Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 110771 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 554(@200wpm)___ 443(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110771 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 554(@200wpm)___ 443(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
“You do?”
“She’s very talented,” I assure him, and I’m not lying.
Liberty is amazing. Her pictures are beautiful charcoal drawings that pull you in. You get lost in them. She paints too, and we’re blessed to have several of those on display, but charcoal is definitely her preferred medium.
“Then how about you show away, darlin’?” he drawls.
I shake my head. I’m starting to wonder if he’s flirting or just really smooth. Either way, it’s more than a little flattering, for sure.
“We have some of her art hanging in the gallery. There are more, but we’ve moved it to prepare for our event this weekend.”
“Your event?”
“We’re having a gallery showing of local artists this weekend. Liberty is the headliner.”
“Liberty?” he asks.
“She’s the artist that I think you will like,” I explain as I continue walking him toward the display that I want to show him.
“She’s got a cool as hell name,” he murmurs, and I smile.
“Yeah,” I laugh. “It’s much better than Helena.”
“I take it that’s your name?”
“Unfortunately,” I complain, making him laugh.
“Well, you may not like it, but I do.” He gives me a wink and damn if I don’t blush again.
“Okay, but it’s still not as cool as Liberty,” I joke.
“Maybe not, but I bet I wouldn’t stop my ride to come inside and check her out.”
“I think you’d be wrong,” I giggle.
Liberty is beautiful. I’m not dumb. I know I look good, and I can work it, but she is drop-dead gorgeous. She’s sweet and nice, but she’s so beautiful that she’s the kind of girl I’d be nervous to have Marco around—especially since I’m not sure how he truly feels about me.
“Where did you go?” the man asks.
“Huh?”
“Babe, you seemed a million miles away just now.”
“Oh, I was just thinking about Liberty,” I lie. “This is her work.”
I gesture my hand out toward the huge wall of art. Even though we’ve taken a lot of her work down, there are at least six large pieces and three small hanging on the soft white wall. The gallery lighting highlights each piece individually. Zervas spared no expense when it came to this place. He also used hardwoods and colors that are native to Arizona and the result is breathtaking. He kept the backdrop of the walls a creamy white so that it fades and makes the art jump out at you and grab your attention. The tiled floor is expensive Italian marble and continues to make the place a clean slate so that the art is the star. It also screams expensive so that buyers who are looking for art are instantly aware the pieces here are quality.
My customer is quiet as his eyes move over the drawings and the one lone painting that we haven’t moved yet. I know immediately that his attention is centered on the painting. I know this because it is my favorite piece in the entire gallery. It’s a beautiful depiction of a solitary biker. He’s pulled off to the side of the road at Dobbins Lookout and staring at the sun setting in the sky. I thought of this piece after first seeing EZ. The image is beautiful but something about the biker’s profile makes you think he’s lost and suddenly found his way. I’ve always hated that you can only see his back and side—his face completely hidden by the shadow of the night. I imagine the painting was meant to catch the sunset, but the biker always grabbed my interest first.
He reaches out moving his finger ever so gently against the glass, where the title of the painting is emblazoned. Peace.
“I thought you’d like this one.”
“I want it,” he says.
“I’m sorry, the artist is taking this one back. She only allowed us to have it on display. The others we will be in the show and are definitely for sale, however.”
“Call her and tell her to name her price.”
I blink taken by surprise at his vehemence. I knew he would like the picture. That’s why I wanted to show it to him, but I didn’t expect this response at all. “I’m sorry. Ms. Quinn is out of reach at the moment. She will be in town this weekend for the show. All of our artists will be. I can approach her with your offer then.”
“Liberty Quinn,” he murmurs and it’s very odd, but the way he says her name is almost like a satisfied purr.
“Does that mean you’re coming to the art showing Saturday?”
“What time?”
“It starts at seven,” I respond.
“You going to be there?”
“Of course, I’ve been planning it alongside my bosses.”
“And Liberty will be there?”
“She doesn’t really mingle with the general public. She’s a very private person, but I can talk to her.”
“So, she’ll be here.”
“You’re like a dog with a bone, aren’t you, Mr. …” I trail off, realizing that I don’t know his name.