Excerpt from The Prize by Jill Bialosky, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"Fisher again?" He smiled, not to patronize, but with affection. He'd seen artists who listened to their mentors this way before.

She nodded and smiled back. Then she tipped out of her chair and crouched in front of the painting. Again she touched the layered paint with her finger, carefully scraping off a piece of dust. "If you take me on," she said, her earlier insecurity fading. "Would you make them see that my interest in anguish and destruction isn't overwrought or sentimental?"

"I wouldn't have to. It's all there on the canvas. All that complexity. Between that and your process, the references you're making… It's brilliant. We'll position you as a new old Master." He stood up and returned to view the first painting again. "What makes this successful is its timelessness, the way it slips free of any attempt to nail down its meaning or objective."

She put her head in her hands and he wondered if he'd said something to upset her. She took her hands away, trembling, and explained that she hadn't slept in days. She'd been frightened to let anyone in the studio, and his reaction to the work moved her. For a moment he looked into her grainy eyes and soft prettiness and thought if she weren't so young and childlike, he'd fall in love with her.

The next morning, Agnes Murray sent him a bouquet of white roses. I'm so glad we found each other, the note said. When do we begin?

Excerpted from The Prize by Jill Bialosky. Copyright © 2015 by Jill Bialosky. Excerpted by permission of Counterpoint Press. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.