Little Lies by Elena Reyes (ebook reader for laptop .TXT) 📗

into the plump bottom lip. So beautiful. “You will have the top floor with the glass dome as a roof and our lighting department at your disposal. The exposition will be held in the dark with those walking the show following each piece by the faint light highlighting each.”

“A dark maze?’

“More like a black hole.” I can almost see the wheels turning in her head; it’s there in the drumming of her fingers and the purse of those damn lips that are driving me insane. Just one bite. That’s all I want. “Now, tell me, Gabriella. Is this something that intrigues you?”

“You could say that.” Shifting in her seat so she’s fully facing me with her knees touching my chair, she giggles and the sound is enchanting. Distracting. “I have the worst obsession with serial killer documentaries and cult mass executions. They’re morbid, I know, but my mind can’t help but draw my own conclusions on each criminal...human nature, I guess, but it’s fascinating to hear the stories from their mouths or those who were present at the time.”

Our server chooses that moment to deliver their food, placing down each hot plate and then refreshing the coffees that are either lukewarm or empty. Without talking, she makes sure they have what they need and then walks away, smiling down at Gabriella who’s the only one that thanks her.

Elise huffs once the woman is out of earshot, stabbing her fork while sliding her knife through the yolk of her poached egg. “That’s sick. I just don’t know how you can watch—”

“The same way you can spend hours at the mall while buying crap you don’t need.” Gabriella’s grin is saccharine sweet while holding her fork toward her friend. “You just do and enjoy the time without judgement from me, so equate it to that.”

“Spoken like a true artist.” Tero nods his approval at her response before digging into his meal. And while they eat in silence, I open the file and place the first page in her direct line of sight, blocking it from view from Elise behind the carafe of water left by the waitress.

Our contract wouldn’t need endless pages of information with hidden clauses to protect myself or my business, the one of many. No. Not with her. I’m leaving it open for her without a single noose tying her to my gallery unless she wants to be, but the money is detailed and fair with a timeline I require as non-negotiable.

Seven paintings.

Two months.

An entire summer at my disposal.

6

Gabriella

Seven paintings.

Two months.

An entire summer at my disposal.

As my eyes skim down the few and detailed lines of the contract, I can’t help but ask myself why? Why is he offering me a five-figure advance with another hefty sum after opening night?

Then, there’s the timeline and the limited number of hours I’ll have. I’m not someone who does well with deadlines; I like to fly by the seat of my pants and paint as the creativity hits. I’ve never done a show in this fashion with such a limited amount of time between signing the contract and delivering each piece.

Can I do this? My eyes go to the advance and it’s tempting—too lucrative to deny when most in my position don’t get the chance to show for the Astor galleries, much less have the owner personally offer the exclusivity of the top floor with its glass ceiling and their private clientele who attends these functions.

The notoriety alone gives me goose bumps. Anonymous or not, the Astor name is one of wealth and affluence—it opens the kind of doors I’ve dreamed of in the past but never had the opportunity to walk through. He owns and oversees each of his galleries worldwide and is known to broker deals for politicians and those with obscene amounts of money looking to add an original piece from some of the greatest minds to pick up a brush.

“What are you thinking about?” Theodore’s voice cuts through my mental giddiness, bringing me back to the present where all eyes are on me. Heat rises to my cheeks just as my palms begin to sweat. “What do you need to make this happen? Name your price.”

“Three months,” I blurt out instead, and he merely raises an amused brow. Clearing my throat, I will my breathing to remain calm and stray my eyes toward the paper once again. “What I am trying to say is that for the amount of pieces you require and all of them being new, I’ll need the extra thirty days. There’s a concept already forming in my head, but I’m also realistic, and while excitement is a heady motivator, I’ll need more time.”

“Done.” At Theodore’s quick response, I snap my eyes to his and find them watching me intently. “We aren’t due to show this exposition until mid-August so it won’t affect us really, but we will need your help with the lighting setup. We will just use mock pieces until yours arrive...is that something you can agree to?” My nod is his answer, and those smoldering amber eyes look toward Tero who’s taken the folder and is busy amending it by hand. “Anything else?”

“You do understand that I will attend opening night, but not as the artist. My name—my legal name—is never to be leaked at any point, or I will sue.”

“Gabriella!” Elise hisses out, her tone low but full of a fury I ignore. “You can’t—”

Theodore’s glare is enough to silence her rant before it begins. “If you interrupt us again, I will ask you to leave, Miss Scott. Understood?”

“Yes.” Low. Meek. Yet, the hold she has on her fork displays the fury simmering beneath the surface. “It won’t happen again.”

“Good.” Grabbing the papers from Tero who’s finished, Theodore places the sheet once again in my line of sight. And damn them, I almost laugh out loud at what greets me because in large and bold letters it states: Gabriella Moore will remain anonymous and will