“What are you talking about?”
Carson moved around his studio space as we talked, large sculptures appearing and disappearing in the background as he went. “You said you were struggling. Barely finishing anything.”
“I was. I mean, things are a bit better now. I’m finally getting in a groove—”
“I saw that piece Lara’s putting up for auction this weekend. I’d say you’ve more than found your groove. You’re moving into a whole new era of work. It’s different from your other stuff. More alive somehow.”
“The landscape is more alive?” That series was decent, but it wasn’t anything to write home about. They were nice to look at, but they didn’t say enough. Didn’t grab you by the throat and force you to look at something you might have otherwise ignored.
“Not a landscape. The one of your caretaker. Where she’s growing vines. It’s epic, man. Truly epic. Hell, I might bid on it myself.”
I froze. “That’s not up for sale. I gave Lara landscapes.” I pushed back from the desk and stood, striding to the storage closet where I’d been keeping my paintings. I never looked at them again once I was finished. Why would I? I simply piled more pieces back there.
I searched through canvas after canvas. As I passed each one, flipping from one to the next, the set of my jaw got harder. None of my other landscapes were gone. Nothing where the subject was someone on the crew or an interesting face I’d seen in town. But I was missing at least four paintings of Shay. I let out a litany of curses and strode back to the laptop.
“What the hell is going on, Brody?”
I gripped the back of my desk chair, my knuckles bleaching white. “She took them. Paintings I told her she couldn’t have. I gave her landscapes in exchange for a year off my back. And she just went ahead and took whatever the hell she wanted.”
All amusement had fled Carson’s expression. “I’m not trying to be an asshole here, but that’s what she always does. She’s never had your back. Only hers.”
This was finally the last straw. All the times I’d excused Lara’s actions because of our history. All the times I’d just thought she was especially ferocious. But Carson was right. Lara only looked out for herself. It was never truly for me. And it stopped now. I’d been approached by dozens of other dealers and managers over the years, asking to represent me. But I’d always felt a loyalty to Lara. That ended today. “I have to go. I need to deal with this.”
“Heads-up, it’s already all over the art blogs.”
I ran a hand through my hair and tugged on the ends. That meant it might get some mainstream media play, as well. Ever since Josiah Mosely, people had become more intrigued with my art. And since there wasn’t a lot of my personal information floating around, they’d become fascinated with me, as well.
“Thanks for the warning.”
“Good luck. Let me know if I can do anything.”
“Will do.” I hit end and pulled my cell out of my desk drawer. I’d taken to just leaving it in the house because it only worked when it was connected to the internet anyway. I hit Lara’s contact.
She answered on the third ring. “Brody, it’s so good to hear from you.”
“Cut the shit.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said, cut the shit. You are going to do three things for me. First, you’re canceling the auction and pulling all photos of that painting off any websites you have control of. Second, you’re crating up every painting of mine in your possession and sending them back to me. And third, you’re fucking fired.”
There was silence for a brief moment before Lara began to speak. “You’re overreacting. I know your art is personal to you, but you needed a piece that would make a splash. And those landscapes weren’t going to cut it. I’ve already had numerous inquiries about it. I think it will go for at least upper six figures, possibly seven.”
“I don’t give a fuck about the money,” I roared. “You stole from me. And unless you do as I just instructed, I’m going to press charges. Then I’ll sue. I’ll take all of that precious money of yours, and I’ll ruin you in the art world.”
I couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out of my mouth because the only thing I could see in my mind was Shay’s face when she got that letter from her brother. How she would lose it when I told her that her face was out in the world, and it was tied to me. She’d given me her trust, told me things she hadn’t shared with anyone else. And without meaning to, I’d betrayed her.
“Brody,” Lara whispered, her voice full of hurt, “we’ve been friends for over a decade. A team. I built your career. We—we—you wouldn’t.”
“I am. You have two choices. Do as I say, and I won’t blackball you in this community. Or you can push, and I’ll destroy every shred of reputation you have. Do you think any artist will work with you once they know the truth? How you really operate?”
She sucked in a sharp breath. “You’re being a monster.”
“Maybe I am.” But I would be as much of a monster as needed if it meant keeping Shay safe. “Get to work.” I hit end before Lara had a chance to reply. I didn’t want to hear her bullshit excuses anyway. I had to go tell Shay that I’d exposed her to the world. And beg for her forgiveness.
16
Shay
I hummed as I pulled weeds from the beds, a new arrangement in my head. It had been so long since I’d tried to compose anything original. But I’d begun to feel the pull of that outlet in the past couple of weeks. Maybe it was simply because enough time had passed, and I was finally ready to try again. Maybe it was because every stolen moment with Brody felt like a note in a song we were crafting together.
They built on one another, those notes. A steady crescendo. At some point, we’d reach the top of the peak. But I wasn’t sure what might happen there. The most delicious spiral down? Or a complete collapse?
I pushed the thoughts from my mind. I couldn’t worry about it now. I could only keep moving forward. Enjoying our friendship and reminding myself that platonic was where this relationship needed to stay.
“Shay? You in here?” Brody called as if I had just willed him into being with my thoughts alone.
“Back right corner.”
He appeared in a flash, hair a little wind-blown, or perhaps simply ruffled from him running his fingers through it. “I need to talk to you.”
His tone had me straightening from my crouch, and my heart giving an extra hard thud in my chest. “What’s wrong?”
He started pacing back and forth in the small space. “I, uh…hell. I fucked up.”
I reached out and grabbed his arm, stopping his movement. “Then we’ll fix it.”
His face held a war of emotions: hope, pain, fear. “I’ve been doing some paintings of you. It was wrong of me. I should’ve asked. You told me you wouldn’t sit for me, but the images kept playing in my head, and I just had to get them on a canvas—”
My fingers tightened on his arm. “It’s fine. Sure, you should’ve asked, but it’s fine. As long as you’re not planning to have some big art show with them. I know you’ve been struggling to find your footing with your work again, and if painting me helps, go ahead.”