Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
But what Clay knew wasn’t all there was to the girl. Certainly not.
How much more was there? And just what would the young man do when he finally discovered what that “more” truly was?
Chapter Seventeen
It was late, darkness had already fallen, and Saskia wasn’t back.
But Clay had so much research to do to find the right people to help his artists.
She arrived quietly, so as not to disturb him perhaps, that he didn’t realize she was there. Not until her sensual scent wafted over him, and she whispered against his ear, “What are you doing?”
How she’d managed to walk so softly in her heavy Doc Martens, he didn’t know.
He held up a finger until he’d hit Send on another email. Then he turned to her.
God, how she affected him every moment he was with her. So beautiful, this time in a long hoodie that reached her thighs and black leggings that hugged her calves. He wanted to tear off the hoodie and bury his face between her breasts.
He explained his plan. “I’ve approached several therapists in order to add counseling as needed for the artists. I’m also looking at guest lecturers who are brilliant in their fields. Harvard.” He flapped a hand one way. “Stanford.” He flourished the other. “Oxford. I want them to give video talks about the philosophy of art and the headspace artists have to live in. About the challenges of the artistic life. The talks will be recorded live so people can ask questions, then they’ll be available in the archives.” He swirled his hand around his head, trying to encompass all the ideas. “I’ve also ordered copies of Elizabeth Gilbert’s book Big Magic. Enough stock for all my warehouses and all the artists.”
She clapped her hand over her mouth and stared at him. Then said in a breathless voice, “That book is all about how once you’re done creating a work of art, and you put it out there, it’s no longer yours, and you have to let it go.”
He’d read the book long ago and didn’t know why it hadn’t struck home at the time. “She’s saying that everyone will have their own take on your piece of art based on who they are. You can’t control what they’ll think or say about it.”
This was what Saskia had been trying to tell him. He’d been so devastated by what Dylan had to face that he hadn’t thought of the book until this evening. He hadn’t thought of anything but getting rid of the bad reviews.
She trailed her fingers from his nape to his shoulder. “You get it.”
“I do,” he said. “It’ll really help people.”
He wanted to pull her onto his lap, kiss her until they were both breathless. But he had to tell her all his thoughts first. “No one has ever gotten through to me in the way you have. I wish I’d told you that earlier.” He closed his eyes briefly, then reached for her hand, stroked her knuckles with his thumb. “I called an emergency mastermind session with the family.” When she made a little hmm of a question, he explained, “We get together once a month to go over any issues each of us may have. Just talking with them—” He let out a laugh. “—especially Fernsby, helped me see how right you were.”
“I met Fernsby the other day, right? When he came in to see Charlie Ballard’s sculpture?”
He nodded. “That’s Fernsby. He’s Dane’s butler, but honestly, he’s way more than that. Don’t ever tell him I said this—”
She scoffed. “I’ll probably never see him again.”
He wanted to tell her that he hoped she’d see Fernsby over and over. But that would be pushy. “That man always knows the right thing to say at exactly the right moment. He made me see—in fact, all of them made me see—that I’ve been creating a fake Disneyland at Art Space where never a harsh word is spoken.”
She smiled at him, and he thought there might be tears in her eyes. “You really do get it.”
He held her hand to his cheek. “You made me see that people can learn from the harsh words if they’re open to hearing what’s behind them.”
Those tears blurred her eyes. “That’s right. Because you won’t always be there to fix things.”
“It’s my job to provide ways for all my artists to handle the bad times without going off the deep end.”
He realized now what his brothers and sisters had been trying to tell him all along. He remembered words like, It’s a lofty goal, and it’s amazing you want to do this. But are you really sure you can pull it off?
He’d always been so sure he could. He owned galleries, sold the artists’ work, provided virtual galleries, and made sure everyone got a showing. He acted as their agent, taking a small percentage because that agent’s fee made them feel like real artists. He’d thought it was working, but Saskia had shown him something was missing.