I started to open my mouth to protest, but she'd gotten the situation exactly correct. If Carter wasn't careful, I might just tackle him as soon as he got back, driven more out of sexual frustration than anything else.
"Here, I'll help bring you down," Portia went on after a minute, when it became clear that I was thoroughly off in daydream-land. "How's it going with the whole sale of the sculpture to pay off Barry deal? Making progress?"
I sighed, my warm fuzzy bubble deflating. "Not so much. I've called all of the whales that Preston had on his list, and even though I finally managed to get through to a couple of them, none of them really seemed interested in the sculpture. I left messages for the others, but that doesn't mean that I'll hear anything. And Barry stopped by to harass me some more, too."
"Yeah? What'd he say this time?"
"Just the same stuff, again and again," I replied. "That he really didn't want to have to file any sort of official action against me, but if I couldn't meet the payment deadline, he'd have no choice. Like it's not his fault that he's an ass."
"You should have hit him with one of those stone dicks," Portia declared. "Go on, beat him a few times with one of those. Let's see him explain those bruises!"
I grinned. "Actually, I did point out that they were quite valuable, and asked him if he'd be willing to accept fifteen thousand dollars of stone penis statue instead of ten thousand dollars in cash."
"He didn't go for it, I'm guessing."
I giggled. "His eyes practically bugged out his head. I waved one of the dicks at him, and he almost fell over as he backed up, scrambling to get away from me. At least, I know how to keep him back if he tries to make any advances towards me again."
"You should have brought one of those to the divorce proceedings, scared him off from the beginning," Portia picked up the thread from me. "Maybe that's the secret to managing jerks - just keep a few dicks around that are bigger than them! I could get one of those and bring it to my office, use it as a way to test the theory!"
We both laughed, took sips of our wine.
"So, weekend," Portia went on after a minute had passed. "Got plans? Celebrating surviving your first full week as an art gallery manager?"
I shrugged. "I think I'm just going to try to look for some odd jobs, see if I can save up my money," I answered. "I'm still kind of hoping that I can convince Barry to let me get on some sort of payment plan, even if he has to charge me interest for it. Pay him back in monthly installments instead of all at once. I really want it over and done with, but I'd take paying in chunks over having to think of something like going to my parents for help."
"Right. Stay in, save money," Portia agreed. "But really, Becca, I hope you figure this out. This is the last thing holding you back, before you can move on. You need to just find a solution, so you can really start thinking about making yourself happy again."
"You just want to see me jump into bed with another guy," I told her.
She shrugged. "So? Like I told you before, it would really help you move on, mentally speaking - and don't tell me that you weren't thinking about it with Carter."
I couldn't lie to her, so I clamped my lips shut. Portia gave me a canny look, and then went on.
"Clearly, though, my advice fell on deaf ears, at least in regards to Carter. What, you think that he's more relationship material?"
"I'm not saying anything," I answered stubbornly before locking my jaw shut again.
"And that's why you ought to go see Onyx again," she went on, as if I'd fully agreed with her. "Come on, a sexy artist like that? I bet he's absolutely amazing in bed. And I haven't even personally met him! Just go there, ask him if he needs a model, and strip down. He'll let you see his own stone dick, and you'll get the release that you so desperately need!"
"And I think that is enough wine for us," I declared, finishing off my glass and then pushing it aside so that I wouldn't be tempted to go refill it. "Time for me to get home to the only man that I really need in my life."
"Ah, vibrator?"
"Shout it louder, would you?" I gasped, almost throwing myself across the table to slap my hand over my best friend's overly loud mouth. "No, my cat! Salem!"
"See, I'd rather advertise my vibrator than the fact that I was a single woman with a cat," Portia said, not at all embarrassed to have the v-word coming out of her mouth.
I pointed a finger across the table at her. "Be appropriate, would you? I'm going to go and turn in our wine glasses before they get us into more trouble."
