She’d always loved her apartment. The rent for the brownstone was costing her a mint, though, and the realization hit her that she would have to move somewhere cheaper. There had been no unexpected windfall. No customer who loved her work and would buy whatever she brought in.
She needed to make a trip to the art gallery and speak to Mr. Downing. Make it clear that if she were to continue displaying her work there that he couldn’t sell it to Ash. He probably wouldn’t allow her to bring in anything else since she was refusing what had to be his best customer. How could she trust that Ash wouldn’t simply buy it under a different name, one she’d never be able to trace back to him?
Yes, she would have to move, reorder her priorities and think about her options. She needed to create more jewelry and put it up for sale on her site. The site had languished since she’d moved in with Ash, all her focus going into her art. But she needed the money from the sale of her jewelry. When she produced regularly, she sold regularly. Her art would have to take a temporary backseat until she built up enough reserves to give her time to think about a new direction in her artwork.
Mr. Downing had said she lacked vision and focus. That she was too scattered and all over the board. Evidently he was right. But what would her new focus be? If people didn’t like the cheerful, colorful works she created then she had to rethink her vision.
It shouldn’t be too hard to come up with more of the depressing, gloomy paintings that she’d done this morning. She wouldn’t get over Ash in a day, a week or even a month. She loved him. She’d fallen hard and fast without a safety net. The old adage about playing with fire came to mind. She’d definitely played, throwing caution to the wind, and as a result she’d been burnt.
Shaking her head, she finished off her coffee and set the mug on the coffee table. She needed to get back to work, perhaps draw a companion piece for the Rain in Manhattan painting. She could then take both to Mr. Downing and see if he thought they’d sell better than her previous offerings. If not? Plan B. Whatever that was.
She eyed her cell phone, which she’d put on silent, debated whether she should check for calls or messages. Then she sighed. No one would be calling her. Except maybe Ash, and she didn’t want to think about him right now. Resisting the temptation to look at her messages—if there were any—she went back to work, driven to complete another piece.
Her paintings usually took days. She tweaked endlessly, frowning over every little detail. But today she put paint to canvas and didn’t stop until it was done. So what if it was imperfect? It wasn’t like all that attention to detail had gotten her very far before.
She shook her head. God, she sounded like a whiny, feeling-sorry-for-herself nitwit. This wasn’t her and she wasn’t going to let it be her. She wasn’t one to give up. She’d never given up her dream. Her mother had made her swear that she wouldn’t. No way in hell she was going to let herself or her mother down.
For hours she worked steadily, the sun rising higher and more sunlight shining through her window. At one point she closed her blinds because she felt too exposed to the passersby on the sidewalk. She’d noticed a couple of guys walking back and forth on the street outside, seeming like they were trying to get a glimpse of her painting. Painting was private. Even moreso now that she was spilling her heart and her devastation onto the canvas.
She’d just put the last touches on the painting when a knock sounded at her door. She froze, dismay coursing through her veins. Was Ash here? He’d been blunt about the fact that he’d give her last night but that he wasn’t giving up on her or them. He’d wanted her to think about it but she’d shoved the whole issue solidly from her mind and immersed herself in work.