"No, she was just trying to sneak a famous author into the event. But I firmly told her that was not to happen. Bianca, I don't know if you have a chance to look at the list of artists, but if you can get your eyes on it that would be great. I don't trust her not to add someone big in there. I want unknown, struggling artists who have a chance at making something of themselves from this event."
"Not a problem, Mr. Hartfield. I will get my eyes on the list and will vet them all. No one will be there without me knowing about it." I can just imagine her smiling.
"Thank you, Bianca, I knew I could rely on you."
"Don't you always," she says as she hangs up the call.
Bianca has been with me since almost the beginning. I'm forty-five now and I started this business over twenty years ago. I think she has been with me for twenty years. I couldn't run my business without her, and I don't know if I could ever find someone who could put up with me. I make sure she's well paid and has great benefits. She is my right-hand woman and I have never felt anything other than respect for her. I see other investors taking advantage of their assistants, fucking them, promising them everything and then sacking them when their wives find out.
That's another thing, I'm not married. I have never wanted to be and never will be. I'd prefer a one-night stand with someone than a relationship. I don't have time to spare to give a woman the time and respect that she would need. So, it's better just to find someone to fuck for one night. Even that is getting harder these days. I'm just not interested. Acquiring and flipping a multi-million business or property is enough passion for me. I live to work. It's my one thing that I know I can do with my eyes closed.
My mind wanders back to the art exhibition. I like meeting artists; they have a passion for their work, as do I, and it's no different; we both put ourselves out there for others to criticize. The only difference is that I thrive on people criticizing me because it means they are jealous that they didn't think of it first.
I sit back at my desk; I have work to do and know that I won't be standing back up to look at my view for another few hours. That's when the city below me comes to life. The lights in the buildings, the car lights and street lights change the landscape below me every night. I can't wait.
CHAPTER 2
Emily
Why didI have to enjoy art when I was at school? I should have picked a different subject. What about physics, chemistry, or biology? I could have been on the road to making a cure for cancer. Or become a nurse with set hours. A shiver runs through me. I don't want set hours. I don't want to find the cure for cancer - well, that's not true, I do, but I don't want to be the one who does.
My cell rings, dragging me out of my melancholy mood. I take a look at my latest piece of art and sigh. Am I ever going to be good enough?
"Hey, Emily speaking." I’m also polite, answering my phone to numbers I don't know. You never know who it might be.
"Emily Turner?" the caller asks. Her voice is a little grating, and she seems in a rush.
"Yes, how can I help you?"
"Emily, I'm Sereny Fletcher, and I am organizing a pop-up art showing in two days' time. I know it's short notice, but acolleague of mine met with you a few months back and he just gave me your details."
"Okay."
"I was wondering if you wanted to come and show your artwork at the event. It's in an office building that is being sold, and the owner decided he wants to have an art exhibition for artists who are not well known. He is a good man who likes to give struggling authors a chance. Art is one of his passions. Well, are you interested?"
I'm still trying to pick my jaw off the floor.
"Sorry, are you inviting me to exhibit my art, in an empty office building which is going to have lots of rich investors at it? In two days?" Am I really hearing this?
She laughs. "That is correct, but I need an answer now and I need to know if you have ten pieces you can show."
Ten pieces? Fuck, I'm not sure I have that many that are art exhibition ready.
"Absolutely. Just give me the time and place so that I know where to bring the artwork."
"Fantastic. I will send you the information after this call. I have all your details. I look forward to meeting you in a couple of days." She hangs up her cell before I get a chance to ask questions. How many are going to be exhibiting? How many guests are invited? Are we allowed to sell our art, or is it just for people to look at? I guess I'd better wait for her email. In the meantime, I need to call mom and let her know.
I dial her number. I walk into the studio that I have in my apartment. I'm lucky that I have money to pay for this size of anapartment, and that I can dedicate a corner of it to my studio. That's the advantage of loft apartments in a more run-down part of town.
"Hey Emily, how are you doing? Are you coming to visit soon?" Mom always asks me when I am going home. She lives five hours away, and I don't make the journey often enough.
"Soon, I promise. Mom, you are never going to believe what just happened. I have been asked to exhibit my art in an office building that is up for sale. There are going to be other artists there, I think, and there are going to be investors there too."
"Oh my god, that is wonderful, Emily. I'm so happy for you."
"Mom, this could be the break I need."
"Don't get ahead of yourself, Emily." Mom always tries to calm my spirit because I get excited very easily.
