“Getting me to carry his work?” The woman smiled. “I’m assuming you know someone who’s a new artist?”
“Yes…my husband, Fionn,” Hunter said, tugging his mate close to him.
“Do you have any examples of your work with you I can look at?” the woman asked Fionn. “Or would you prefer to make an appointment for another time?”
Holding out his mate’s sketchbook, Hunter replied, “This is his most recent work and now would be perfect since we’re only in town for a day.”
Taking it, she said, “Why don’t we go to my office?”
“Certainly,” Hunter agreed, clasping his mate’s hand.
Dazed at the rapidity of events, Fionn let his mate lead him to the rear of the gallery and into an office. Sitting down next to Hunter, he watched the woman slowly turn the pages of his sketchbook, occasionally pausing, before continuing. The tension in his body was painful. As Fionn studied the woman’s face, butterflies fluttered throughout his stomach every time he thought he saw her mouth open, then close without saying a word.This was a mistake…I’m not ready…oh gods what will I do if she rejects me? Better not to give her a chance. Make an excuse and leave.Unable to take it anymore, he opened his mouth, about to tell her he’d changed his mind.
“I love your work,” the woman said, looking at Fionn. “You are truly talented.”
What? That can’t be.
The woman continued, “I think it would make a great addition to the gallery and will give my buyers a different option. Many of them are collectors, always looking for the next great artist, and your sketches will give them an alternative to the watercolors and oils I presently display.”
Glancing at his mate and finding him speechless, Hunter said, “That’s a good point. Excuse me, Ms…”
“Oh, sorry, I’m Emilia Miralles.”
“Ms. Miralles, I’m Hunter Evans. We’re both new at this so what’s the next step?”
“I want to see more of Fionn’s work, either here or at your studio…”
“I don’t have a studio,” replied Fionn, finally finding his voice.
“Then here Fit will be. We can schedule a time that’s convenient for you,” Emilia said. Her gaze went back to one of Fionn’s drawings, absentmindedly tapping her finger on her desk before continuing, “I’ll email our Representation Agreement for you to look over.”
“That sounds good, right Fionn?” asked Hunter.
“Uh-huh. When do you want to meet?”
Emilia opened her diary and flipped through a few pages. “Does next Monday work for you? I have the entire afternoon free so that’ll give us enough time to go through your sketches and pick some for framing.”
“How about one o’clock?” asked Hunter.
“Perfect,” Emilia said, jotting down the time in her diary.
Hunter handed her his business card. “If something changes, you can reach me here. It also has my email address on it, so you can send the Representative Agreement to us there.”
“Perfect,” Emilia replied. Standing, she held out her hand.
Rising, Hunter shook it. “I look forward to Monday.”
Amazed at how effortlessly his mate managed the meeting, Fionn slowly got up, trying, but not succeeding to hide his happiness. “Thank you, Ms. Miralles,” he said.
“No, thankyou, Fionn. I can’t wait to view more of your work and I already know several buyers who are going to snap up your pieces as soon as they see them.”
Taking Fionn’s sketchpad, Hunter ushered his mate out of the office and found Dylon and Cody leaning against a wall, waiting for them.
“From the goofy grin on Fionn’s face, I’d say it went well,” Dylon said.
“It did, she wants to carry his drawings,” Hunter said,
“Hey, well done, Fionn,” Cody said. “This calls for a celebration.”
