Work of Art ~ the Collection (90 page)

“Yes,” he says with a low growl. “I’ve been getting them in the mail at home. But this is the first one I’ve gotten like this.”

“What do they say?”

“I don’t want to know.”

“Well, I do. Wouldn’t you want to know if it were sent to me?”

He sighs heavily. “Yes, I would demand to know.”

“So, can I open it?”

“It may upset you, but I’m not going to stop you. Unfortunately, we’re both in this mess now, aren’t we?”

His expression is tight with apprehension as I tear open the envelope. Inside is an invitation to an opening event at the Granville Gallery in Beverly Hills. My fingers tighten over the fancy paper as I read a handwritten note on the back to myself.

Hi Max,

You’ve probably heard that I’m working at the Granville Gallery now, and I really think Louis should represent you in both his galleries. Why don’t you come to the event and I’ll introduce you and get the ball rolling.

Really looking forward to seeing you.

Chloe

I look at Max with wide eyes and hand him the card. He studies the front, turns it over and reads her note. His face is expressionless as he hands the card back.

“Is this
the
Louis Granville she’s referring to?” I ask. My stomach churns. This woman is more trouble than I feared. She is clearly no idiot, and she knows what being in those galleries would mean to Max.

He turns, looks out the window, and nods. “Yes, the founder and owner of Granville Gallery is a major figure in the art world.”

I shove the card back in the envelope. “Damn, Max, she isn’t going to back down, is she?”

He shakes his head before looking at me. “Probably not. She’s used to getting exactly what she wants, and she’s very devious. But it’s not going to happen this time.”

And I’m leaving in two weeks
, I think. Dark thoughts blind me, as if the blackest silk scarf were tied over my eyes. Max may be resolute, but with me gone in New York for weeks, I’m worried. Can he eventually be worn down if they start working together over an opportunity he can’t pass up?

On top of everything, it’s also my last week at the gallery. Each time I drive to work this week, it gets a little tougher. But, by Wednesday, I’m choked up as I drive into the parking lot. Although the actual work is the same old stuff, it’s an emotional roller coaster in every other aspect.

On Monday, Adam sends an announcement to our email list to explain my departure and exciting career opportunity. As a result, most of the artists we deal with call to wish me the best, as well as some of my favorite customers. I’m particularly blown away by the Matthews, who send me a gorgeous arrangement from the elite florist, Mark’s Garden. Attached is a touching note of congratulations and well wishes.

Every day, someone takes me out to lunch. Even Sean puts on a good face when he takes me for burgers on Wednesday.

Right before closing that afternoon, I get a call from my lawyer, Jackson.

“Ava, there’s a problem.”

“Problem?” Oh no, I can’t take much more drama. If something has happened with the job, I think I’ll completely lose it.

“Yes, ArtOneWorld just contacted me. There are some major issues with scheduling that we need to work out.”

My stomach drops. “Major issues?”

“They need you earlier than originally planned, essentially starting yesterday.”

“What? Why?”

“The two key artists from season one were just awarded some prestigious award and grant, and because of their schedule changes, they can either do it now or have to pull out entirely. Following that are the promo shoots for the network launch, which have also moved up.”

“So, what does this all mean?”

“Essentially that they’ll need you in New York by Monday, so you can prep all day Tuesday, and then start shooting Wednesday. From here on out, you’ll be in full production mode.”

“Starting next week?” I ask with a weak voice.

“Is there a conflict we can’t move around? I know this isn’t ideal, but I thought this was your last week at work.”

“Well, it is my last week at work, but I’m packing up my apartment next week because I’m going to be in Paris the week after. Max has a meeting with the Pompidou, so we worked our trip around it. We return to the states just before my start date.”

“The Pompidou, hmm. Let me see what I can get them to do, knowing that. Meanwhile, look into getting help packing. You get a relocation allowance, so just bring the movers in sooner. They have professional packers.”

My head starts pounding from the pressure. I don’t like the idea of strangers touching my stuff, and I’d rather pack myself. But I may not have the time now.

“Do I have a choice in this?”

“Your contract isn’t in effect for a few weeks still, but doing this will get you started on the right foot with them—show you’re a team player.”

“I can work around losing my week to pack and flying there next Monday, but I can’t miss the Paris trip. I just can’t.”

“Let me talk to them. You’re already agreeing to be there next week. I’ll make sure they love you for it.”

“Okay, let me figure things out on my end.”

“Great, I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”

Having learned my lesson, I call my man
first
.

“Hey, Max.”

“What’s wrong? You sound stressed.”

“I am. I just got a call from Jackson. The production company needs me in New York next week.”

“And why is that?” His words sound calm, but his voice is tense.

“Because two of their biggest artists for the first season can only do the shoots next week.”

“So, it’s next week or nothing? What about Paris?”

“I told Jackson to tell them that I absolutely can’t miss our Paris trip.”

