Bare (Just This Once 2) - Page 5

“We said goodbye at the hotel after she used my phone to call the police to tell them not to bother coming here. She’s going to stop at the local precinct and file a report.” She lifts her gaze to my face. “I gave her money for cab fare. She said she was going home to change her clothes and then to work.”

Work. Again, my curiosity burns so I ask. “Where does she work?”

“She has a job at a place called the Grant Gallery.” She flips open the company check pad. “I’m writing myself a check to cover the cab fare to the hotel and back, along with the money I gave Piper. I’ll need you to sign this.”

“Give yourself an extra hundred for your trouble, Joyce,” I say to her surprise. I’m feeling extra generous today. We helped out a damsel in distress. What better way is there to start the week than that?

Chapter 4

Piper

Shit. I am so late. I was supposed to meet Bridget Grant, the co-owner of the Grant Gallery, an hour ago. I tried to call her once I got my phone back from the clerk at the front desk of the hotel. The phone didn’t work so after I said goodbye to Joyce I raced home, changed into a red patterned dress and used some of the cash I hid in my freezer to take a cab here.

It was more expensive than the subway, but my livelihood is at stake. Bridget hired me to teach a class at her gallery based on a recommendation from one of my former professors and the samples of my work that I had sent her.

I’m not going to get rich teaching this class, but once I have the schedule worked out, I can take on an extra job to keep a roof over my head.

When I finally walk into the gallery, I’m instantly in love.

It’s a stunning space with sunlight filtering in from the street. There are several distinct areas. Sculptures are adjacent to the windows, framed drawings cover the back wall and there’s an array of paintings on display near where I’m standing.

I recognize some of them as Brighton Beck originals.

I know that he owns the gallery with Bridget, although she told me on the phone when we first spoke a month ago, that he’s not as hands-on with the management as she is.

She’s the one who hired me and I’m here to make her proud.

I know what she looks like from the images I’ve seen of her online. I’ve followed her work for years. She started out much like I did. She does drawings as well but her tool is a pencil and she hasn’t ventured into the realm of nudes.

That’s where I shine.

I wave to her from across the gallery. She’s standing next to a woman who is staring at a framed drawing of a child with a dog.

I know better than to approach and interrupt. If a potential customer is weighing their decision to purchase, they need room and time to think clearly. Art is a personal investment and it can’t be rushed.

Bridget waves back and smiles. She’s a beautiful, blue-eyed, petite blonde. She’s dressed in a pair of white slacks and a matching blouse. It’s an elegant look.

I motion that I’ll be near the paintings and she tosses me a nod. I’m grateful that I’ll have a few minutes to collect myself before I officially meet my new boss in person.

The past twenty-four hours have been a whirlwind. Being here at the gallery is the highlight of my day, but meeting Griffin Kent runs a close second.

Joyce talked non-stop about her boss as we raced around Manhattan trying to piece my life back together.

He’s single. He works too much and according to his assistant, he’s never stepped foot in a museum or art gallery.

I’m not surprised. He didn’t strike me as the type to find value in anything creative that is meant to bring joy and inspiration to the person who owns it.

He helps people end their marriages. His world is filled with cold destruction.

We have nothing in common, but that hasn’t stopped me from thinking about him constantly since I left his office.

As Bridget approaches with the framed drawing of the child with the dog in her hand and the beaming woman by her side, I push all thoughts of Griffin aside.

My new life starts today and that’s where all my focus needs to be.

***

“I teach a class on Saturday mornings.” Bridget hands me a ceramic mug filled with coffee. “Our studios are upstairs. Beck teaches when he can, but his schedule is all over the place since he’s gearing up for a museum showing in Munich.”

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