A week… Google… If I’d have just looked.
I click on the Monroe Gallery website and find her. It’s the same picture Shaw attached to his email with a brief bio on her, written by a PR Group in what appears to be a press release.
Grace Monroe graduated with a Masters in Art History this past spring. While she strives to understand the business aspect, she admits her passion lies within the Art World. Her flare for contemporary work has made its mark in the area as she specifically seeks local artists. In the short time she’s resided in Miami, Grace has made a reputation for herself among the artist community with her own work displayed in the Monroe Gallery.
Grace, along with her brother and business partner, Logan, have a deep-rooted love for the Arts and have made it a mission to bring exposure to all local artists, regardless of their specialty. For more information…
The rest of the article lists the contact information for Monroe Gallery and displays a few pictures of the building.
“Impressive,” is all I can say.
“It really is. This gallery has a stellar reputation, which is a challenge in this area. Art galleries are common, but Monroe is landing more and more special events around the city. That’s another thing I wanted to mention.”
“What?”
“I called the Foundation Coordinator this morning. According to her, Logan Monroe fought hard for the opportunity to land the event.”
“Is that odd?”
“No, but I have a feeling it wasn’t a coincidence you saw h
er that night.”
“Are you saying?” My heartbeat speeds again, thinking maybe, just maybe…
“It’s a gut feeling.”
“I’m going to the gallery.” I close the iPad and stand, ready to get the hell out of here. Knowing she’s close erases the looming hangover from last night’s overconsumption.
“Already taken care of. You have an appointment tomorrow morning at nine a.m. I tried for later this afternoon, but she’s out today.”
“Damn, tomorrow’s a full day of practice and videos.” My mood sinks.
“I’ve handled that, too. I took the liberty of sending a message to your coaches that you’re researching a charity project, and you’ll be late tomorrow.”
“You lied to my coaches?” I ask, surprised.
“I stretched the truth. There’s a huge difference.”
“Thanks, man. I owe you.”
“One more thing, I made your appointment under the name Mr. DeSeis. Didn’t want to alert her that you’re coming in.”
“What the fuck is that? DeSez?”
“No, you dumbass, D-E S-E-I-S is how you spell it. The Seis means six in Spanish.”
“Do I even want to know where you came up with that shit?”
“I was trying to keep your identity secret. Not like I could say Mr. Bennett. If she remembers anything about you, that would be a dead giveaway.”
“Good call, but couldn’t you have thought of something more easily pronounced?”
“I thought it was clever on the fly. Show some gratitude.”
“You’re right. Thanks.” The name grows on me a little.
“Want me to dig a little deeper, see what I can find out before tomorrow?”