slipped as the women lowered their artwork and returned to their workstations to collect their belongings. The class itself might be done, but Charlotte’s work was far from over.

A couple of empty wine bottles remained on the back table along with the lingering perfume of one of her guests. Charlotte couldn’t imagine how strong the scent was when first applied if it managed to overcome the smell of the acrylics, especially after a full hour of work. I hope you had a good time, she said, waving to the group while walking backward. Remember to take a card on your way out and give it to a friend. She pointed at slips of paper stacked at the edge of the workspace closest to the door. Both of you will get a discount on your next visit. The words rolled off her tongue on autopilot. Charlotte said the phrase so often she wasn’t surprised to be told she said it in her sleep.

Elbow deep in soapy water and surrounded by cups filled with rinsed brushes, Charlotte spent the next several minutes scrubbing used paint trays. The bell on the door chimed. Sorry, Charlotte said without looking up from her work, that was my last class for today. She paused, realizing she was turning a potential customer away. If her business partner, Rhea, had been there to witness it, Charlotte wouldn’t have heard the end of it for days. But I’d be happy to sign you up for a class next week, or are you looking for a gift card? Give me just a second to finish up. She placed one of the trays on a nearby rack to dry.

I’m not here about taking a class.

Charlotte turned around. A man stood in the entranceway. He appeared to be in his early forties, with thinning hair and a physique that once might have been athletic, but now had more mass around his middle than muscle. Drying off her hands on a rough towel, she left the remaining trays in the industrial sink and walked toward him.

He held up an envelope. I apologize if I’m here after operating hours, but I saw the lights were still on. Would you happen to be Charlotte Row?

Charlotte glanced at the letter in his hand but saw nothing that might indicate its contents. I am, she answered. She tucked a strand of errant brown hair behind her ear. Her stomach performed a flip-flop as her imagination took over. Bills weren’t hand delivered. It’s a lawsuit. Or a summons. I know it. She couldn’t think of a reason she might be served either, but a minor detail like that never stopped her brain from jumping to the worst possible conclusion. It was the downside of her creative spark, but then again, her most outlandish ideas had been proven right before.

The man grinned as he extended his free hand. Darin Hastings. His grip crushed hers as he shook it. Releasing her hand, he gave her the envelope. I didn’t want to trust the mail to deliver this to you.

What is it? asked Charlotte, while fighting the urge to drop everything and massage her bruised fingers.

It’s a letter of introduction about myself and my company. I am a corporate art consultant and artist representative. I called the other day and spoke to your associate. Didn’t she mention me?

Art consult— Charlotte frowned. Rhea took care of much of the day to day administrative tasks associated with the weekly paint and wine classes she hosted to pay for the studio space. Most phone calls were routed to Rhea’s cell phone. The arrangement allowed Charlotte to focus on creating the type of higher end art that could be sold to a much more discerning clientele when there wasn’t a class to teach. I really do need to do a better job checking DartBoard.

Her husband had developed the program in his spare time. It was supposed to help her track leads, appointments, and billings, but the user interface was awful. However, after watching him spend weeks creating it for her, weeks that he might have spent helping her in other ways around the house, she didn’t have the heart to tell him. Oh, that’s right, she lied. But I’m not clear as to why you called. What exactly does a corporate art consultant do?

Darin’s eyes twinkled. I help play matchmaker between artists and businesses interested in curating their professional collections.

Ah, she said as her mind began playing connect-the-dots. She thought of her success with Nations Bank last month. Rhea had cornered the manager, an acquaintance of her husband, Brian. The man hadn’t stood a chance against Rhea’s charm. Charlotte wound up selling five pieces at a significant profit, thanks to her friend jumping on the manager’s offhand comment regarding the bank’s lack of local flair. Like picking out what art goes on a bank’s walls?

Sure. He smiled. That’s an aspect of it. But I like to think we offer our clients more than simple wall decorations. We develop entire art programs for them, reflecting and reinforcing brand values while also helping them gain appreciable assets.

