Page 16 of Sawyer
That had his mouth twitching. “So you’re a new gallery in Paris?—”
“Exactly, with our main one being in London. Chelsea, of course. But you would know that since you looked me up. As I told Chef Garcia, which I hope she told you, I would love tohost your first show here. You’re hot right now, so it’s a good time to ride the momentum.”
Brooke had echoed the same sentiment last night, but Axel had cautioned Sawyer to go at his own pace, to which Brooke had jokingly said, “But beyond a snail’s would be good.” That had made him laugh because it wasn’t far from the truth.
“That’s very good of you?—”
“I know you don’t have an agent yet. I checked. I understand you’ll want one. While you’re looking for one and considering other galleries, as I’m sure I’m not the only one who reached out yesterday, I’d love to show you mine. With coffee being part of the deal, of course.”
He liked that she was letting him down easy, but how could he tell her he didn’t have enough paintings to show at this level? Forget that he had commissions to paint—although Axel had told him he could paint them at his convenience. Nanine’s wedding date hadn’t been set, so her wedding portrait wasn’t on his slate yet. He needed to paint like his life depended on it. His career did.
The mere thought of people swilling free champagne and critiquing his art—while he was in the room—made him want to upchuck.
Maybe he shouldn’t sayanything. Brooke had told him not to talk to people yet.Be a little mysterious, Sawyer. Like you don’t need them and have all the offers in the world.
“Umm, I have your card,” he hedged.
“Yes, of course, but in the art world, you need to be ahead of the game to get what you want. And what I want is you, Dr. Jackson.”
His skin broke out in chills. Oh, how he wished her interest weren’t purely professional. Someone bumped into him, and he edged away as the clueless tourist with a backpack and white tennis shoes knocked into him again. “But you haven’t even seen my work!”
“I managed to pay someone for their reservation last night. I must say I agree with everything thatLe Mondesaid. The meal was exquisite. So was your artwork. Also, I watched you drawing from my perch overlooking the quay.”
He didn’t know what was more shocking—that she’d been a restaurant ticket scalper of sorts or that she’d been art stalking him. “But that was rubbish!”
She laughed, and God, what a laugh. Breathy. Sultry. Like the trail of cigarette smoke in an old movie. “Rubbish, eh? So you’re handsomeandmodestandyou know your Shakespeare. How refreshing! You can’t imagine how many artists I deal with who think they’re the next messiah and can talk of nothing else. Art is full of egos. That makes you, Dr. Jackson, a welcome change. Oh, sod it! I’m going to be impetuous and raise your initial offer. Would you like to go out to dinner?”
His already full head spun like a child’s top at the invite. Yes! He so wanted to go.“Dinner?”
She rested a hand on his arm, and even through his coat, he could feel the heat of her touch. “We can leave aside business for now, which should work just fine since you’ll be finding an agent and painting like crazy. Because who has thirty paintings simply lying around?”
He pressed his lips together so he wouldn’t blurt out,Not me.
“I’m glad you asked me out. Because I’d like to get to know you better too. But I must confess, I’m pretty tenacious. You want to make a living doing this, yes?”
This he could certainly nod to. He couldn’t wait to resign from being a professor. Yes, he’d loved to surround himself with art and paintings, but it always made him feel sad to admire these great works only from the outside. God, someday in the future he would. It seemed insane to imagine it.
“I want your show in my gallery regardless of what happens between us on a personal level. My mother launchedmy father’s career, and even after their divorce ten years later, she was still showing his paintings and helping his career. Because tenacious women are smart like that.”
“Tenacious, huh?” His heart was pounding so loudly he could barely hear the tourist boat’s horn sound on the Seine. “Are you sure this is only a date? How can I trust that this isn’t all about business in the end? We weren’t simply two people having a chance encounter. You arranged it, and I don’t like to be rushed. I’m a professor who usually has a very scheduled life.”
She gave a beatific smile a painter like him would kill to capture. “Not anymore. Welcome to the fast lane, Dr. Jackson. As for how you can trust me? First, I never lie. I was raised around some of the most mendacious of people out there. Art is teeming with them. I have vowed not to be like them.”
He almost drooled at the way she spoke.
“Second, I will not speak of art tonight or any other night we go out. Should we go out again. Third, I give you my word that I won’t let any personal relationship we have intrude on business, and being half British and old school, my word is my bond. Does that assure you?”
So he’d been right about her accent. His heart slowed as he studied her. She wasn’t smiling now. She looked a little offended even. God, a woman who spoke of honor and code! How could he pass up a date with a colorful goddess like this? Yet he remembered what Brooke had told him…
“Maybe,” he only replied, playing it coy like the French.
Her smile blew up again, so explosive it was like fireworks had gone off before his eyes. “Oh, I do love a challenge. So…Rouges. Tuesday. Eight o’clock. Will that help ensure you show up?”
He’d researched the Paris restaurant circuit as part of his work on Nanine’s, so he knew the place well. It was hard to get a reservation. “But that’s a two-star Michelin restaurant and?—”
“I don’t mess around.” She cut an attitude as she flung her hair over her shoulder, a move he rather admired. “Also, the invitation is mine, so it’s my treat.”
He made a face. “I’m old-fashioned. If we’re going out, especially the first time, I will be the gentleman. That’s a point of honor for me.”
