My heart thudded against my chest. Dammit. The man was a detective, so it wasn’t surprising that he was curious, but I also was terrible at lying. This was my opportunity. My opening. I could tell him everything and ask for help.
Before I could open my mouth, the door opened again and two familiar and welcome faces strolled in. Yve and Lucas Titan.
“Detective Hennessy, you really are everywhere,” Lucas drawled. He extended his arm and the men shook hands.
“How are you, Titan? Mrs. Titan?”
Yve smiled as her eyebrow arched. “I still have a first name, Detective.”
“I recall. I’m glad to see you survived your belated bachelorette party.”
Lucas’s deep laugh filled my gallery. “I sure won’t be forgetting that night anytime soon.”
Yve shot a pointed look at her husband but the chuckle didn’t stop; Lucas’s wry smile only deepened. Rolling her eyes, Yve turned her attention back to me. “I suppose if I invite you to a girls’ night, you might have second thoughts this time.”
I considered for a beat before responding. The alternative was waiting around my empty house at night for an update on Trinity from the man who would break in.
“Not at all. I’m in. Just tell me when and where.”
Yve’s grin was quick and looked lovely on her. She’d been through so much more hell than I had, and I loved seeing her happy. “Good. I’ll text you the details. Now, I’m starving and this guy promised to feed me.”
“I promised to feed you after we picked out a piece to go above the fireplace. I’m making you spend money today, and you’re not going to get out of it by pretending to be hungry now.”
The grin morphed into a playful glare. “I’m not pretending. I’m always hungry.”
I interjected. “By all means, Lucas, please spend some money. I’m happy to take it off your hands.”
Yve’s smile came back. “I guess if I’m going to spend his money anywhere, it might as well be with friends.” She rubbed her hands together. “Okay, let’s do this.”
She strode toward the walls of artwork and began perusing them with an eye toward lightening Lucas’s wallet, which made me one happy gallery owner.
“You’ve got to have more than one fireplace, Lucas. I’m sure you need more than one piece.”
“That’s all up to her. It’s impossible to get her to buy anything for herself, so I have to resort to extreme measures.”
“I’m sure we don’t need to know what those are,” I replied.
“No, you really don’t,” Yve added from across the room, right before she gasped. “This one. This is the one. It’s beautiful.”
I walked toward where Yve was crouching by a painting leaning against the wall. My confusion mounted as her body blocked it. I didn’t lean pieces against the wall; they were all carefully displayed for maximum impact.
I racked my brain for what could have happened. Remy Burton, my other gallery employee, had returned from vacation and been working this morning, but he wasn’t careless either. I’d been so sidetracked I hadn’t even noticed.
Jeez, Valentina, get it together.
Yve stood and lifted the canvas, bringing it into view.
What. The. Hell.
I stutter-stepped in midstride.
That canvas wasn’t supposed to be here. It was supposed to be in my studio at home, behind another stack of canvases.
And there was only one explanation for how it had gotten here. I was going to kill him.
“Isn’t she gorgeous?” Yve whispered, holding the painting up for all of us to see.
A woman reclined on a divan with colorful swaths of silk covering her strategically. Her dark hair hung in long curls, mixing with the vivid colors. I’d painted it months ago and never looked at it again.
Lucas met Yve and paused. “It’s beautiful.” Turning his gaze to me, he said, “We’ll take it.”
“Wha—what?” I stammered.
His eyes narrowed on me before flicking down to the painting and back. “There’s no artist signature. Whose work is it?”
I cursed Rix silently for landing me in this situation. “The artist prefers to remain anonymous, so I can’t share that information.”
Glancing down at the canvas again, Lucas lifted it from Yve’s hands and turned it over. “No price either.”
I’d never considered selling my artwork, and therefore I had never thought to put a price on it. I fought the urge to wring my hands, and instead adopted my cool businesswoman mien and turned for my desk.
“Let me check my catalog. I’m afraid I haven’t committed that one to memory.”
“Do you have any other pieces by the same artist?” Lucas asked.
Shaking my head, I reached with trembling hands for the three-ring binder on my desk containing the details of all the pieces in my studio. “No. The artist provided only the one piece.”
“Well, ask the artist to provide more. The vivid colors and bold technique are exactly what I’d envisioned for the living room, and we’d love to see more.”
“It sure is impressive.”
This comment came from Hennessy, and I kicked myself for momentarily forgetting about his presence.
I flipped through the plastic sheets in my binder, my brain racing for something to say. They wanted to buy my art. Over everything else in my gallery. Stunned didn’t even begin to cover how I was feeling.