The envelope in her hand became a lot less scary. And you’re interested in my work? Now she really wished she had logged into the system and checked her messages. Rhea never seemed to have the same problem with the program she did and would have provided notes from the call. She wondered what they would have said. Charlotte glanced at the clock on the wall. She would be joining Rhea in less than an hour. She relaxed her jaw, realizing she’d clenched her teeth. She wouldn’t have to stress herself out by logging into the system after all. Her friend’s facial expressions would tell far more about what her friend thought about Darin and his organization than any comment box on DartBoard.

Darin’s smile deepened. As a curator, yes, but I’d also like to talk to you about your representation needs.

Charlotte bit her lip, thinking of all her friend had done for her, especially in the last five years. Rhea had built up a market for Charlotte’s art before Charlotte had ever dreamed of pursuing it as anything other than a hobby. She’d also been the one to put down the initial deposit on the commercial studio space and financed Charlotte’s early steps.

She shook her head. She didn’t need to be represented by some stranger—not when she had Rhea. I’m sorry you came all this way in person, but I have an agent. Rhea might not consider herself an agent, but she’d acted like one. There was no way that Charlotte would toss her aside, no matter how big time the man sounded.

Darin held his hands up. And I don’t doubt that whoever it is has done a great job of getting you this far, but he or she’s just a single person. I, however, am backed by a full-service agency with years of experience opening doors you might not even know are out there. He pointed at the envelope in her hands. I have a huge client list I would be honored to introduce you to.

Charlotte started to hand him back the envelope. Thanks, but really I am happy as I am.

Darin let his hands fall to his side without taking it back. One of the things I like best about dealing with the art industry is just how dynamic it can be. Trends are always changing. Who knows what the future holds for any of us? He pointed at the envelope again. Why don’t you keep my contact information, just in case?

Charlotte nodded. Darin wasn’t going to take it back, no matter how she protested. She placed it in her purse with the intention of tossing the entire thing into the recycling bin along with the remaining empty wine bottles. Well, it was nice meeting you, she added when he didn’t immediately turn to leave.

If you have some time, I really would appreciate seeing some of your other work in progress while I am here.

Charlotte glanced at the door and then at Darin. Well, most of what you see on the walls is mine. Though, they are classroom pieces.

Darin nodded. I thought as much, but I’m guessing you have quite a bit more squirreled away. Don’t you?

Charlotte bit her lip. I don’t know…

Just a quick peek. Please? I would like to have a better sense of your larger style. I understand you aren’t interested in changing representation, but I still do have other clients with collections to curate. I can still refer a client your way without a formal arrangement if it is the right fit.

She glanced back up at the wall clock. She could spare a few more minutes. And a sale is a sale, right? I guess I could show you some of the pieces I’m working on in the back…

He followed her to the narrow, nondescript door located on the other side of the sink at the back of the classroom. She cringed, regretting the decision almost instantly as the door swung open. Inside, a stack of cardboard boxes filled with art supplies framed either side of the doorway. Beyond that, lay a trio of mismatched work tables, a pair of under-utilized filing cabinets, a mini fridge, and two oversized chairs. A large plastic bag containing a black sequined dress was draped over one of the two chair backs. A pair of heels lay on the cushion.

Space not taken up with office furniture was littered with canvases and wooden frames which hadn’t fit in any of the boxes. The walls and the floors themselves were colored by various stains. Her cheeks heated as she realized how cluttered and unprofessional it must have looked.

She scurried over to one of the cabinets where a sketchbook lay open and closed it before he might see how rough her ideas were when they first germinated. Darin didn’t seem to find her behavior at all alarming as he moved over to one of the chairs to wait while she debated what piece might make up for her workspace’s initial impression.

She brought an abstract piece forward and showed it to Darin. On it, undulating lines of color swirled about, drawing the eye upwards as they threatened to collide, but never fully intersected.

Ah, I like what you’ve done here. The flow is optimistic, and yet there is a deep sense of stress and anxiety preventing that flow from reaching its full potential.

Charlotte beamed at the praise. That’s exactly what I was going for.

I can see why you are proud of it.

And you think your clients might be interested?

He scratched his chin. Well, it isn’t a piece for everyone, but yes, I believe there is potential. Would you mind if I took a photo?

She shifted her hold on the piece, shielding it from view. I don’t know, it’s not quite done.

