AllFreeNovel
Share Us
With a chuckle, Roman guides me out of the pool house, across the garden, and through the patio doors that lead to a study of mahogany shelves framed with leather-bound books and a huge desk in the same dark wood that’s topped with leather.
“Sit.” He rounds the desk and sinks into a plush leather chair.
I perch on a seat opposite, feeling a little out of place. My gaze lands on a boardroom table at the other end surrounded by chairs. This must be where Roman holds court.
He opens a drawer, pulls out a folder, and slides it across the desk. “Read this carefully. Once you’ve signed it, I’ll transfer the twenty-five grand into any account of your choosing and supply you with the new driving license and passport.”
My heart drops at the prospect of this being the end of our agreement. Leaving means starting a new life in a different state, finding studio space, but most importantly, it means losing what I have with Roman.
Not to mention being hunted by Jim.
It’s all too soon.
I glance down at the contract, my vision blurring, and I clear my throat. “Could I have some time to make sense of all the terms?”
“Of course,” he murmurs. “I want you to be happy with what you’re signing.”
A knock sounds on the door. It swings open, and Cesare swaggers in wearing a black leather apron, his hands and face splattered with blood. Nausea churns in my gut, and I stagger to my feet.
“I’d better go,” I murmur.
Cesare grins. “Don’t leave on my account.”
“Get out.” Roman shoots out of his seat.
His younger brother backs out of the door with a scowl, and Roman sends me a pained grimace. “I’m sorry, baby. You weren’t meant to see that.”
“It’s alright.” I clutch the contract to my chest. “The studio needs cleaning up, and I still need to take photos for Mr. Lubelli.”
Without waiting for him to protest, I scurry toward the patio door and bolt into the garden. It’s not that I think Cesare is dangerous. At least not to me. He’s always kept a respectful distance, as though not wanting to touch what belongs to his older brother.
But the man is completely insane.
Not because I saw him with that naked, tortured woman. It’s his eyes. They’re pale voids that could suck a person into an abyss of pain and mayhem. And his grin is so wide it could rival the Cheshire cat’s.
I don’t stop running until I reach the gallery, where I take out my phone and scan each page of the contract to create a PDF file.
I don’t mistrust Roman, but after all that bullshit where I ended up owing Gerard Lafayette money, I’m not taking any chances.
I upload the PDF to a website where legal experts can review the terms for a fixed fee. The cost is more than I can afford, but it’s nothing compared to the twenty-five grand I’ll get for selling the portrait.
An hour later, the expert messages to say that the Art Purchase Agreement transfers the intellectual property of my work to the buyer, which means they can make reproductions and print it on merchandise for sale.
Apparently, it’s unusual for artists to relinquish the intellectual property of their works, even after they’re sold. If I sign the contract, I would need permission from the buyer to even add a scan of the portrait to my portfolio.
“I’m okay with that.” I sign the contract with a flourish.
Next, I send photos of all the paintings I’ve done, including Roman’s portrait to the email address on Mr. Lubelli’s business card.
If he doesn’t like my work, I’ll just try another gallery. I can’t let that disaster with Lafayette put me off from launching my career.
My phone pings with an email from the MoCa Art gallery.
Emberly,
What beautiful artwork. May I have your phone number to discuss?
Regards,
