“Apology accepted.” Her voice is a bit shaky, but I’m proud of the way she squares her shoulders and meets my stare head on. No hiding. “We’ll leave it at nothing more than a weird morning meeting.”
“Thank you.” Our server chooses that moment to drop off my juice and I smile, shaking my head before she has the chance to ask if we need anything. “And as for your question, I want it all. The beautiful and ugly. The smiles and tears. Your blood on each canvas.”
“That’s a bit grandiose while being vague, Mr. Astor. I’ll need more than that.” If she’s surprised by the request or my wording, Gabriella lets neither show. Instead, she takes a sip of coffee while eyeing me over the rim with the smallest hint of amusement dancing in her eyes.
Tero chuckles beside me at her quick wit, while I fight back my own amusement. “My vision for this season is the jungle of sin, with a macabre theme. I want to highlight the seven deadly sins through your eyes as the main attraction, Miss Moore.” She’s intrigued, her smile widening, and those pearly whites bite softly into the plump bottom lip. So beautiful. “You will have the top floor with the glass dome as a roof and our lighting department at your disposal. The exposition will be held in the dark with those walking the show following each piece by the faint light highlighting each.”
“A dark maze?’
“More like a black hole.” I can almost see the wheels turning in her head; it’s there in the drumming of her fingers and the purse of those damn lips that are driving me insane. Just one bite. That’s all I want. “Now, tell me, Gabriella. Is this something that intrigues you?”
“You could say that.” Shifting in her seat so she’s fully facing me with her knees touching my chair, she giggles and the sound is enchanting. Distracting. “I have the worst obsession with serial killer documentaries and cult mass executions. They’re morbid, I know, but my mind can’t help but draw my own conclusions on each criminal...human nature, I guess, but it’s fascinating to hear the stories from their mouths or those who were present at the time.”
Our server chooses that moment to deliver their food, placing down each hot plate and then refreshing the coffees that are either lukewarm or empty. Without talking, she makes sure they have what they need and then walks away, smiling down at Gabriella who’s the only one that thanks her.
Elise huffs once the woman is out of earshot, stabbing her fork while sliding her knife through the yolk of her poached egg. “That’s sick. I just don’t know how you can watch—”
“The same way you can spend hours at the mall while buying crap you don’t need.” Gabriella’s grin is saccharine sweet while holding her fork toward her friend. “You just do and enjoy the time without judgement from me, so equate it to that.”
“Spoken like a true artist.” Tero nods his approval at her response before digging into his meal. And while they eat in silence, I open the file and place the first page in her direct line of sight, blocking it from view from Elise behind the carafe of water left by the waitress.
Our contract wouldn’t need endless pages of information with hidden clauses to protect myself or my business, the one of many. No. Not with her. I’m leaving it open for her without a single noose tying her to my gallery unless she wants to be, but the money is detailed and fair with a timeline I require as non-negotiable.
* * *
Seven paintings.
Two months.
An entire summer at my disposal.
6
Gabriella
Seven paintings.
Two months.
An entire summer at my disposal.
As my eyes skim down the few and detailed lines of the contract, I can’t help but ask myself why? Why is he offering me a five-figure advance with another hefty sum after opening night?
Then, there’s the timeline and the limited number of hours I’ll have. I’m not someone who does well with deadlines; I like to fly by the seat of my pants and paint as the creativity hits. I’ve never done a show in this fashion with such a limited amount of time between signing the contract and delivering each piece.
Can I do this? My eyes go to the advance and it’s tempting—too lucrative to deny when most in my position don’t get the chance to show for the Astor galleries, much less have the owner personally offer the exclusivity of the top floor with its glass ceiling and their private clientele who attends these functions.
The notoriety alone gives me goose bumps. Anonymous or not, the Astor name is one of wealth and affluence—it opens the kind of doors I’ve dreamed of in the past but never had the opportunity to walk through. He owns and oversees each of his galleries worldwide and is known to broker deals for politicians and those with obscene amounts of money looking to add an original piece from some of the greatest minds to pick up a brush.