I’d like to show it to one or two clients I have in mind. Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to mention it’s a work in progress. They’ll understand. You wouldn’t be the first emerging artist I’ve talked to them about.

Charlotte’s phone rang from inside the filing cabinet where she stored it when working in the front. That’s got to be Rhea wondering if I’ve left yet. I guess. She straightened the canvas to give Darin a better view.

He snapped a few pictures. Charlotte’s phone rang three more times.

I’ve kept you busy long enough, said Darin, standing once again. Thank you for your time.

Charlotte attempted her most apologetic look as she tried to return the unfinished painting to its place among the others with care. Darin seemed to understand, turning to leave without further formal goodbyes.

As soon as Darin exited the front door, Charlotte grabbed the bag containing the dress as well as the pair of heels and rushed out to her car.

She dialed her husband, Fletcher, with the engine running. I know you are going to be shocked to hear this, but I’m running late. You still okay meeting me there? She checked her rear-view mirror. I’m going to change in the bathroom at the club. Rhea assures me it’s big enough.

Don’t get mad, her husband began.

Charlotte pressed her lips together, returning the mirror to its closed position. Years of marriage had taught her that nothing good could follow those three words.

I’m not going to be able to join you tonight.

Charlotte took a breath. All things considered, it wasn’t the worst thing he could have asked her not to be mad about. But it’s Casino Night. What about our tickets? Their house was in the opposite direction. Rhea’s going to kill me if I am any later.

I put them in your glove box this morning.

She opened the compartment. Sure enough, there was the envelope containing their admission as well as their drink tickets. At least that’s something. The glove box door provided a satisfying slap as she slammed it closed. What about the sitter? She should be on her way.

I already called and canceled, and I’m sure you can find a use for a couple of extra drink tickets. Consider this your own ladies’ night out. I figure after hosting them all the time for other people, you might as well have one too.

Charlotte snorted. I’m sure I can find a use for them too, but you better have a good reason for bailing at the last minute. Again. She put the car into reverse and backed out of her parking spot. Rhea’s been planning this event for months. It’s a huge deal for her.

I know the timing sucks, but if I don’t get this proposal out by midnight tonight, I might as well hand the contract over to Service Source right now.

Service Source. Her eyes narrowed. She shifted the car into drive. Her lips tightened. She didn’t have any dealings with the company directly, but he’d told her how he’d found out about its employees whispering false rumors as to the health of his company to steal clients. He’d also told her how they liked to swoop in and undercut his bids, even if Fletcher was sure the quoted price made them unprofitable. They seemed to want nothing more than to put him out of business. She hated them on his behalf. Fine. I guess I’ll have to have fun for the both of us without you.

Sorry, babe. We can have a date night some other night.

Promises, promises, she said, hanging up the phone. She pulled down the visor and checked her face one more time. She looked good, but she could look better. Still, she’d managed to keep most of the paint out of her hair this time. She glanced at the dress hanging in the back—her secret weapon. She’d found it by chance at the mall—the last in her size on the rack—but it fit her like it had been custom tailored just for her. With a little more make-up and a nice necklace, she’d be better than good; she’d be stunning. His loss.

Well Charlotte, she said to herself, guess you’re on your own for this one.

Chapter 2

Water on the ground sent Charlotte skidding across the tiled floor on her way back from the women’s bathroom. If she hadn’t had a lifetime of experience handling similar feats of grace, she might have suffered more significant injury, but as it was, the shoe took more damage than her hind end. So much for your glamorous entrance. Just be glad you didn’t break the heel this time, she thought as she examined her shoe’s now less than pristine appearance. That’s what you get for not taking the time to break them in before tonight. She should have brought one of her old reliable pairs, but when she’d seen them on display in the store window, the temptation to look the part of a high-roller had been impossible to pass up. A dress like hers demanded nothing less.

Entering the main room, Charlotte took a long look at the table of silent auction items. Her eyes lingered on the display of her paintings located between two large vases filled with potpourri. Even now, it amazed her that people other than friends or family members would hang a piece she produced on their walls, but the list of names on the bid sheet in front of each piece was proof of how far she’d come.

Did you hurt yourself? asked Rhea.

Hurt myself? Charlotte cocked her head to the side.

"I saw you as you came