-Ditto outreach.
I have a couple more ideas to make my presentation shine.
- Refine Ever After concept.
Despite Susie rejecting my idea I just can’t stop thinking about it.
- Find a therapist.
Once I deal with the whole can-barely-make-rent-on-current-salary thing.
When Bancroft finally arrives, he looks preoccupied. The evening sun bounces off his light stubble, which looks a couple of days old. Not that I’m keeping track of his facial hair, or his face in general.
“Everything OK?” I ask as our shoes crunch against beige gravel.
We pace slowly outside a huge white building with columns and arches making up the facade. A world away from the last two places we visited. This place looks gladiatorial, but we’re walking into battle together while being on completely opposite pages.
“Yeah, yeah...” He trails off, scratching the back of his wavy hair. I squint, trying to see the truth in his face but he averts his gaze. “Let’s go in.”
He walks up the stone stairs to the entrance of a stark white room flooded with fake natural lighting. He takes in another deep breath and rolls his shoulders back. I watch as the shiny veneer he wears at work washes over him, and just like that any hint of vulnerability is gone. Pushed back down into the depths where he keeps it,a sunken treasure chest crushed down by the pressure of a vast ocean.
“Mr. Bancroft?” asks a tall, thin woman with square glasses and a slicked-back dark ponytail that makes her look like an expensive sparrow. “And this is your girlfriend?”
“Colleague!” he almost shouts. He clears his throat and shakes her hand, transforming into his usual suave self. “This is my colleague, Grace Hastings.”
The woman turns her attention to me and holds out her jewel-adorned hand. “I’m Valentina. Welcome to Calico Gallery. So nice to meet you.”
“Thank you. Nice to meet you too.” I smile graciously and take her hand. I’m sure I’ve seen an influencer wear that gold bracelet before, and I’m also sure it costs around £15,000.
My unmanicured, un-bejewelled hands feel naked in comparison. This is Bancroft’s world, not mine. His pristine navy-blue suit, caramel-brown silk tie and perfectly tousled hair give him the air of effortless belonging that I could never even dream of.
“Thank you for taking the time to meet with us after hours, I know how busy you are.” Bancroft shoots her a dulled version of his schmoozing megawatt smile.
“Oh, it’s no trouble.” Valentina waves away the notion with her fifteen-grand hand, not noticing the lack of feeling behind his words. “Your mother is a generous patron; we always have time for the Bancrofts.”
I cut a sideways glance at him, catching his jaw tighten and release.
“We appreciate it,” he says, quickly changing the subject. “The gallery space is amazing. You have multiple shows running at the moment?”
“Yes, isn’t it fabulous?” she gushes. “Your users are going toadoreour latest exhibition.”
She places her hand on his forearm and laughs. I’m oddly satisfied when he doesn’t respond to the touch, instead giving her a tight, closed-mouth smile.
“I’m sure they will.”
“Well,” she sighs out contentedly, clapping her hands together. “You’re right on time for this evening’s showing! If you’d like to join the group, our tour guide will take you through the exhibition, finishing in our bar with curated cocktails inspired by the works.”
I smile enthusiastically at her, feeling kind of bad she isn’t receiving the famous Bancroft charm.
“Thank you.” With a polite nod and smile he strides toward the group of a dozen art enthusiasts.
Trailing a few paces behind, I debate whether to start a conversation with him. He seems to be more interested in headbutting the wall than talking about whatever’s going on with him. Before I’m able to get a word out, we are stopped in our tracks by the huge sign with the wordsThe Art of Self Loveembossed in neon lights. My fingers shoot accusatorially out toward the sign as if it saysENTER WITH EXTREME CAUTION IF YOUR NAME IS GRACE HASTINGS.
“Is... this... what we’re seeing?”
He doesn’t meet my panicky eyes. “Yep, it’s their sold-out exhibition,” he says in a stony voice while reaching for a glass of wine left out for guests. “Ditto users will have exclusive access to the most sought-after ticket of the year.”
The chasm inside my stomach is briefly filled by warm, gooey admiration.
