Macom’s lips twist wryly. “That was interesting, but something tells me this night will be as well.” He glances at Josh. “I need you at the stage in forty-five minutes.” And on that note, he leaves.
Josh exhales. “Holy hell. Let that be it. Awkward, fucked up, but done.” He pins me in a look. “Head to the second level. That entire floor is the party. At eight o’clock there will be a ceremony, at which time they will announce the top new artists of the year. And I’d tell you that might be you, but I won’t see your work until I walk up those stairs.”
“It’s displayed tonight?” I ask, suddenly anxious.
“Some of it. Each year, the show’s top two executives pick the top three pieces for each artist. No one is allowed to see those picks in advance.”
“Isn’t Macom a part of the board in some way?” Nick asks.
“He is,” Josh says, “but his role is more public show than anything. He didn’t get a vote on entries and he didn’t get a vote on the winner that will be announced tonight. He does most likely know the winner, as he’s presenting the award. Which unfortunately, means it’s not Faith. If it were, he’d have told me.”
I didn’t even know about the award. I didn’t hope to win, but that announcement still cuts.
“Well, as far as I’m concerned, her accepting that award from him would be poetic justice for the way he put himself above her.”
Josh declines to comment, which isn’t a surprise, since Macom is his biggest client. “You’re already a winner tonight,” he says to me. “I need to handle a few things. Go upstairs. Drink. Eat. Revel in this night. In half an hour, I’m going to find you and you will come with me. We will meet some powerful people you need to know.” He leaves.
Nick turns me toward the lobby, his arm around my shoulder. “You okay?”
“You loved the chocolate?”
“I’d love it better melted and on you, so I could lick it off. Let’s decide that’s going to happen sometime this weekend.”
I laugh. “You’re so damn bad, Nick Rogers.”
“In case you didn’t get the memo, I’m not a nice guy. You think Macom noticed?”
I laugh, and we’re about to head up a winding set of stairs when a couple in their late fifties to early sixties, and in casual wear, steps in front of us. “Nick Rogers,” the man says. “Holy hell. It is you.”
“David,” Nick says, shaking his hand before looking at the woman. “Elizabeth.” His hand returns to my back. “This is Faith.”
“Nice to meet you, Faith,” they both murmur.
“What brings you to L.A.?” the man asks. “Playing shark, or what is it, Tiger?”
“Actually, Faith is a gifted artist that’s in the L.A. Art Forum.” Pride fills his voice and warms my heart. This man supports me. He loves me. Life is good and Macom is a blip on the screen.
“Oh my,” Elizabeth says. “You’re an artist, Faith? That’s why we’re here. We’re going to the public event tomorrow. I can’t wait to see your work. We love to discover new artists.”
“Thank you,” I say. “I’d love to have you view my work.”
“And on that note,” Nick says, “we have a party to celebrate her art tonight.”
“Understood,” David says. “But as a quick side note, we’re actually considering taking our company public. We’d like to have you on board.”
“That’s a conversation for Monday. This weekend is about Faith.”
“Of course it is,” Elizabeth says. “We will see you tomorrow, Faith.” She touches my arm. “Good luck.”
And then they are gone and we are walking up the stairs. “Were they important?”
“He’s worth about a billion dollars.”
“Nick. You just blew him off.”
“Tonight isn’t about him. If he has a problem with that, fuck him.”
“Nick Rogers,” I say, giving his sleeve a tiny tug, that earns me the focus of those navy blue eyes.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“I’m a little too crazy about you.”
“Not yet,” he says, giving me a wink that does funny things to my belly. “But we’re getting there.”
We reach the second level and the entire floor is literally the party, clusters of women in fancy dresses and men in sharp suits everywhere. Elegant multi-colored chandeliers dangle at random locations from above. Waiters work the crowd with drinks and there are tables filled with finger foods. “We still haven’t eaten,” Nick says. “Shall we grab a few snacks?”
“I’ll drop it, spill it, and generally make a mess.” I glance at him. “I need to know which three pieces they picked.”
“I’d like to know, too,” he says, motioning me toward a sign that leads to the display room while another, next to it, points to the ceremony’s location.
We walk that way. “Why am I suddenly so nervous?”
“Because in your mind you know your top three picks,” he says, as we reach the doorway, “and you’re about to find out, if the judges agree.” He halts us and turns me to face him. “Name your top three.”
“You. An Eye for An Eye. An older piece I called Sonoma Sky. What do you think?”
“My picks as well.”
“Do you know Sonoma Sky?”
“I studied, and admired it when we packaged it up. Let’s go look.” He starts to turn and I catch his arm.
“I want you to be there.”
“Why, Faith?”
“Because that painting was the first one I painted for me in a very long time. And you’re the first thing I’ve done for me in a very long time.”
He reaches up and drags his knuckles down my cheek. “I’ll show you how much that means to me later, alone.” He motions to the door. “Let’s go look.”
I nod and we enter the room, people milling about displays, and of course, Macom’s is the centerpiece. And maybe it’s my nerves, but heads turn as we walk the crowd, seeming to land on Nick and then me. Which is quite possible since my heart is racing so fast that I can barely breathe. Finally, we reach my display and I step inside to find exactly what I’d hoped for: Nick, An Eye for an Eye, and Sonoma Sky. Nick’s hand settles at my back. “How do you feel?”
I glance up at him. “Validated.”
“Good. You need that. You lack confidence you need to find. I should buy the one of me.”
“If you buy it, then it looks like I can’t sell it. I’m still inspired. I’ll be painting you again.”
“Is that right?” he asks, heat in his eyes.
“Oh yes. And I’ll know every piece of your story, before you tell me your story.”
Something flickers in his expression that I can’t name, there and then gone, but before I can ask him about it, Josh suddenly appears, standing beside us, and cursing under his breath. “Holy hell. Who painted these?”
I face him. “You hate them.”
“I fucking love them. They aren’t you.”
“They are me. The real me.”
“Interesting.” He glances over my head at Nick and then back to me. “Come. Let’s go meet important people. Alone.”
I turn to Nick and his hand settles at my hip. “I’m fine, sweetheart. This is about you, not me.”
“I know, but—”
“Go. Meet people.”
“What are you doing to do?”
“Drink insanely expensive whiskey, watch people, and find us a spot in the ceremony room.”