Page 17 of Paint Me Love
What I am about to do is stupid. Pointless. Illogical. But it’s the only possible outcome because I am not quite ready to let this man go. “I want to host an exhibition of your paintings.”
This meeting him in person idea backfired spectacularly, but then, I’m not that surprised. I know myself, how my obsession works. Now that I’ve met Daniel, I’m even more intrigued. He’s simple, he’s naïve, and yet his paintings captivated me, mesmerized me like they’re made from some otherworldly magic that only I can see. So I’ll hold on to it for a little longer, see where it takes me until I either lose interest or lose myself to it.
There is just one little problem—do I tell him who I am, or do I keep ignoring his messages?
9
Daniel
“Youwhat?”Cassandragaspsat Derek, shock written all over her frowning face.
I’m right there with her, my heart sprinting like crazy and my mind swirling like a whirlpool. Derek Salinger is crazy. I can’t believe he wants to hold an exhibition of my stuff just from looking at my portfolio. It makes no sense.
But making no sense doesn’t mean I won’t grab with both hands this golden opportunity he’s given me. I’d be even crazier than him not to.
“Yes! I’ll do it!” I blurt out before he can get to his senses and take back the offer.
Cassandra’s shock redirects to me, but I just smile sweetly at her and shrug.Your boss did this, not me.
Derek walks over to me and offers me his hand. I swallow hard, staring at it like it’s a snake about to bite me. But I take it. His hold is firm, but his gaze is firmer, alight with purpose. It takes my already shaky breath away, because I see in it something deep and raw, something that my art has done to this man.
My chest feels about to burst as tingles crawl all over me and heat concentrates in my core. I bite on my lip, drawing his eyes there. Fuck, this is the best, I’ve really done it. My art has made him feel something, and that something is strong enough so he’s impulsively trying to hold onto it.
What is it? What did he see? I want to know.
Derek explains to Cassandra where he wants my paintings and which ones can go down. “I’ll handle Haggins myself if he complains.”
She nods, still looking like a rabbit in crosshairs, but doesn’t rebut him. I take that as a good sign. They discuss between themselves a few more of the logistics, but I miss all of it because I still can’t believe this is happening.
“Just to confirm, Daniel, we will be looking to sell your works. A standard sixty-forty percent split. I’ll have the contract drafted in the next couple of days and will send it to you along with a list of the works we are interested in.”
Would anyone even want to buy my stuff? I sneak a glance Derek’s way, averting my eyes quickly when his gaze catches mine. Two or three people, counting Molly, liking my works doesn’t mean they will be popular with the masses, but I guess there is no way to find out unless I do this.
“Yes, sounds good,” I quickly agree before either of them gets one last chance to back out of this madness. “I am looking forward to working with you.”
Despite the nerves and doubts that bubble up inside me, I leave the gallery happy. I draw from my heart, by feeling, and having someone like my paintings so much so they want to feature me in their posh gallery is something I wouldn’t have even dreamed of. Molly will be so proud of me when I tell her.
The one thing that worries me as I board the light rail to get to work is whether I’ll need to speak in front of people. The gallery opening was one thing, but I hope that they don’t doartist features unless it’s a special occasion, which this isn’t. I’m a nobody, so there wouldn’t be anyone interested in meeting me, at least not unless my art suddenly got popular. I want it to, but I also don’t, and thinking about it makes my head hurt, which is why I distract myself by trying to guess which of my works they’ll likely request.
A couple of the landscapes and one or two portraits, maybe? It would showcase my skill and the variety of subject matter I like to paint.
The train stops at an overground intersection and waits for the traffic light to change to green. What if Derek was choosing them? A spark of heated curiosity travels down my spine. What would he pick? Somehow, I think he would go for the demon creature. I don’t know what he likes and I don’t know what kind of a person he is, but whatever it is that he saw in my mural, I think he would’ve seen it in the demon painting, too. Would Molly’s brother let the gallery display it if they asked?
I make it to work on time despite the heavier traffic once I change from rail to bus. My shift is busy today and I have little time to mull over the events of the afternoon and then when I get home, I’m too tired to do more than grab a bite, shower and flop onto my bed.
Despite my long day, I can’t fall asleep, so I shoot my Mystery Guy a message. He’s been slow to answer lately, so I don’t hold out hope that he will respond in a timely manner today either. He surprises me.
Him: Congratulations. I’m so proud of you. I knew you had it in you, and as you can see, the gallery has recognized your talent, too.
He’s so formal about it. It’s so him. But I don’t mind it, it’s part of his charm.
Me: Still busy with work?
He doesn’t respond immediately. I stare at my ceiling for a few minutes and just when I’m about to give up waiting, his message pings.
Him: More or less. But I think I have time for you now, Daniel.
My heart lurches into my throat.Daniel? How does he know my name? I don’t remember ever telling him or exchanging names. It’s why he’s my Mystery Guy.