“What are you thinking about?” Theodore’s voice cuts through my mental giddiness, bringing me back to the present where all eyes are on me. Heat rises to my cheeks just as my palms begin to sweat. “What do you need to make this happen? Name your price.”
“Three months,” I blurt out instead, and he merely raises an amused brow. Clearing my throat, I will my breathing to remain calm and stray my eyes toward the paper once again. “What I am trying to say is that for the amount of pieces you require and all of them being new, I’ll need the extra thirty days. There’s a concept already forming in my head, but I’m also realistic, and while excitement is a heady motivator, I’ll need more time.”
“Done.” At Theodore’s quick response, I snap my eyes to his and find them watching me intently. “We aren’t due to show this exposition until mid-August so it won’t affect us really, but we will need your help with the lighting setup. We will just use mock pieces until yours arrive...is that something you can agree to?” My nod is his answer, and those smoldering amber eyes look toward Tero who’s taken the folder and is busy amending it by hand. “Anything else?”
“You do understand that I will attend opening night, but not as the artist. My name—my legal name—is never to be leaked at any point, or I will sue.”
“Gabriella!” Elise hisses out, her tone low but full of a fury I ignore. “You can’t—”
Theodore’s glare is enough to silence her rant before it begins. “If you interrupt us again, I will ask you to leave, Miss Scott. Understood?”
“Yes.” Low. Meek. Yet, the hold she has on her fork displays the fury simmering beneath the surface. “It won’t happen again.”
“Good.” Grabbing the papers from Tero who’s finished, Theodore places the sheet once again in my line of sight. And damn them, I almost laugh out loud at what greets me because in large and bold letters it states: Gabriella Moore will remain anonymous and will stay that way or the owner will fine himself. Stipulation is non-negotiable. “Does that appease you? If you say yes, I will have the contract re-typed and sent over via courier to your home or your place of choosing for signature tomorrow morning.”
“It does.” My poker face is strong, but inside I’m squealing like a prepubescent tween at a boy-band concert. This is really happening. “And you have yourself an artist for the show.”
“I never thought otherwise.” Removing the file from the table, he passes it back to a waiting Tero while nodding toward my plate. “Now eat. Everything else can wait until tomorrow.”
“Thank you.” And then silence falls on the table as we eat, eyes staying on the plates even though I know Elise is pissed. Her posture is stiff, the skin around her eyes and mouth taut.
“Well, that most certainly hit the spot this morning,” Tero says when I push my plate away, having eaten every last bite, which isn’t the norm for me. To be honest, this is the best meal I’ve had in months, and I feel great. No nausea or discomfort of any kind. Is there such a thing as birthday luck? “Thank you for allowing us to eat with you this morning, Miss Moore.”
“Please don’t. I should be thanking you.”
“You should be,” Elise says under her breath, and by the way the
man beside me tenses, Theodore heard her. “Now, if that’s the end of this meeting, I’d like to steal the lucky girl away for a mani/pedi and some much-needed shopping.”
“Then we won’t hold you.” Theodore stands first, extending a hand out toward Elise who eagerly shakes it, leaning toward him while slyly adjusting her top—exposing a little more skin. He doesn’t look, but Tero does and his expression is one of disgust until he notices I’m watching and schools his features. The only two men I’ve ever met that are immune to her charms. Mr. Astor pulls his hand back and then holds it out to me, waiting for me to take it and I do so after a second, letting him tug me gently to my feet.
We are close. So close that his warm breath skims across my forehead and I take a step back, creating the space needed so I don’t embarrass myself. Because this man smells good. He feels good this close, and that makes me nervous.
More than.
