Page 9 of Remember Me

“Phineas. I love it. It’s so breathy and sexy!” She flashes another seductive smile. “Who is your favorite artist?”

So many names whirl around my head. Picasso . . . Chagall . . . Matisse . . . O’Keefe. Then, I blurt out another: Jackson Pollack.

Back to her drink, she scrunches her face in deep thought. Then, she puts the flute down and breaks into a triumphant smile. Her next words sail off her lips. “Phineas Jackson. It’s perfect!”

I say the name to myself.Phineas Jackson. It does have a ring.

“Do you like it?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Wonderful. Now, with that little issue out of the way, let’s talk business.”

I let her talk away. I don’t know the first thing about business. Maybe that’s why I’ve never succeeded.

“It’s a straight forward deal. I take a commission of twenty-five percent. I know it’s a little higher than the standard, but I am not your standard agent.” Narrowing her eyes, she shoots me a wry smile. “And may I add,notin any way. Daddy taught me you get what you pay for in life.”

My pulse in overdrive, I’m still processing my incredibly good fortune to be repped by the best in the art world—wait till I tell Skye!—when a thickset, greasy-haired man swaggers up to us. Dressed like so many here, he sports a navy gabardine jacket over an open-collar white shirt and jeans. His paunch hangs over his belt, the shirt buttons straining. As he gets closer, his cloying cologne wafts up my nose, nauseating me a bit. I feel like I’ve met him before, but where? Kayla’s eyes instantly light up at the sight of him. Leaping up from her seat, she gives him an effusive kiss on both jowly cheeks.

“Sheldon! How wonderful to see you. I missed you at Art Basel in Miami.”

“Yeah, I had to miss it. Network shit.” His voice is loud and gruff with a thick New York accent. “You see anything good?”

“To be honest, darling, same old, same old. No one set the world on fire though the parties were divine.” She turns to me. “Oh, forgive me... Let me introduce you to one of the foremost collectors of contemporary art in the world... Sheldon Greenberg.”

Sheldon Greenberg?TheSheldon Greenberg? The producer of all those crime shows I’ve watched on TV?

“Sheldon, I’d like you to meetPhineas Jackson. My newest client.”

The meaty man doesn’t offer his hand. He doesn’t smile. Just a jut of his stubbly double chin and one throaty throwaway word: “Hey.”

Kayla ignores his prickish behavior as I study him. His face is vaguely familiar. Again, I wonder—have I met him before? Seen his photo somewhere? With his expensive sunglasses perched on his large, balding head, could he possibly be the jerk who minutes ago almost ran me over? Before I can search my mind, my companion chimes in.

“Sheldon, you’re going to cream your pants when you see his work. There’s absolutely nothing like it out there anywhere.”

“I’m ready, sweetheart. Call me anytime.”

“Trust me, Sheldon, Phineas is going to set the art world on fire.”

I suddenly want a Bellini to quench the burn in my chest. One of my favorite Springsteen songs spins in my head.

“I’m on Fire.”

CHAPTER 6

Finn

Though I didn’t consume any alcohol, I’m on a high when I depart the still hopping restaurant. Kayla insisted on paying the bill, despite my protests, and we set up a time when she could come down to the studio and see my work. She also told me her attorney would be sending me a contract to review and sign. Thank God, Skye has a good one whom she trusts to negotiate her employment contract at Conquest. I’m not sure if he’s ever had experience in the art world, but it doesn’t seem like my agreement will be hard to handle. It’s a basic five-year deal with a set commission rate.

Heading back to my vehicle with a big smile on my face, I punch the air. “Yes!” Finally. I have a chance to show the art world who I am. Make a mark. Make a name.

I can’t wait to share the great news with Skye. Out of fear of letting her down, I didn’t tell her anything about my meeting with Kayla Phillips. But now I want to shout out everything. My life is about to change.Ourlives are about to change. Tonight, we’ll go out to celebrate. Both her birthday and my deal. Surprise her with the red dress I bought. Wine and dine at our favorite restaurant. Come home and have epic sex. Almost at my truck, I pluck my phone from my pocket and speed-dial her number. She picks up on the third ring.

“Finn?”

A siren blasts my ear. A fire engine. It’s turning from La Cienega onto the side street I’m walking down.

The bright red truck zooms down the pavement past me. “Baby, hold on... Can you hear me?”

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