Free Beginnings by Kim Vogel Sawyer Page A

about the contract itself?” He maintained the same light, interested tone he’d used earlier when questioning her about her interest in stained-glass art. It made for a smooth transition into business talk.
    “For the most part, I’m fine with the contract. The financial compensation is fair considering the number of hours that will go into each window, and your past experience in dealing with the purchase of windows shows me you understand how much time is needed to create the artwork.”
    Sean nodded, smiling. So far, so good.
    Beth flipped the contract open, her gaze scanning the printed pages. When she located what she wanted, she turned the pages around and pointed to a block of text. “But I am concerned about the clause that gives you the right to refuse the windows once completed. That leaves me holding a piece that would, in all likelihood, be unsuitable for any other purpose. The amount of time and expense going into creating it would then be lost.”
    “That’s unlikely to happen if you meet the requirements on the first piece,” he reminded her. “You’re new in this line of business, so we’re taking a chance on you. We need to be certain you can do what we’re asking you to do.”
    “I understand that. It’s a protective clause.” Her eyes bored into his, not so much as a hint of a smile lighting her eyes. “But all the protection is at your end. How can we even the scale?”
    Sean assumed the same businesslike attitude she had adopted. “We can’t even the scale until we know for sure you can produce. Once the first window is completed to our satisfaction, you’ll have proven yourself. At that point, you become an employee of McCauley Church Construction with the same rights and privileges of all other workers.”
    Beth sucked in her lips, observing him with narrowed eyes. “So you’re asking me to purchase glass, set aside all other projects—which equates to no other means of income—until I have completed this single piece of artwork. And then it’s possible you can reject it, which would leave me holding the tab.”
    “You make it sound so cutthroat.” Sean offered a light laugh. She didn’t respond in kind. He linked his fingers together, his arms on the table, and dropped all flippancy. “Look, Beth, if you’re concerned your abilities won’t meet our expectation, you don’t have to sign that contract. I’m not going to force you. I admit this first window puts a lot of pressure on you. But when”—he purposely chose to avoid the word if— “you prove yourself, you stand to gain the means to turn this place into a full-blown studio. I gathered from your comments yesterday that that’s what you’d like.”
    Her nod told him she was listening.
    “If things go well, you could be the designer, hire a staff of workers to construct the windows, and turn more of your attention to being the artist behind the projects rather than the producer. That would free you up to work on your own projects in addition to ours.”
    Slipping a pen from the pocket of his shirt, he held it out. “We’re willing to give you a chance. Sure, it might mean the loss of a few weeks and a portion of your bank account, but it can lead to financial freedom, the expansion of your studio, and your name becoming synonymous with stained-glass art. So ... is it worth the risk?”
    For a moment, he feared he’d lost her. Her brow furrowed, her chin quivered, and she blinked rapidly while holding her breath. He offered a quick silent prayer for her to push past her fears. They both stood to gain tremendously if she would just take the chance.
    Beth released her breath in a whoosh and shook her head, her blond tresses tumbling across her shoulders. Then she jerked the contract around, flipped the pages back to reveal the last page, and picked up the pen.

EIGHT
    As soon as Sean McCauley left with the signed contract in his hand, Beth paced the studio. The opportunities made available by the contract