Taking in a deep breath, I hold it for a second and then offer him a smile. An honest one. “Thank you so much for everything today. This opportunity means the world to me, and I promise to not disappoint or be difficult. If you have any questions or doubts or just need to see the progress, please don’t hesitate to call me.”
“The pleasure is all mine, Miss Moore.” Theodore brings my hand to his lips and kisses the middle knuckle, lingering there for a second while his chest expands once quickly. Then, he lets go and I feel a coldness sweep across every limb and settle on my chest. The hell is that? Moreover, I’m so lost in that thought that I almost miss what he says. “...need that phone number to contact you later today regarding the contract.”
“You can always call me.”
Once more he ignores Elise, this time holding his hand out. “Your phone, please.”
“Of course,” I say instead of telling him a business card would be fine, handing over the device that’s almost always on silent. Especially when working. Then there’s the tiny spark I feel when our fingers touch, this sensation that crawls up my arms and to my chest, settling into a warm buzz. What is that? A question I swallow back, turning my attention to Tero for a second who has a smug look on his face. This is getting weirder by the second.
The device pings in his hand before he passes it to me. “Expect a call around nine tomorrow, Gabriella. We’ll meet where it’s convenient for you.”
“No need to go out of your way. I can meet you tomorrow at the gallery—”
“No more business talk on your birthday. Tomorrow, we’ll agree and sign...sound good?”
I’m nodding before he’s done talking. “Thank you for the opportunity.”
“Remember what I said, Miss Moore. Pleasure is always mine.” With that, he steps back and at once, I miss the feel of him close. And more embarrassing is the smile on his handsome face, as if he somehow knows my thoughts that are inappropriate and confusing and dangerous for my psyche. He’s a danger to my tranquility. “Please enjoy your day in that pretty dress. The color suits you perfectly.”
Theodore nods at Tero, who drops a few bills on the table that more than takes care of brunch, and walks away without another glance while I’m left blushing. I finger the lace edge, and there’s an urge in me to thank Elise for the dress but I don’t.
Something is telling me to remain quiet. To wait.
Neither man addresses Elise before leaving nor has she been included in any future plans, something I’m sure she’ll complain of soon enough.
Moreover, she does the moment they step through the cafe’s door after coming to my side, her grip on my arm tight. “How could you ruin this for me? After everything I’ve done for you.”
“What have you done for me?” I ask, because my mind is reeling and her reactions today don’t make sense. Yes, she’s my friend, but I’ve never asked for anything. I’ve never used her. Instead, Elise has used my name and inserted herself in my career without asking.
Pushy. Judgmental. Yet, I’ve taken her as is and never once made her feel anything less than my best friend.
“Who set this meeting up?” Her tone is acerbic, her face pinched tight. “Who did the homework and flirted with his staff for insider information—”
My head turns to her as I pull my arm from her grasp. “Did I ask you to?”
“You’d never get into a place like this without my help.”
“That’s not the answer to the question I asked, Elise.” The table near us looks over, but I ignore the curious looks and maintain a neutral expression. “Because we both know I didn’t. We both know I’m not a person who flaunts or likes to attract attention—”
“Could’ve fooled me with what you’re wearing.” Those seven words make me freeze as the blood in my veins turns ice cold. “Since when do you wear lacy dresses and show off skin? You knew who was coming and tried to show me up. How could...”
The rush of happiness is gone sooner than it came, and I’m left repeating her words over and over again. Not because I’m upset over her accusation or the embarrassing behavior I’ll deal with later, but because the garment I’m wearing—the lacy gift left inside my home, in my room—didn’t come from her.
Then who? Who was in my room?
