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And why am I comparing them at all? I turn my attention to the paintings. “May I?” I ask, pointing to a few works that are turned toward the wall.
Cameron gestures for me to look. We fall into easy conversation about his muse, his work, and the paintings he has completed. When I ask about the woman on the massive painting on the floor, with her tortured eyes and downturned full lips, he just shakes his head and says, “She was someone I used to know.”
It sounds like a scripted line, and when he glances at me after saying it, I wonder if women’s clothes vanish after his tortured artist routine the same way they do after his blazing smile. I just give him a tight smile and turn back to the painting.
I’ve been doing a lot of research about galleries, and I’ve even reached out to a couple of specialist lawyers, so when he asks me about the particulars of having his work displayed in my gallery, I’m able to sound like I know what I’m talking about. I’ll charge a fifty percent commission, and I will set the prices. I’m flexible on taking on the costs of framing and presentation. I give him details about the insurance and liability while his work is in my care.
As Cameron and I discuss the terms, I realize that maybe Idoknow what I’m talking about. I’ve been a business owner for almost all of my adult life. I’ve negotiated and advocated for myself. I’ve consulted experts and lawyers, and I’m able to answer most of Cameron’s questions without hesitation.
I may not have a degree in art history, and I’ll need to do a ton of research going forward, but I’m already planning on hiring consultants to help me when I need them. I can do this—and I can do it well.
Cameron seems surprised by none of my terms. We shake hands, and he keeps his fingers wrapped around my palm. “You have a very interesting face,” he tells me.
I think that’s a compliment. “Thank you?”
“I’d love to paint you sometime.”
My brows jump. “Oh. Um.” Sebastian would blow his ever-loving lid. Not that I would let that stop me from doing anything I wanted to do, but having another man paint me…no. That’s too intimate for me. “I’m not sure that’s entirely appropriate. Let’s see how the gallery opening goes, shall we?”
Another panty-melting smile, but the effect is less than it was the first time. I can see through it now. “Sounds like a plan, Ms. Neves. I look forward to working together.”
His words are delivered like smooth honey, with hidden promises folded between the words. I choose to take them at face value. When I leave his studio, I feel elated and exhausted. He’s going to come view the space early next week to make sure it’s a good fit for his work, and I’m going to send him a contract to review.
Then, minutes after leaving Cameron Fuller’s gallery, I get a phone call from one of the artists that had been avoiding me. A fierce grin steals over my lips when she asks me to meet and talk about her work.
I’m doing it. I’m opening an art gallery, and it’s going to beamazing.
By the timeevening rolls around and my sister has fed and washed her kids, I’m showered and ready for my date with Sebastian.
I’m wearing my favorite dress. It’s emerald-green silk and has a square neckline that hits just below my collarbones, has little spaghetti straps, and falls on a bias to an inch above my knee. I’ve paired it with patent black strappy sandals with a spike heel that make my legs look a mile long. This dress is the epitome of sexy elegance. The back dips low to reveal the top half of my spine, but you could never call it especially revealing.
Piper arches her brows. “You’re looking very nice. Going somewhere?”
“Uh,” I answer. “Yeah.”
Piper and I haven’t exactly addressed the Sebastian Finch issue. They’ve been civil with each other at the gallery, but it’s not what I would call a warm relationship. I definitely haven’t told her about the kiss…and everything else.
“Hot date?” Piper snaps the lid on a Tupperware and puts it in the fridge before turning to the sink full of dishes.
I need to get this out in the open so there’s no hostility between Sebastian and Piper. “Listen, Piper,” I start—and the doorbell rings. My heart takes off at a gallop.
Piper tilts her head. “You going to get that? And more importantly, are you going to tell me who it is?”
Before I can answer, I hear Alec’s voice at the front door. “Who areyou?”
“I’m Sebastian,” a deep voice replies. I can hear the smile in his words. “Who are you?”
“I’m Alec.” A deep breath. “MOM! A MAN NAMED SEBASTIAN IS AT THE DOOR.”
Piper just stares at me. I cringe. “Were you going to tell me about this?” she asks.
“I’ve been meaning to say something, but…” My words just peter out.
She blinks. “I see. His coming back to town and working for Grant on your project suddenly makes a lot more sense.” She doesn’t sound happy about it.
“I’ll tell you everything when I get back. I promise.”
“Be careful, Georgia. The man is bad for you.”