I managed to get home without any incident, and five minutes later I got a text from Portia confirming that she'd also made it back to her fancy apartment sans trouble. I wandered into the kitchen area, Salem purring and twining himself through my legs, and gave "the only man I needed" his wet food for dinner.
"Yeah, and I don't even get any thanks from you," I told him as he chowed down, his tail flicking back and forth as he bent over the bowl. "You don't happen to have some extra cash sitting around, do you?"
He just purred, which was probably a no.
Just as I told Portia, I spent the next two days, Saturday and Sunday, sitting around my apartment and trying to find things to do that didn't involve spending money. I organized my belongings, and even forced myself to clean various areas of the apartment that hadn't received enough attention in the past, like my bathroom. I replaced the litter in Salem's litter box, and even picked up his bowls of food and scrubbed them out, while he protested the entire time that they were missing.
"Chill, fatty - you won't starve if they're drying for an hour," I told him, but he kept on wailing piteously until I finally put them back down on the kitchen floor and refilled them - at which point, instead of eating any of the new contents, he promptly ignored them.
Typical cat.
Chapter Sixteen
*
On Monday, as I sat behind the front desk of the counter, I heard someone grunt as they opened the door. "Hello, welcome to the Halesford Gallery," I rattled off, not looking up from the big pile of notes that I'd grabbed from the back room, hoping to find some more big buyers of artwork. "Feel free to take a look around."
"Thank you," came the response - a male voice, although not one that I recognized. Frowning, I glanced up.
A man dressed in rather faded tweed stood just inside the front entrance of the gallery, looking a little bit lost. I guessed that he was in his late fifties or early sixties; his hair was mostly gray, going a little to white at the temples, but he still looked strong and stood upright, not hunched like some of the senior citizens that wandered in. His clothes, as I mentioned, were a bit faded, and gave him the impression of a slightly absent-minded college professor who'd been wearing the same wardrobe for the last twenty years, ever since he got tenure.
"Hi there," I greeted the man, putting on my professional gallery manager smile, one that had grown into place surprisingly quickly over the last week or so. "Feel free to look around, as I said, and let me know if you're interested in any of the pieces and if you have any questions."
"Thank you, young lady," the man replied gravely. He turned and started wandering through the four rooms, and I returned back down to the pile of papers in front of me.
After another minute, however, I sat back, rubbing at my eyes. Trying to make sense of all of Preston's scrawled notes felt hopeless. Even with my thermos of coffee in front of me (brewed at home - saving that money instead of shopping at Starbucks, I told myself as I forced myself to drink it!), I couldn't keep my focus on the half-crumpled sheets of writing.
Instead, I stood up and headed out into the gallery, looking for the older man who had come in. I found him in the third room, gazing intently at - of course - one of Onyx's pieces, standing very proudly on a shelf.
"Ah, you've found one of the works by Onyx, our most famous local artist," I said, approaching him. "They're quite something, aren't they?"
He glanced over at me, but his eyes tracked back. "Yes, they are. His detail work wi
th a chisel is quite impressive."
Sure, because anyone who looked at a statue of a dick immediately thought about the chisel work, I thought privately to myself, but didn't let myself say anything out loud. "He's been featured in several national publications," I stated instead, trying to stick to facts about the artist instead of making judgments about his work. "In fact, his studio is just a few blocks away from here. About as local as we can get!"
The man nodded. "Can I handle the piece?" he asked, his hands already starting to reach forward towards it.
"Yeah, go ahead," I said, not quite sure how to respond. If the man started doing anything that seemed at all perverted, I told myself, I'd ask him to leave.
But instead, he turned the carving over in his hands, peering closely at it. If I put aside the focus of the sculpture, the man seemed to be examining it in quite the professional manner, I had to admit. "Very careful, detailed work," he murmured. "And the curvature, the suggestion and mood of the piece, is quite stunning."
"You know, he's got a larger piece back at his studio," I threw out. "His work on the smaller pieces can't compare to the big one."
