Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 96512 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96512 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
I swallow. “Yeah. It’s… I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but it’s just little ole me in my studio, painting weirdo abstract landscapes, as my dad likes to describe my art. And I love that you like my painting, but I don’t expect some lady from New York who owns galleries and stuff to like my work.”
“Well, news flash: some lady from New York does like your work. Don’t think I had anything to do with her interest in you other than sending her the link to your website. She called me. I haven’t pursued her. And anyway, this is Grace Astor. She doesn’t owe me anything. And even if she did, she wouldn’t gamble her reputation on anything. If she likes you, she likes you.”
“I looked her up,” I say. “She’s a pretty big deal in New York. Well, all over the US.”
“You’re right. She is. All the more reason she’s not going to fly out to Colorado and waste her time just as a favor to me.”
“Are you sure you sent her the right website?”
“Juniper…” His tone is a warning, like I’m being ridiculous. But it’s not me who’s being ridiculous. It’s this entire situation.
“I’ve been painting a long time,” I say. “I love it. But I don’t expect other people to. It was a shock when Byron’s designer bought almost every piece I had.”
“And you know Byron didn’t do that as a favor, don’t you?”
I don’t know that. “There’s no question that he did me a favor.”
“Then you don’t know Byron very well. If you asked him to buy a piece of your art, he definitely would. I’m not saying he’s not generous. But he just wouldn’t have been proactive about it. I can almost guarantee you that he gave your details to his designer and then forgot about it. He’s not micromanaging the artwork at the Club.”
I pull in a breath, trying to process what he’s telling me. It makes sense that Byron wouldn’t have wanted to micromanage the art buying.
“But I bet he told his designer to buy something.”
“How many paintings did they buy?”
“Eighteen. She didn’t like five that I have. Said they were a little bit dark. And one was too small.”
“Right. So, he wouldn’t have said, Go buy eighteen paintings.”
“He might have. He might have given her a budget.”
He shakes his head and pulls out his phone. “We’ll settle this.”
He’s going to call Byron. I’m mortified.
“What are you going to say?” I ask.
He doesn’t respond. He sets the phone on speaker. “Hey,” he says when Byron answers. “I wanted to ask you something. You know the paintings you bought from Juniper? Did you give your designer a steer on how much to spend?”
“There was an art budget, if that’s what you mean,” he replies.
My stomach dips a little. It’s not that I didn’t know he did me a favor. Of course he did. But hearing it? It hurts more than I expected.
“A budget for Juniper’s art?”
“For art generally.”
“So, not specifically for Juniper’s work?”
“No. We didn’t know we were going to buy Juniper’s work until Rosalind, my designer, saw it.”
“I guess I’m just asking if you bought Juniper’s work as a favor to her.”
I wish I could transport myself off this porch. I don’t want to hear about Byron’s pity purchase. I close my eyes and brace myself.
“Her stuff is all over the Club. There’s no way Rosalind would let me compromise the work we put into the Club just to make Juniper happy. I’d rather have written Juniper a check. Rosalind liked the work, and it fit into her vision or aesthetic or something. Why are you asking me all this?”
My body relaxes, and I’m not sure I can quite believe what I just heard. Tentatively, I open my eyes, and Fisher gives me an I told you so look.
“Just getting clarity,” Fisher says.
“Clarity for who? Grace?”
“No, just peace of mind. That’s all. Gotta go.” He hangs up before Byron can question him further. “Believe me now?” he asks.
I take in a deep breath. “Kinda.”
“It would have been easier to write you a check if he wanted to do you a favor. Juniper, until you believe in yourself, I’m going to believe in you twice as hard to make up for it.”
I don’t think anyone has ever said anything so nice to me. I press my palm to his cheek and lean over and kiss him.
It’s a thank you.
It’s an I like you.
It’s a how did you appear in my life outta nowhere, giving me everything I need right now.
He groans as our tongues meet and each hair on my body stands to attention. Every molecule of my body wants him. Wants all of him. I push my hands into his hair and he pulls me onto his lap, my knees on either side so I’m sitting astride him. His hands roam over my back and ass and tuck me against him. His hardness presses against my clit. His denim against the cotton of my leggings.