“I have to go,” I say and rush out, leaving her to her rant while my feet carry me out the cafe’s door and down the block before I register what’s happening. I’m walking aimlessly, without direction, but the tears rushing down my cheeks I feel. The tremor in my limbs makes this real. “No one else has a key. It’s impossible—”
“Miss Moore, what’s wrong?” a male voice calls out before a hand grips my elbow, pausing me in my tracks. The hold isn’t tight or painful, but I can’t help the terrified scream that rips from my throat as my breathing accelerates. All the calm from before the meeting is gone. All the hours of rest have amounted to nothing as my body sways and knees falter. “Hey. Hey. Please, look at me, Gabriella.” My eyes close instead, head shaking as this unadulterated fear sets in deep. “It’s me, Tero. Theodore’s assistant.”
“Theodore?” I manage to choke out, stumbling and falling a bit into him. For some reason I can’t explain nor have the capacity to question at the moment, I trust Theodore Astor and take in a deep breath. I’ve gone insane. “Where is he?”
Tero helps me stand upright, but stands close enough to catch me if I lose my balance again. “Can you look at me, please? I need to make sure you’re okay.” It takes me a minute, but I manage to meet his stare and force out a smile he isn’t buying. Tero’s near pastel-blue eyes watch me with concern. He waits until I nod to answer my earlier question. “He left for a meeting across town while I stayed back to pick up pastries from a bakery a few shops down.”
“I’m sorry to keep you. Please—”
“Hush, now.” Pulling his phone from his satchel, he slides a finger across the screen and then types out a quick message. The device pings a few seconds later and for a brief moment, I catch a sudden tilt of his head and the flaring of his nose while those unique eyes slide across the street and then down to the opposite end. “You’re safe. Understood?”
Had this been any other time, I would’ve thought the action was sweet, but my concern is ever present. Someone had been inside my room. Someone could’ve hurt me.
“I’ll be fine in a minute.”
“Liars never enter the kingdom of Heaven.” He raises a brow, expression a bit mocking but not in a disrespectful way—more like he’s trying to make me laugh, and he succeeds as a giggle slips through at the absurdity of it. “That’s more like it. No freaking out on me.”
“Sorry.”
“What scared you, Gabriella? Do you need help with something?”
“I think God will forgive me this one time,” is my answer instead. I’m deflecting, and we both know it.
“Would you rather I call Theodore?”
“No.”
“Then?” Another ping, and this time he shows me the message.
Get extra and bring her with you. ~Astor
“What is that suppos
ed to mean? I’m not—”
“It means you are going to come with me and pick out an obscene amount of bakery treats and then take a ride with me across town. We have much to discuss, Miss Moore. Your fear being one of them.”
“And if I say no?” This is crazy. I’m even crazier for considering tagging along, especially with the butterflies that took flight at the text message his boss sent. “Then what?”
“Then I’ll let your blonde friend know you are with me. She’s just stepped out of the restaurant and is looking—”
“Deal.”
7
Gabriella
“How do you pick?” I mutter under my breath, my eyes traveling from one edge of the glass display that holds my one true weakness: chocolate. In every style and degree of sweetness, this place is like the mecca for cocoa worshippers, and I’m left standing with parted lips. To some, it might seem a little obscene. I am near panting, but if you love this decadent food like I do, you get it. “There are just too many. I’m—”
“You don’t, Gabriella.” Tero is standing at another case to my right, this one holding nothing but fruit tarts and macarons. He eyes each, simply pointing at the ones he wants while an older lady boxes up the purchase with a smile. So far she’s put together three boxes of his chosen treats, the embossing glinting in gold after it’s closed. “Get what you want. No regrets.”
“No regrets?”
“No regrets. Go nuts.”
“If Mr. Astor gets mad, this is on you.” In front of me there’s another woman, a bit younger and just as excited to help. “I want one of everything in this case and the entire Millionaire’s Cake you have on the other stand.”
“I’ll get those packed, and I have a little something extra for you. It’s new and not on the shelf, but I think you’ll really enjoy it,” she says and gets back to work, diligently filling my order while customers wait behind us. The place is pretty full, all tables occupied except the booth at the back with people munching and sipping their coffees, while we’re in and out in minutes.
Little Lies Page 4