I didn't expect the customer to say anything about this, but he put the small sculpture back down and turned to me, a glint of interest in his eyes. "Really?"
I nodded. "A one of a kind, landmark piece," my mouth said automatically, repeating the same words that I'd used when on the phone to the whales over the last few days. "Something that truly represents the pinnacle of his work."
"You know, I would be interested in seeing that," the man said. He reached into his pocket, fishing for his wallet. From inside, he withdrew a business card and passed it over to me. "Do you think that you could arrange that?"
"Of course," I replied, surprised, as I accepted the card. I glanced down at it. "Robert Albrecht?"
"That's me," Albrecht replied, giving me a stiff little nod of his head. I frowned for a moment - why was that name familiar to me? "I'll be awaiting your call, Miss..."
"Grace," I answered. "Sorry I don't have a card, but I'm Rebecca Grace. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Albrecht."
Albrecht nodded again, glancing around. "I will keep looking around, but I'm quite taken with this Mister Onyx's work. I hope to hear from you soon about that unique piece, Miss Grace."
"Of course," I said, retreating back to the front desk to give him some space. As I sat down behind the desk, however, I felt the first little stir of hope in my breast.
Maybe this Robert Albrecht, despite his rather threadbare tweed clothing, really would turn out to be a millionaire in disguise, and he had a thing for buying up sculptures of giant stone penises! I certainly wouldn't judge him for it, not if he really did want to buy the big piece from Onyx's studio.
Albrecht wandered by my desk a few minutes later, giving me a little nod and wave as he exited. I waved back, smiled, and then returned back to digging through all of the notes that I'd pulled from the back room, trying to get them organized. Good lord, did Preston really feel that he needed to keep every single piece of paper that passed through his hands?
Five minutes later, I found Robert Albrecht's name on a receipt for a large oil painting. I glanced down at the bottom of the receipt and my mouth dropped open as I read off the final purchase price. This man was willing to drop that exorbitant sum on a painting?
Another five minutes later, I found his name again, on another purchase order. It seemed that Mr. Albrecht was a repeat customer.
Now that I knew what to look for, I went back and dug through the papers that I'd sorted on Friday. Sure enough, there his name was again, and again! His name hadn't made it onto Preston's list of repeat customers for some reason, but Mr. Albrecht was, beyond a doubt, the definition of a whale.
And now, I had him on the line, interested in possibly acquiring the big statue from Onyx's studio!
That little note of hope that had been fluttering in my chest grew stronger, spreading its wings a little bit. I fought to control it, to not let myself run too far ahead before anything actually came of this encounter.
I had the photographs already, from my visit to Onyx's studio, but maybe I would see about going back and taking a few more, just to make sure that I captured the statue from all angles. I'd wait a couple of hours at least, maybe even a day, before emailing Albrecht, just to make sure that I didn't come off as too eager.
Just like dating, I thought to myself. Couldn't seem overly eager, or I might come off as desperate.
Maybe I could even throw in a mention of other potential buyers; nothing solid, nothing that would lower his hope of getting the sculpture, but just enough to maybe make him think that time was a bit of an issue here. The competition would just serve to raise the stakes a little bit, that's all.
I reached for the phone, but paused as I realized, receiver in my hand, that I didn't actually know Onyx's number. No problem - I had plenty of papers sitting around. Surely, the artist's home phone number would be on one of those sheets.
Twenty minutes later, I finally uncovered a payment receipt to Onyx that had a number on it. I punched the digits into the phone, held the receiver against my ear, and listened to the other end of the line ringing.
Onyx picked up after four rings. "Yes?" Nothing else - no introduction. If I hadn't recognized his smooth, deep voice over the telephone, I might have thought that I had the wrong number.
"Onyx?" I asked. "It's, uh, Becca, from the Halesford Gallery."