“Yeah, well let’s see how they take it.”

“This means I’ve got to finish packing by Sunday.”

Although he quietly sighs, he manages to resist saying “I told you so.” Max had predicted this very thing.

“If you’re worried about packing, let me help you. I’ll pick up some stuff at the box store this afternoon and get takeout for dinner. And since I’m storing some of your stuff in my garage, I’ll bring some of the packed boxes home with me.”

I take a deep breath. “You’re willing to help me pack?”

“Of course.”

“What would I do without you?”

“I’m not going to give you the chance to find out.”

For my last day on Friday, Adam has arranged a farewell lunch at Maggiano’s and included Max and Jess. Katherine meets us there, along with Brian, Sean, and the guys. We are seated at a long table in a private room. Since it’s a family style Italian restaurant, large bowls of salad, pasta, and chicken are passed around the table.

Knowing how emotional I get, Adam saves his farewell speech for dessert. He orders champagne for a toast, and when he stands and lifts his glass, I start to cry. I’m such a wimp. Max puts his arm around me, and pulls me close.

Adam gives me a warm smile, walks over and kisses me on the top of my head before returning to his place and lifting his glass again.

“Ava, you’re the daughter we always wanted. You’re not just bright and beautiful, but you’re a kind, loving person that everyone adores. As much as we’ll miss you at the gallery and studio, I want you to know how impressed we all are. This is an exciting time in your life, and we want you to make the most of it. We know you’ll make us proud. Here’s to your success, to Ava!”

Everyone lifts their glasses. “To Ava.”

“We love you!” Brian booms.

“Yes, we do, girl!” Jess agrees.

One of the guys pisses me off by chanting, “Speech, speech, speech.”

Damn, I’m crying like a baby. How can I possibly talk in this state?

“Go on, you can do it,” Max whispers in my ear, as he squeezes my hand.

I slowly rise, wipe my tears with my napkin and gaze at this group of people I love.

“You know, all of this with the television show has happened so fast, I’m not sure I believe it yet. It’s like a dream. But what I do know is how much I love you guys. You’ve been my family and Adam and Katherine, you two not only became my surrogate parents, but you brought me into your gallery. Everything you taught me, not just about art and the art business, but how to care about other people, I will carry with me for the rest of my life.”

Adam and Katherine have such proud looks on their faces. I can only hope they know what they truly mean to me. I take a deep breath and continue.

“One thing I know for sure is I would not be standing here with this future at my feet if Brian hadn’t taken me under his wing and brought me into your family. I love you so much, Brian.” My voice cracks, and I hold the table’s edge to steady myself as Max rubs my back gently. The look on Brian’s face breaks my heart.

“You guys have taught me so much and supported me with my dreams. But we’ve also had a great time along the way. Sean, you always made working on the press so much fun, and Brian, your artful handling of the clients taught me so much. And it’s through you guys that I met my Jess, the greatest friend a girl could have and, of course, Max. Well, I think you all know by now, he’s the man of my dreams.” More tears fall, but I’m winding down.

“I could go on and on, but we need to get back to work. Just thank you, all of you, from the bottom of my heart.”

Warmth of hugs and well wishes come in a colorful blur. I wish I could freeze this moment, tuck it in my pocket, and bring it out whenever I need a reminder of how good things can be.

Max drives me back to the gallery so I can gather up my stuff and wrap up the final details. I twist my hair and gaze out the window.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Max says.

“I was just thinking . . . I mean, I know it sounds strange with some of the challenges we’re dealing with right now. But I was thinking how damn lucky I am.”

He smiles and takes my hand in his. “You
are
lucky, but so are we.”

The weekend ends up being a packing marathon. Boxes are everywhere, and at times, I find it so overwhelming that I want to walk out the front door and keep going until I’m miles away. I’m grateful for Max, though, because despite his feelings about my moving, he tries to make it fun. At one point, I catch him trying on my past Halloween getups with Riley. Naturally, his favorite is the tall red and white striped top hat from Dr. Seuss’s
The Cat in the Hat
.

“Only you could make Dr. Seuss hot,” I laugh.

When he brings more empty boxes from the living room, he wears the Michael Jackson silver glove and reflective aviator sunglasses.

“Nice,” I comment, smiling.

He grabs his crotch, rocks his hips, and moon walks a few times before tossing the stuff into the donation box.

The next time I look up, he’s wearing a pair of sunglasses shaped like stars with silver glitter frames as he packs some of my art books.

“Hello, Elton John!” I tease.

“Aren’t you a little young for Elton John?”

“My mom was a huge fan. I grew up on his music.”

“Same with my mom. Well, I don’t think Elton John would be helping anyone pack, so try again, blue jean baby.”

He’s packed a tower of boxes already, and as I examine them closely, I realize that there are drawings on the sides of many of them.