Yeah, the line had been drawn, but he’d get Gage back. Until then, he had a hot artist to go ogle. It would make the planning of his revenge so much sweeter.
Chapter 9
The weight of a small hand landed on his shoulder as Kellus held the same glass of warm champagne that he’d had all night. He had no idea how much time had passed or how many people remained in the long receiving line of patrons wanting to meet him, but he welcomed the interruption. This particular supporter in front of him was chatty. She’d been there a solid five minutes, requiring he use every single one of his talking points on her. If she didn’t move along, he’d have to start winging conversation, and no one wanted him to do that.
“Thank you for coming tonight. Excuse me,” he said politely and bent to let Sara whisper in his ear.
“You’re a huge success,” she whispered.
“Yeah? How so?” he asked, turning to face her.
“So much so that Gage wants to represent you.” She beamed at him, keeping her voice low. “We’ve sold approximately three-quarters of what you brought. And we have a hold on a few of the others.”
He lifted the glass, clinking it against the one she held, and downed the warm contents in celebration of their accomplishment. Yeah, he’d said no drinking tonight, but this was different. He’d needed this night to be a success so badly. This would give him a financial cushion that he needed more than anything else. Relief flooded him on a staggering level, causing him to smile broadly down at her and lift a hand for a high five.
Sara’s grin grew in return, before she started fanning herself with her same hand. “I think it’s that right there,” she said, motioning to his face. “Just as much as it is the art. Lordy, you’re attractive.” She looked over her shoulder then back, giving a wink. “You’re almost at the end. Keep going.”
She took the empty glass from his hand, and seconds later, she had a new one for him. The object had become a crutch of sorts, something to help occupy his hands. When he turned back to the line, his grin was genuine, and he didn’t even mind when the patrons asked the same questions over and over again.
How long have you been an artist? Ever since I can remember. It’s in my blood.
What inspired the works? I love finding the subtleties in life and focusing on those. Bring them to life. Letting them define the feeling and emotion of the piece.
Who are your artistic influences? Gage Synclair, of course.
Can we take a selfie? Absolutely. Make sure you share it with me. Hashtag #EnGageStudioDallas2016
The answers rolled off his tongue as he mentally tallied what exactly three-quarters might mean. Damn, this was incredible. He was glad to hear that, even with his massive fuckups this week, Gage still wanted to work with him. Thank God for that.
When he zoned back in to see expectant gazes staring at him, he realized he had missed something. What? Oh wait… Yeah, the couple with the sweet little girl standing right in front of him had asked for a selfie. He needed to get his head out of the clouds and focus on the potential buyers.
“Of course. Share it with me?” he asked. This was something else he’d done all night long, dozens and dozens of times. He bent at the knee, getting on the child’s level, making sure the piece directly behind him was in the shot.
“It’s very nice meeting you,” he said as they picked up the little girl and stepped away. He cocked his head to the left, looking down the line. Relief washed over him when he realized the four or five people that moved forward were the last ones waiting to meet him. As they stepped closer, he ventured a better look around. The gallery was thinning out.
“We’re Gage’s parents, Connie and Jack. This has been a lovely show. You’re every bit as talented as Gage gives you credit for,” Connie praised.
“Thank you. It’s very nice to meet you.” He shook both their hands, before Connie turned, extending hers to indicate the couple directly behind them.
“This is Diana and Max Layne.” As they moved forward, the group fanned out, surrounding him. He took Max’s hand as Diana came forward, smiling sweetly, wrapping him in a giant hug. The hug wasn’t one of those half-hearted deals either. She gave him a tight squeeze he felt compelled to return.
“It’s nice to meet you,” she whispered in his ear. When she stepped back, still holding his upper arms, staring intently into his eyes, he took a wild guess and assumed those were probably Arik Layne’s parents. He looked very much like his mother. They shared the same eyes, and she held that same unsettling, complex gaze that Arik often gave him.