I smile and shoot him a text back, letting him know I just got some great news. My phone instantly lights up with a call. I tap on my headphones to answer it so I can clean up my room while chatting to him. I need to head off to the gallery as soon as I can, but I can’t leave open paint about.
“Hey, babe. What’s the news?” His morning voice is gravelly, and my body shivers at the deep tone.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” I tease. “I just heard back from an art gallery.”
“Oh? And what did they say?”
“They’re featuring one of my pieces next week.” I pick up my brushes and bring them into the bathroom. I soap them up and work my fingers through the bristles to rub out the paint. I run them under some warm water and dry them off. Then, I swirl them in a fresh jar of mineral spirits to get any of the remaining paint off before running them under the warm water again. Oil-based paints are a pain to clean, but I’ve lost too many brushes from half-assing the process.
“Seriously? That’s amazing, Stevie. Congratulations.”
“Thanks, I bring them my piece later today.”
“Damn, I would say we should go out to celebrate, but I have to work tonight.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I shove the phone between my ear and shoulder as I wash my hands to remove residual paint.
“Any chance I can see a sneak peek of this piece.”
“You can see it next week at the exhibition.” I untie my apron and throw it on my table before bouncing over to my bedroom. I’m riding a wave of happiness right now.
“Are you asking me on a second date, Stephanie Andwell?”
“Well, I’ll be preoccupied for most of the night with buyers and investors…but yes, Aleksander. I’m asking you on a date.”
“Send me the details, and I’ll be there.”
I smile. “Alright, I have to get ready to head to the gallery, but I’ll text you later.”
“Sounds great, bye.”
“Bye.”
I quickly touch up my makeup, dabbing on a little more blush and swiping on some gloss. I tear off my art clothes, which consist of an old cheer T-shirt and jean shorts, and throw them onto the floor of my closet. I exchange them for a tight, sleeveless, black turtleneck dress, Gucci brand tights, and knee-high black boots. I give myself a quick twirl in the mirror and fluff up my hair.
I then take the time to prep my painting for transport. I place it face down onto a few sheets of wax paper. I begin rolling the painting around a roller as loosely as possible from the short edge, ensuring there are no lines or bends. I tape it and then roll it again in some bubble wrap before popping it into a tube.
Once everything is secured, I grab my handbag and exit the building.
***
My heel taps nervously against the marble tiles. I’ve been wandering around the Hayes Art Gallery since handing off my tube to Caleb Hayes’ assistant thirty minutes ago. I can’t even focus on any of the pieces. My stomach is churning with nerves. It’s not like he is going to renege on his offer after looking at the piece again. Right?
Goddammit. Why can’t they just put me out of my misery? This sucks.
“Ms. Andwell?”
My head whips around at the deep voice. A tall man with perfectly styled dark hair and a thick beard is waiting behind me. Caleb Hayes is giving off real Chris Evans vibes in his tightly pressed grey suit. He looks even better than he does online.
“Yes. That’s me.”
He holds his hand out and gives mine a quick, firm shake.
“Caleb Hayes. It’s a pleasure to officially meet you.”
“That should be my line, Mr. Hayes.”
“Please, just call me Caleb. I have a feeling that after this exhibition, we are going to be working together fairly often.” My heart shines at the comment, at the implication. “I took another look at your work, and I would like to make it the centerpiece reveal for the exhibition, if that works for you?”
I lose every ounce of decorum in my body. “Are you serious? I would love that.”
He smiles at me. “Wonderful. Now, there is just one slight issue.”
“What is it?”
“Your piece. When you submitted it, you left it untitled. I am going to need a name for the exhibition. Did you have one in mind?”
At the time? No. I had no clue what I wanted to name it. But right now, the answer seems so obvious.
“The Game.”
SEVENTEEN
* * *
STEVIE
I stare up at the piece that Hayes centered in the middle of the room.
The Game.
It’s a swath of drowning black; swirls of obsidian draw unsuspecting onlookers to it. Cutting through the darkness is a slash of glowing red. A mask flipping over and over until it crashes in the middle, breaking. With each turn of the mask, the expression changes from one of happiness to one of sadness. I’d modeled the mask after the ones The System wears.
“Stevie. You absolutely killed this, girl.” Deanna gives me a tight squeeze from behind. The place is packed. There are at least two hundred people here, and we’re only in the first hour of the exhibition. My brother stopped by right when it opened, but he could only spare a few minutes before he had to leave for a surgery that couldn’t be rescheduled. It doesn’t bother me; I’ve been busy, anyway. Hayes has been trotting me around to various collectors and buyers. The introductions have been invaluable. Even if no one purchases my piece tonight, just being here was enough.
I watch as a couple walks up to The Game. Their heads tilt as they stare at it, exchanging words that I can’t hear. When the woman smiles as she gestures across the painting, satisfaction rolls through me.
I turn to Dee with a massive smile. “Thanks, it’s everything I could’ve wanted.”
“When’s that man of yours supposed to show up?”
“I told you he would be here around eight. He had to rearrange his work schedule, and it’s the earliest he could swing.” Aleks apologized for a solid fifteen minutes on the phone this morning. Even though I told him it wasn’t a big deal because I’d be busy for the first hour or so, he still felt awful about not being here as soon as it started.
“Well, it’s five to eight.”
I roll my eyes at Dee. Always one to be punctual.
“Which means, he still has five minutes to get here.”
“Well, if he isn’t here in five minutes, I’m deducting five points from my assessment of him.”
“If I’m five minutes early, do I gain five points?” I spin on my heels, almost tipping over, at the sound of Aleks’ voice. I’m immediately greeted by a bouquet of purple irises. Aleks holds them out toward me with a warm smile. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you.” I take the flowers from his hands, sniffing their sweet scent. They’re stunning. I don’t think I’ve ever been given irises before, but they have now become my favorite flower.
I hand the bouquet to Deanna before launching myself at Aleks to give him a giant hug. His arms squeeze me back, and I sink into him. It’s odd how comforting his presence is…it’s like a missing piece clicking into place. Even though we call all the time and text every day, this is the first time I’ve seen him since our date.