"What makes you ask?"
"I don't know. The style is different. The composition. The use of light. Is it a different technique?"
"You were right the first time. My friend Frank took them. I sublet him studio space on the second floor, and share this part of the gallery with him. He's in Bali now, I think. Possibly Alaska."
I laugh. "Well, I hope he packed well."
"I can't keep track. Come on," he says, taking my hand. "The studio's back here."
We go down a short hall, and then through a steel door to the familiar studio where I'd come to audition. "This place is bigger than it looks."
"I have the second floor, too. It has two apartments and a shared kitchen."
"Do you live here?" The thought amuses me. Like an old-time artist living in a garret.
"Not technically. Frank lives and works in his apartment, but I use the other as an office. It has a Murphy bed, though, and lately I've been sleeping here. It's easier than going home even though I'm just over in Venice Beach." He smiles at me. "Better now?"
The question surprises me, and I realize that my nerves have faded. "Yeah," I say. "Better take some pictures quick before the nerves come back."
"I would, but I think you'll appreciate me waiting just a little longer."
I don't know what he means until he pulls out his phone and sends a text. A second later I hear a door open above us, then I see two sets of legs descending the stairs on the far side of the room. A moment later, I see who the legs are attached to, a lanky guy with a mop of dark hair that he wears in a man-bun, and a petite blonde in very impractical heels.
"Kelsey, this is Jon Paul, my assistant."
"Just JP," the guy says.
Wyatt turns his attention to the girl. "And you are . . .?" He trails off, and she thrusts out her hand toward him.
"Leah," she says. "I'm Siobhan's intern. She sent me over to drop off some mockups for the front of the catalog."
"They're on your desk," JP says. He looks at me. "Is she--I mean, are you--"
"She's just here for an audition," Wyatt says, then shoots me a warning look before I have the chance to ask him what the hell he means.
Leah looks at me. "I hope you get it. The show's so exciting. And the press is going to be all over it. Roger Jensen's already said he's going to cover it."
"Who's that?" I ask, and Leah looks at me as if I asked who Neil Armstrong was.
"He's an editor with the Pacific Shore Art Examiner, and he's brilliant. Plus, he has a syndicated column."
"Oh, well. Then that's great," I say, surprised that Wyatt doesn't look more pleased by news of the coverage.
"We were just about to head out," JP says. "I finished working on the plans with Mike, so he's good to go on the construction. But if you need me to help set up for Kelsey's audition, I can stay."
"You go on," Wyatt says. "I've got it."
"Great meeting you," Leah says, with a little wave to both of us.
JP says the same to me, and then they both head out. As soon as the door shuts behind them, I turn back to Wyatt. "Auditioning?"
"You're anonymous," he retorts, and I nod with sudden understanding.
"There's no way around JP, I'm afraid. But there's no need for an intern to know who you are. Hell, I'll keep it from Siobhan if I can. What?" he asks, peering at me.
I realize I'm smiling so broadly my cheeks hurt. "Nothing. It just feels nice to be taken care of."
"I like taking care of you," he says in a way that makes me feel all soft and gooey inside. "Speaking of. How are you doing? Butterflies still gone?"