Page 14 of Apparently, I’m A B!tch

Chapter8

Tristan

Friday afternoon

I recognized Rochelle.She was the brunette who came in yesterday and pulled my attention away from Nikki before I could apologize for being an asshole. I cringed as my mind went over Nikki’s big hazel eyes dropping to her plate.

“You’re the artist, Tristan Kashif, is that right?” Rochelle’s high-pitched, honey-sweet voice reigned my focus back to her.

“Yes, that’s me. How can I help you?”

Standing at my counter, she leaned forward on the surface, her pushed-up breasts straining against her pastel-blue scoop-neck tweed dress. Lilly let out a snort from behind me as I kept my eyes on my customer’s face. She already ordered a coffee and muffin to go. What else could she want?

Her obviously injected lips curved to a cat-like smile as she cocked a brow, surveying me up and down. I cleared my throat and waited.

“I heard about this shop from one of the artists I represent, and I had to see your pieces for myself. I’d like to view more.” She pointed to the wall on the right. “Particularly that piece over there, darling. It’s stunning. If you could spare some of your time, I’m an appraiser and curator. I’m looking for new talent to add to my list, and I believe I could offer you a bit of help.”

An appraiser and curator. I knew about curators. She had to have current and meaningful relationships with galleries and artists in order to value art at the right price before she arranged a sale for her clients. And she wanted to value my art?

At what cost?

I eyed her widening smile, studying the challenge in her gaze. She wanted something from me, I was sure of it. What if I couldn’t afford to pay whatever she demanded?

But Carlos, my closest friend from art school, had been telling me I needed to make more connections outside of our small circle. This woman might be able to help me do just that. I decided to hear her out, knowing it might mean that she’d make me pay through the nose for her services.

“Really? Thank you, uh.” I turned to Lilly and Shawn. “Please mind the counter for me guys. I won’t be long.”

Lilly had an odd expression on her face, screwed up and testy, like she didn’t trust the woman in front of us, but she gave me a tight nod all the same.

I rounded the counter and came to Rochelle’s side, gesturing to the painting she was referring to as we went to it.

“Now this,” she started, “is such a moving piece. Your other pieces are lovely, but this one really tells a story. When I see it, I see an immigrant woman yearning for better days. Possibly longing to be back in her home country, am I correct?”

I tightened my lips and nodded. I wasn’t sure I liked the way she described my work. Something in the tone of her voice made my Emi’s story seem so… basic, as if she was just one of many similar stories. My mother endured so much, had so much heartbreak, so much pain. Her history was anything but basic.

She dismissed my other paintings with a wave of her hand, making me feel smaller and less relevant by the second, but I doubt she noticed. Her face lit as she spoke excitedly about the popularity of immigrant struggles in art since Vik Muniz’s work became famous a decade ago.

I nodded, not saying much, letting her run out of words, giving her all of my concentration, until the door to my shop opened and tinkled closed. I glanced up, took in my latest customer and looked back at Rochelle, only to look up again.

Nikki.

If the set of her shoulders and downcast, bunched-up face was any indication, she was upset. Lilly leaned on the counter as Nikki shook her head, her beautiful waves shifting around her shoulders, catching and reflecting light, making me want to run my fingers through her strands.

But her shoulders were heaving. Was she…? No, she couldn’t be crying. Nikki didn’t cry.

Lilly rushed out from behind the counter, engulfing her in an embrace as if Nikki had just told her something horrible.

“Are you listening, Mister Kashif?” Rochelle’s indignant, high-pitched voice startled me.

“Oh, yes. I’m sorry… One of my regulars has just come in, and she looks…”

Rochelle followed my gaze and took in the sight of Nikki being held by Lilly. She clucked her tongue. “Well, I understand. Art isn’t your only focus, is it? How about I leave my card with you, and we discuss the details of your painting’s worth at a better time? Possibly over dinner this weekend if you’re free?” She lifted a brow and held out a card. “I’d love to see this piece in a gallery. Maybe I could help it get there?”

Her last words gripped my attention and forced me to hone in on that cat-like expression. I took her card and nodded. “That’d be… I’d be so grateful.”

Her lips lifted into a flirtatious smile. “Oh darling, of course you would be. We’ll chat soon then.”

She turned and left with a swagger to her hips that I barely registered.