Page 38 of Clear Path

“Thanks.” Lucas ripped the package open and bit off the corner of the dense bar.

“Now, I have question for you.”

Lucas chewed and swallowed before responding. “Yes?”

“You said you and your friend are fans of Aurora Westin’s work, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Aren’t you a photographer, as well? A fashion photographer?”

“Yes. You’ve heard of me?”

Bodhi let him have his moment of pride then he said, “You worked with her when she was a model, right? Didn’t the two of you date?”

Lucas stopped chewing but worked his jaw. Finally, he blew out a breath. “Fine, yes, I know her—knew her. I haven’t spoken to her in years.”

“But your friend owns the gallery that canceled her show.”

He grunted a response that Bodhi took as confirmation.

“Why are you and Mr. Davidson really here?”

Before he could respond, Tripp returned, zipping his fly. Sensing the tension, he said, “What’s going on?”

“They know,” Lucas told him sourly.

Tripp glanced between his friend and Bodhi. “Know what?”

“Did you honestly think nobody would figure out your connection to Rory?”

Tripp snorted, unimpressed. “Fine. Yes, I own the gallery that was going to show Rory’s work. And yes, Lucas used to date her. Ancient history. You’ve got us. We’re not random fans. Well done, Dr. King. Or should I call you Dr. Watson?”

He refused to take the bait. “Bodhi’s fine. You were in Clarksville last night. Before she unveiled her guerrilla exhibition. Why were you coming to see her? ”

“We came to talk sense into her,” Lucas explained.

Tripp scoffed. “Burning a bridge with an established gallery like mine is a mistake that won’t go over well in the arts community. As for her little DIY installation, that’s nothing more than a childish stunt to get attention.”

“Unlike gratuitous nude self-portraits?” He couldn’t resist asking the question.

Tripp had the self-awareness to look marginally embarrassed, but he shrugged. “It was a business suggestion. Sex sells. Always has, always will.”

“And when she refused?”

“I canceled the show. My gallery, my rules.”

“Her reaction was completely outsized,” Lucas interjected. “She could have simply said no and negotiated. Instead, she hung her photos from her ceiling and posted them online with some manifesto about displacement.”

Bodhi eyed them dispassionately. “That still doesn’t explain why you joined the search for her. She already announced that the show was canceled and unveiled her photographs. It’s too late to stop her now.”

The two men exchanged glances.

“We’re here,” Tripp said slowly, “because her little stunt is working. Social media’s blowing up with her guerrilla exhibit.Art blogs are covering it. My phone’s been ringing off the hook with collectors asking about her work.”

“We need her,” Lucas said. “She’s a hot commodity now—nude or clothed.”

Bodhi didn’t try to hide his surprise at the frank admission. “That’s blunt.”

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