If anything, Taylor looks more surprised at the thank you. I suppose I don't spend much time giving him positive reinforcement. Maybe that's a habit I should look into.
Once Taylor leaves, I place a call to my head contractor, Paul. He picks up immediately.
“What can I do for you, boss?” he asks.
“I wanted to check in with you on the timeline for installing the rock crusher. Is there any way to speed it up?”
“That might be tough, unless you want us working longer hours. It needs specialists to install, so I can't fix the problem by throwing more bodies at it.”
“Fine. See if you can get the team to work three hours longer at night until it's done. My wife is going to need access to her equipment sooner.” I pause, deciding how much to share. “A gallery just asked her to do a solo show, and I want to make sure she has everything she needs.”
“Her own show, huh?” Paul sounds suitably impressed. “Well, good for her. I'll do everything I can to see if I can shave off two more days.”
I grunt in approval and remind myself to give Paul a bonus when the project is done.
There are a few emails I should probably answer, but I decide they can wait until later tonight. I want to congratulate my wife in person.
I pickup two decaf Americanos from a coffee shop Maura mentioned once on my way home. Judging by the tone of her texts, I doubt she wants a big celebration of her achievement. Still, I want to acknowledge it somehow, even if it's just something small like a coffee. Maybe if she's up for it, I'll ask Beau to send us up a celebratory meal. He makes a fantastic ribeye, though I’m not sure if Maura likes steak.
One of a thousand things I really should know about my wife. I make a mental note to start a list.
When the elevator doors open to my penthouse, I'm greeted with more color than I'm used to. Maura’s sitting on the couch, her auburn hair glinting in the light, in contrast to her dark blue, oversized cashmere sweater.
The television’s on, but silent. As I get closer, I see it’s playing a video of a volcano erupting in real time, the camera lingering on the lava dripping slowly down the side of the mountain.
“Sorry,” Maura says, her eyes not lifting from her sketchbook. “The video’s for inspiration. I’m working on a painting with a magma element. Sometimes I like to have nature images to help shape my ideas.”
I raised my brows. “And you find natural disasters relaxing?”
“Art isn't supposed to be relaxing. It's supposed to make youfeelsomething. That's why all the corporate art you have here is so terrible.” She looks up at me, horror-stricken. “Oh god, I hope that's not offensive. I'm sorry.”
Chuckling, I hand her the Americano. “I don't care about any of this art. My decorator picked it out. Replace all of it withwhatever you want. The next time you're upset with me, I expect you to bid on some Van Goghs.”
A pretty blush spreads across her cheeks. “Thanks. I promise not to be too extravagant.”
“I'd love to hang some of your art, too, if it all doesn't sell out after your Whitmer show.”
“Oh. That.”
I sit down on the couch next to her. “I thought you'd be more excited. I’m thrilled for you. You deserve it, and more.”
She shakes her head. “It's just a small thing. Probably no one will come.”
I frown. “The Whitmer has serious pull, Maura. They wouldn't waste their time on you if they didn't believe in you.”
“Maybe,” she says dismissively, her eyes still on her sketchbook.
“Definitely. A gallery like the Whitmer will assign value to their wall space. They calculate their potential earnings on commission before they commit to display anything. They might display art, but they’re a business first.”
She elbows me gently in the side. “You sound more like a business forecaster than a husband.”
“I'm both. The husband half is very proud of you. The business half wants to know if you've talked to a lawyer and negotiated a commission split with them. You haven't signed a contract yet, have you?”
Fuck, I should have called her earlier to discuss that. If the Whitmer played on Maura's naivete to get her to sign a predatory contract that wouldn't give her a proper share of the earnings, I'll personally make sure that no artist of consequence displays their work there ever again.
Maura giggles. “Stop scowling. If you're not careful, your face will stick like that. Don't worry. I'm Victor Matthews’ daughter, after all. I wouldn't sign anything without a lawyer looking overit. I just had an informal conversation with Sydney today. She won't send a contract over for another two days.”
“You'll send it to me as soon as it arrives,” I tell her and she rolls her eyes.