"Hi." Nothing more, but the warmth in his voice grew several notches stronger, and, lord help me, I blushed a little! Even his voice over a telephone line sounded sexy.
"Listen, I had a client come by, and he's interested in seeing more pictures of that big piece that you have in your home studio," I plunged on, trying not to get sidetracked from the heat in his voice. "I was hoping that maybe I could come by this afternoon after I finish up here and take a few more pictures to send to him."
I waited, but Onyx didn't respond for a moment. "Does that sound okay?" I finally asked, wondering if I'd somehow overstepped some invisible boundary.
"Of course," he answered finally, and I breathed out a sigh of relief. "But in exchange, I'll need something from you."
"Yeah, anything." My brain wondered if my mouth should be running so blithely ahead, but too late to take the words back now. "What do you need? Want me to bring you some takeout or something?"
"I'm exploring a new direction with my next sculptures," he said, ignoring my words. "The female form." He paused for a second. "And I need a model."
Little goosebumps popped out all over my skin as my imagination threw up half a dozen embarrassing, revealing situations that Onyx might want to put me in - although I didn't exactly object to some of them. "Um, what exactly do you mean by that?"
He chuckled, the deep sound rolling over me like waves of warmth from a fire. "Nothing that pushes you beyond your boundaries. Strike a few poses, perhaps flex some musculature so I can see the differences between the male and female forms."
"Musculature?" I bit my lip. "I hate to tell you, Onyx, but I haven't been quite keeping up with my normally rigorous gym training schedule as of late, so there might not be quite as much flexed musculature as you're hoping for. Are you sure that you don't want to go find some female model? I'm sure you wouldn't have trouble getting one." Especially not after they saw his dark skin and heard his sexy voice, I added privately to myself.
"Unfortunately, I don't have the time to deal with finding one." We both knew that this was a flimsy excuse, and we both knew that the other understood this fact as well. 'You'll do fine. Just come over at five."
"Okay," I said, hoping that I wasn't committing myself to something crazy.
"Great. See you then, Becca." I heard him smile as he said goodbye, but the receiver clicked as he hung up before I could answer him.
"See you then," I echoed into the empty line, putting it back down and trying to keep my imagination from conjuring up lurid, erotic fantasies of Ony
x doing all sorts of deliciously tortured things to my body.
A little part of me pointed out that, while Onyx was undeniably sexy, I also had Carter in my life, offering all sorts of wonderful little teases of a happy future together. Heck, just the other night, I'd felt his lips on mine, had nearly shattered and melted just from the heat in that kiss! Did I really want to complicate things by bringing Onyx into the mix?
But on the other hand, I rationalized, Carter and I weren't really dating. In fact, I was exclusively not dating, at least until the divorce was completely handled and over. I'd told Carter that I wasn't dating. Instead, as Portia had suggested, I needed a palate cleanser before getting involved in another serious relationship with a man. Onyx, with his sexy, smoky gazes, dark skin, and quiet sensuality, might be exactly what I needed to move past Barry and be ready for a fresh start.
"You're getting ahead of yourself again," I murmured out loud, shaking my head. "Just get the pictures, Becca. You can worry about the romance stuff after it happens, not before anything ends up occurring."
Still, it was a good thing that no more customers came into the gallery for the rest of the afternoon. I spent the time just sitting at the front desk, gazing off into space and fantasizing; thieves probably could have carried half the art out of the gallery, right past my nose, without my notice.
Chapter Seventeen
*
Onyx let me in once I knocked on the door of his warehouse studio. "Little late," he observed as he held the door open for me.
"Yeah, well, you ought to put up some signs around here," I fumed at him, momentarily not even distracted by the fact that his black tee shirt clung very tightly to his heavily muscled chest. "This is the third different building that I had to try! I circled around two other ones, trying to figure out if they were were you lived, or really just abandoned!"
He shrugged. "I like my privacy," he admitted simply.
Selling Grace: A Light Romance Novel (Art of Grace Book 1) Page 10
