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)
“Cal Danniger is a big fan of his work.”
“Yes,” Adrian said. “Mr. Danniger is a very good client.”
“I also have a young friend who’s in love with San Holo’s work. In fact, Dylan was the one who found San’s—” He used Adrian’s familiar abbreviation. “—mural down in the Mission District. He discovered the trademark fleur-de-lis.”
Adrian raised an eyebrow. He could have sworn the pupils of her blue eyes grew larger. “I didn’t know he’d done another mural right here in San Francisco.” She made it sound as if San Holo didn’t live in the Bay Area. Maybe he still resided in London, and the latest mural was just a pop-up.
It gave Clay the perfect opportunity to build up Dylan. “I have a warehouse close to the Mission District where I provide space for artists’ studios.” He didn’t tell her he housed almost a hundred artists. “Dylan is one of them. We were searching for virgin territory where he might try out his street art. That’s when we found San Holo’s newest work. Dylan swears he’s never seen this one before.” He smiled, drawing her in. “He is all-knowing about anything San Holo.”
Adrian returned the smile. “Your friend even has one up on me.”
“He’s a foster kid three months shy of eighteen. He’s a brilliant artist, in my humble opinion.” There was nothing humble about it. “But he was going downhill for a while, stuck in a bad foster home and getting in trouble tagging in the wrong places. Gideon Jones helped him.” He paused a moment, then added, “I’m not sure if you know anything about Gideon. His nonprofit foundation, Lean on Us, gives aid to veterans and foster kids. He asked me to mentor Dylan, and we’re both giving the young man every opportunity.”
Clay hated to think about what the kid’s life had been like before Gideon came along.
“I’ve heard of Gideon Jones and his foundation,” Adrian said. “He’s the one who sold that Miguel Fernando Correa painting a couple of years ago for sixty million dollars.” Her lips seemed to pucker around the incredible amount. “Instead of pocketing the money,” she went on, as if she had to tell Clay, “he opened a nonprofit foundation with the proceeds.”
Clay completed the story for her, the part she probably didn’t know. “Gideon was given the painting by a comrade who was killed over in Afghanistan. He carried it around for years, not knowing its true value. When he did find out, he sold it at auction to my brother Dane.”
“I’d heard that too. Now your brother is loaning the painting to the Tate in London and other museums and galleries so everyone can see it.” Her smile stretched wide. “I’m even more glad to hear Gideon is doing good things for your young friend. What did you say his name was?”
“Dylan Beck.”
“A foster kid,” she repeated, as if cataloging the fact.
Adrian Fielding seemed suitably primed and the timing right. “Let me tell you why I’m here. After seeing San Holo’s work today, and also having studied it extensively—” He wanted her to know he was a serious collector who’d done his research. “—I’d like to commission a mural for the warehouse I mentioned. Since I have so many artists with studios there, I want something that shows we’re like an art colony.”
If she knew of Dane Harrington and Gideon Jones, then she probably knew of him, but she eyed him as though she didn’t. “Exactly what would you like?”
He gave her his vision. “I want a mural depicting artistic endeavors around the entire warehouse.” Dollar signs flashed in her eyes. As the agent, she would get a percentage of the commission. With a mural this large, that commission would be ginormous.
But she said casually, “How large is your warehouse?”
“A full city block.”
“That’s an immense project,” she said noncommittally, but oh yes, dollar signs definitely glinted in her gaze.
“San Francisco is host to a great selection of street art. That’s why I thought of San Holo for this.”
She studied him a moment, her gaze sharp. “You do realize how street art works, right?” After a short pause, she added, “Even if San agrees and you’re willing to pay the exorbitant fee for something like this, the ethos of street art is that anybody can come along and paint over it at any time.”
“I’m well aware of how street art works.” Then he laughed. “I wouldn’t put it past one of my own artists to paint over it.” Though he knew none of them would dare make a mark on San Holo’s work. No one would.
“It will be an astonishing amount of money,” she said with a smile like a cat ready to pounce.
It was his turn to smile. “I don’t care how much it costs.”
“Oh, the beauty of being a billionaire,” she said flippantly.